Ever Strange

by Alisa Woods

  It worked for his cover, and as long as he kept that, it was safe for Ever, too. It was the best he could do given everyone else was tied up—even Arrow was hot on the Resurrectionist case. But it was still a terrible idea. His inner incubus wanted nothing more than to drain the powerful witch sitting on his sofa. Amazingly, she didn’t seem bothered by being cooped up with a practitioner of the darkest mental magick.

  He handed her the glass of water, and since he didn’t feel comfortable joining her on the couch, he grabbed a chair from the dining table and turned that backward to sit. If he could have put a wall between them, he would—not that walls stopped his magick, but it would at least remove the visual temptation. He’d still be sleeping within range to feel her crackling magick lapping at his skin.

  This was such a bad idea. “What can I get you when I go out?”

  “I’m not fussy.” She waved that off. And he believed her, as much as her high-end, tailored leather jacket looked severely out of place draped across the back of his broken down velveteen couch. Back at her apartment, she’d changed out of her simple clothing and now looked every inch the high-society witch she was—black-leather pants, laced-up boots, and now that she’d taken off the jacket, a zippered leather corset with sheer black sleeves that was somehow both sexy and exuded don’t fuck with me power. “Are you leaving now?” she asked. She seemed dismayed—her whole body appeared to drag down. She’d mentioned some girls in her charity had overdosed—was that it? Or her father? Or that she was slumming in an incubus’s apartment?

  “I can stay if you’d like.” Another bad idea.

  She gave a forlorn look at the backpack. “I should probably work. I brought my laptop.”

  He winced. “Can you hot-spot to your phone? No Wi-Fi in the complex.”

  She nodded dully but made no move to unpack.

  “You okay?” It felt dangerous to keep asking.

  “Just tired.” She rubbed her hands over her face and pulled in a breath. Then she gestured to her boots—they went up to her knees—and asked, “Do you mind?” Meaning she wanted to take them off.

  “Go ahead.” But as soon as she started unlacing, he suddenly needed to get up and get away. She was fucking undressing on his couch. Dammit. There was zero sexual content there, and yet his mind was 100% taking that and running with it. Being incubus meant more than just setting free the sexual fantasies of others so he could feast on the magickal energy that unleashed—it meant an exquisite sensitivity to the fact that every action, no matter how small, had the potential to become erotic. And feed his addiction. Ever Strange was already bursting with magick-on-tap—he didn’t need her removing clothes in front of him.

  Zane made an entirely unnecessary trip to his tiny nook of a kitchen and busied himself cleaning counters that didn’t need to be cleaned. What the fuck was he doing with her here? Did he want to blow everything? He had a strict policy of never dating witches—or even spending much time around them. He rotated through the non-magickal women at the brothel just to make sure he never got attached to anyone. If he did, he’d have to tell them what he was. And if that wasn’t the end of the relationship right there… it should be. He had no business being entangled with anyone—not with what he was and what he did for a living.

  Now Ever Strange had dropped into his life and became his problem to solve—worse, she was taking off her damn boots on his couch knowing what he was. It was that same brazen confidence that landed her in a mob bakery in the first place. Dammit. Just having her around dug into that sore spot he kept protected for a reason.

  He opened his tiny fridge on the counter just to keep from looking at her. He stalled as long as he could stand it, then he took a peek. She was done taking off the boots. They stood up by themselves, tucked neatly at the end of the couch. She’d curled up on it, leaning on the side, looking weary and staring at a worn spot on his carpet.

  It felt safe enough to come back.

  He stood next to the chair but didn’t sit. “You look like you could use some soup,” he offered. He had no idea what to get—he usually subsisted on frozen taquitos, convenience store hot dogs, and beef jerky.

  She surprised him with a flash of smile that quickly disappeared. “My mom used to bring me soup when I was down.” She looked up at him with those warm brown eyes. “She died four years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” It caught him completely off guard.

  She just nodded and dropped her gaze again.

  He legit had no idea what to say. Tracking down his own mother’s killer was what landed him in the FBI. Grief was something he worked out by seeking revenge… and then justice. Ever carried hers in soft memories of soup. It made him ache with a stupid kind of jealousy. And now her father was possibly dead as well. It seemed strange—discordant somehow—to see her sad, given she had literally everything. Money, fame, an abundance of Talents and magickal power. But bad things happened to everyone—he knew that well enough.

  Ever seemed lost in reverie for a moment, then she lifted her eyebrows. “I forgot to tell you. Nia found something that might help the FBI in the investigation.”

  “What’s that?” He decided it was safe to sit.

  “My father was a collector of rare magickal artifacts.” She shifted on the couch so she could dig a piece of paper out of her pants. “He found an extraordinary one just before he overdosed. But Nia says it’s missing now.” She handed him the paper. “Maybe this will help you find whoever this person is.”

  He frowned at the paper—it was an email exchange. “You think someone targeted your father to get this relic?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. I mean, it could be totally unrelated. But I don’t believe my father overdosed, so this makes more sense. But then what about the others? I doubt they all had priceless relics in their possession. Maybe it was a coincidence, and whoever murdered him just grabbed the artifact while they were there? Then again, if he’s still alive… I don’t know, but I figured it might help.”

  “It might.” He folded it and tucked it away, rising up from the chair. “If you’re okay for a bit, I’m going to get us some food. I’ll be back soon. Don’t let anyone in.”

  She gave him a small smile, but the haunted look was back in her eyes.

  He locked the door on his way out and hustled down the stairs. The neighborhood was run down and home to more than its share of addicts, but it still had life in it. A coffee shop where the old-timers hung out, bragging about Talents they never had. A laundromat where Zane spent every Saturday morning, like clockwork, unless he was on a case—or playing his enforcer role for Pennies. And a small grocery store run by an elderly Polish woman who probably peddled enhancers in the back—Zane made sure never to ask. She treated him like a son, and that poked at that sore spot again, so he let her fuss over him and made up stories about how he had a business in the city. She complained loudly how he was better than her two boys, both lost to the Dziki gang. Then she gave him free pierogis, even when he tried to pay. Today, Marushka loaded him up with two kinds of soup when he asked, giving him more than he and Ever could eat. He thanked her, bagged up some other sorry-looking groceries, and hot-footed it back to his place.

  He had to set down the bags to get out his key, but he was glad he did—when he opened the door, he saw Ever’s head down on the arm of the couch. His heart seized, and he lurched inside—for a split second, he thought she was dead—then he realized she had to be sleeping. He hurriedly tiptoed inside to check. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, and long, slow breaths made her chest rise and fall as he watched.

  He took care to quietly bring in the groceries and then set a cup of soup and spoon on a small tray on the floor next to her. She was curled up, her phone cradled to her chest, her backpack untouched on the floor. Sleep had eased the worry from her face, and for the first time, he could really look at her. Delicate features, dark lashes, long brown hair that spilled over the couch arm. She looked younger than the twenty-eight
years that her official bio on the Strange Technologies Corporation website listed. Her breathing stuttered, and he could see her eyes move under their lids. Dreaming. He couldn’t help flashing back to the fantasies she conjured while under his attack. Her lovers had all been young—younger than her now. Did she have a taste for younger men? Or were they from her past? Maybe they were all figments of her imagination. There was no way for him to tell.

  He suddenly felt like a voyeur, a familiar shame washing over him. He’d gotten used to the depravity of the men he attacked in his undercover use of his powers—it had been a long time since he’d fed off a woman.

  Zane ducked his head and retreated to his bedroom, quickly returning with a blanket scavenged from his closet. It was the extra he had for the cold winter nights when he first arrived in Chicago six months ago. He carefully draped it over her, trying not to wake her.

  Then his phone buzzed in his pocket.

  Meet at Cicero Rail Yard. One hour. Don’t be late. It was Pennies.

  Shit. He thought for sure Pennies wouldn’t call him back in for a while—he knew Zane had Ever, presumably feeding off her. Zane had laid the foundation earlier with Pennies by “killing” one of his less-than-productive operatives—he told the cartel boss he liked to take his time, draining the victim slowly over the course of a day to get the maximum charge out of it. Pennies didn’t care, as long as there was no body at the end that could be tied back to him. Which of course there wasn’t because Zane spirited the man away, turning him against Pennies for future testimony.

  Understood, Zane texted back. He’d leave a note for Ever so she wouldn’t wonder, and maybe he’d even be back before she awoke. Either way, Zane was going to the one place that was most dangerous for her, so leaving her at the apartment shouldn’t pose a risk. With any luck, he’d get the answers he needed from Pennies about the spiked drugs.

  Then Ever could safely be moved out of his life and back into hers.

  Chapter Six

  Ever was running as fast as she could.

  She could hear his voice—her father’s voice—calling to her. Softly. The way he did when she was a child, bringing her to his study to show his latest breakthrough med-magick. Only now she was stumbling through empty Chicago streets, past boarded-up businesses, all the field magick in the area gathering in her hands, and he was lost somewhere, calling for her to find him, find him, find him before it was too late—

  Ever. Her father’s voice! Behind her! She turned—he stood right there, his eyes gouged out, mouth sewn shut. She screamed, and her magick blasted forth—

  Ever jolted awake. Something was covering her, smothering her. She fought it and flung it—the blanket slumped to the floor next to the couch, along with something else that thunked more solidly, buried in the fleece. She blinked, her heart thudding, breath ragged. Fucking dream! She did not need to see her father like that. And she refused to believe it. She would find him before anything more happened to him.

  Speaking of which… she glanced around the tiny apartment, but Zane was nowhere to be seen. The one window was covered with blinds, but the light had been sneaking around them before, and now it was dark.

  “Zane?” she called out as she sat up, still getting her bearings. Something buzzed from under the blanket on the floor. Her phone. As she dug for it, she noticed a round cardboard carton of something on the floor at the edge of the couch. A metal spoon perched on top.

  Soup. A small smile graced her for a moment. Zane had left it for her—the blanket, too—but he must be gone now. Which doused the smile. If he’d already gotten food, where was he now?

  Her phone buzzed again. She lifted the blanket, and it tumbled out. There were about thirty texts and a dozen missed calls. She wasn’t too alarmed—it was Nia’s phone after all—but when she swiped them up, they were from Mercy. And her sister was freaking out.

  Call me.

  Ever, call me, this is Mercy.

  Twenty texts later…

  Pick up the fucking phone, or I’m sending Nia after you!

  Ever hastily texted back, I’m here, sleeping, chill! Then she saw a dozen messages from an unknown number—but it was clearly Nia on her new phone. Ever messaged her, too, and decided she’d better call them both. Calling you now on StrangeChat! she sent. It was their family private videochat channel, one they used for personal gatherings and business meetings. Her family was spread all over the country—and even some overseas—and it was impossible to get everyone together. Most important, the chatroom was secure, given they often used it for business, not just social calls.

  Ever dug out her laptop and booted it up. It took a minute, then she remembered she had to set up a hotspot on her phone to get internet access, but by the time she finally opened a window and dialed into the private videochat room, Nia and Mercy were already there.

  Ever settled back into the couch with the laptop balanced on her knees. “Hey—”

  “Oh my God.” Mercy reached for the camera like she wanted to strangle Ever. “Could you please not turn off your phone while you’re on the run from mobsters? For the love of magick, E!”

  Nia was just shaking her head. “You’re alive.” She said it almost like an accusation.

  Ever scowled. “It’s been a hard day, okay? I fell asleep.”

  Mercy just ran both hands into her hair like she was going to tear it out. Her natural hair color was brown like Ever’s, but her sister’s hair hadn’t been “natural” since she was thirteen. Today it was dyed black to match the three tiers of bat wings she had for eyeshadow. With Mercy’s eyes closed in frustration, Ever could even see the meticulous, feather-like paint she used. It was a stunning contrast with her pale-white foundation and blood-red lipstick. Her sister was a brilliant med-magick researcher, but her artistic side was unrestrained in using her face as a canvas.

  Nia’s idea of makeup was to purse her lips menacingly. “Look, I’ve filed a missing person’s report on you, but that’s problematic as hell. Shouldn’t the FBI be doing this? Where’s Agent LadyBoner?”

  “Nia!” Ever glared at her. “He’s not here, and thank magick. Can you please not call him that? He’s a good guy.”

  Nia just lifted her eyebrows as if to say Is that right?

  Mercy huffed out the last of her frustration and glared through the screen again. “Why is the FBI agent not there?” She seemed to be asking both Ever and Nia.

  Nia’s eyebrows knitted into a scowl. “I thought he was guarding you at this safe house.”

  “The safe house ended up being his apartment.” Ever cringed at the looks on their faces. “It’s not like that!”

  “Mm, hm.” Nia was back to shaking her head. “Do I need to come down there and make sure you have real security? Because I will. Give me the address.”

  “I’m fine.” Ever rolled her neck to release the tension. Why were they making this so difficult? “I told you before—it’s better if you don’t know where I am.”

  “Then answer your damn phone.” Nia’s dark eyes went hard. “Or I will find you.”

  “All right, all right.” Ever sighed. “I didn’t know the ringer was off.” Time to put an end to the Beat up on Ever Party. “I’m assuming you’ve got Meadow handling all my calls and appointments?” she asked Nia. “I can’t do much work while I’m supposedly missing.” Meadow was Ever’s executive assistant, and she could keep things afloat until Ever was out of hiding.

  “It’s taken care of.” Nia scowled. “You’ve got more important things to worry about. Like not getting dead.”

  Ever just shook her head and let it pass. Besides, Nia was right—work and family were all she had. And right now, she should be worrying about family.

  “Have you heard anything more about Dad?” Mercy asked, frowning.

  And of course that was what they all wanted to know. “Nothing yet. Hang on.” She got up, bringing the laptop with her, and scouted the rest of the apartment for Zane. Maybe he was sleeping in the back? She padded on stocking fee
t to the bedroom and rapped softly on the door. “Zane?” she called again. “Are you in there?” When she got no answer, she tentatively creaked open the door and peeked inside. The bed was made, crisp blankets neatly tucked under the mattress, no clothes or anything on the floor. Funny, he said it was a mess… then she saw it.

  A whip. Not a long, coiled one like Indiana Jones… one with lots of leather ropes dangling, hanging on the wall. There were a half dozen of them lined up, all different—the cat-o-nine-tails, one with a metal handle and rubber strands, and what looked like a riding crop…

  Oh, shit. She backed out of the bedroom, fast.

  “What are you doing?” Mercy scowled at her

  Ever was still clutching the laptop close—hopefully, they saw nothing. “Zane is gone,” she said as she hustled back toward the kitchen. No wonder he closed the door. Ever felt a pang of guilt for invading his privacy. Then she spied a note on the small dining table and set the laptop down there. “He says he had to meet with Pennies—” She looked up from the note. “That’s the leader of the Dziki cartel.” She scanned the rest quickly. “He says he’ll be gone a few hours but not to leave the apartment.” The note also said he would tell Pennies she was incapacitated—meaning he had been using his incubus powers on her and drained her, but not completely, not enough to kill her. She hadn’t told Nia or Mercy about Zane being an incubus—there was no way Nia would have let her go, otherwise.

  “This guy is not doing a good job of protecting you.” Nia scowled.