by Alisa Woods
Verity was grinning like a little kid. “His name is Eliphas Storm.”
The silence was like an earache—sudden and piercing.
Mercy broke it. “The Eliphas Storm?” Holy magick—literally. This guy was some world-renowned monk. Mercy paid zero attention to such things, and even she knew who Eliphas Storm was.
“Yes!” Verity was back to clapping her hands like she was a child—which made Mercy’s alarm shoot through the roof. “He’s doing a special panel at the conference! The first time they’ve held one on divination and hedge witches… and it’s the first time ever for a monk of his caliber to be a speaker.”
Mercy got a serious chill down her back. Her father’s face was still slack with shock. Ever’s too. Only Zane was scowling with the hardness Mercy was feeling in her gut. She couldn’t wrap her head around this. First, the guy was insanely famous with a cult following that was millions strong—tens of millions, probably. It was crazy. Second, she vaguely remembered some controversy about occult magick that involved him. Blood drinking? Attempted necromancy? She couldn’t recall, but she had a serious and immediate need to consult Witchipedia and figure out who the hell this guy was. But mainly, there were massive rumors he had a harem of witches who followed him all over the world, his own personal groupie club, and the snark about wild sex-magick parties was legendary. He was basically a cult leader who preyed on people for sex, magick enhancement, and who knew what else. People who were young witches full of power.
People like her sister. “You’re dating Eliphas Storm?” Mercy sputtered out, finally filling the silence that had fallen.
“Dating? Uh, well, no… not precisely…” Verity looked at Mercy like she was both insane and terribly rude. Then Verity shook her head like she physically brushed that thought aside. “Eliphas is a monk. He doesn’t date anyone. And besides, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s coming here. And you’ll get to see him and hear his message for yourselves!”
Hear his message. As if there weren’t enough going on, now Mercy had to worry about her little sister being wrapped up in a cult. “Sure. We’ll go see what your monk’s all about.” She gave a pointed look to Ever, who was exchanging shakes of her head and small scowls with Zane. The FBI! They had to know the inside scoop on one Eliphas Storm! Mercy made a mental note to have a serious conversation with Zane—or Swift—as soon as possible about that.
“Well, I would like to meet Mr. Storm—” Her father was cut off by Mercy’s phone chime.
What now? Mercy dug it out—it was a video call from Swift! She sent it to audio only and turned her back on the insanity that was her family. “Hey.”
“Mercy?” His voice was soft but held a sudden sharpness of concern. Probably because she refused the video chat.
“Yeah. Kind of in an audio-only situation right now. What’s up?”
“I’ve got the data downloaded.”
“Excellent!” At least there was some good news. She snuck a peek back—her dad and Ever had pulled Verity over to the window to talk in hushed tones. Good. They were on top of the Verity’s in a cult situation. But Zane was definitely checking out her call. Mercy turned away and hunched over the phone. “So what’s happening with the other matter?”
“The victims?” His voice was even softer. He must be sneaking around the building.
“Yeah, that one.”
“The hospital beds were definitely ordered through the purchasing department at Raine Magitek, along with some other medical supplies. And there’s an Authorized Access Only set of doors in the basement that seems like the perfect place to stash bodies. I’m going to see if my lock-picking skills are up to the task.”
“You have lock-picking skills?” She couldn’t help the small smile.
“Top of the academy. What? Did you think they’d send in some flunky for this job?”
She grinned. “You don’t actually know how to pick locks, do you?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” But she could hear the laugh in his voice. “I’ll call you back.”
“Okay.” The phone clicked off, and she had to tame her smile. It was a lot more enjoyable talking to Swift on the phone, even in video chat. There just wasn’t that overwhelming hotness superpower to deal with. And he wasn’t a terrible guy—far from it. He was off trying to save people, and she had some serious respect for that.
When she turned back, Zane had crept up on her. “Good news?”
Mercy stumbled for a moment—how much should she tell Zane? Swift was calling her with an update, not the FBI field office, which maybe meant he wanted to keep it on the down-low… until something panned out. “Agent Payne’s still checking things out.” At Zane’s pinched look, she added, “Sounds like he got the data downloaded, though, so that’s good news.”
“All right.” He seemed satisfied with that. “Everyone’s hot to track down any leads we’ve got—whoever’s behind this is toying with the FBI. And no one likes that.”
She nodded. “Swift said he’d call back soon. I’ll let you know if there’s any progress.”
Zane lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. And it was a little odd for Swift to be relaying messages through her. But whatever—it was time for everyone to get out of her office so she could get some work done. Specifically, chewing through what kind of magick their mad scientist might be using to guide the gene-drive meds.
“Okay, everyone.” Mercy made waving motions with her hands. “You need to take your party elsewhere. I’ve got work to do.”
Her father and Ever were tight-lipped and concerned—whatever their discussion with Verity, it wasn’t going well. Zane was already shuffling out the door, and they started to follow. Verity swept her peasant skirts into her hands but headed for Mercy instead of the door.
“I’ll leave you be, big sis, but before I go…” Verity gave her a mischievous smile. “I hear you’ve been using resurrection magick.”
“What? No. Where did you hear that?” Mercy scowled. Necromancy was just a myth, not real med-magick.
“The people who overdosed.” Her eyes went wide. “Like Dad? You must have been totally freaked. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you during all that.”
That unexpectedly twanged on that random-crying nerve that still seemed active, even though the crisis part—at least the crisis with her father—had passed. “It’s all right.” She swallowed back that stinging need to leak tears. What the hell, Mercy! Pull it together. “And I didn’t use any resurrection spells. Those people weren’t dead—the magick that dosed them just simulated death.”
Verity gave a small smile. “Are you sure?”
Mercy scowled harder. “Yes, I’m sure. Not least because I couldn’t bring all of them back.”
The humor faded from her sister’s face. “That must have been hard.”
Not as hard as worrying her little sister was wrapped up in a sex-magick cult. “I’m fine, Verity—” A sudden hug attack by her little sister cut her off. “Um. Okay. Really…”
Verity pulled back, all smiles. “I love you, big sis! And I can’t wait for next week!” Then she practically skipped out of Mercy’s office, skirts in hand. Everyone else had left.
Mercy stood there, stunned. It took her a few seconds to remember next week was when Verity wanted to introduce her to Eliphas Storm. She definitely needed to do some FBI-level research on that guy before then. Mercy shook her head to clear it, then made a quick check of her charm box—pill was still there—then settled in at her computer. Just as she was diving in to set her analysis program up for whatever data Swift was bringing her, there was a soft knock at the door.
“Heard you were back,” Quill said, swinging into her office. “Did you get rid of the FBI guy?” He seemed a little too eager to know the answer to that.
“Yeah, but he’ll be back.” Technically, she didn’t know that for sure. But then Swift was calling her with updates…
Quill snorted at that. “I’ll bet.” He leaned against the wall by the door and c
rossed his arms.
“What does that mean?” Mercy swiveled her chair to face him.
“Come on, Mercy.” He gave her a crooked smile. “You saw how he was looking at you.”
She frowned. “Like I offended him?” Where was Quill going with this? Was he seriously going to play the jealous suitor? She’d made herself very clear on that front—
“Offended. Sure. Let’s go with that.” He just shook his head.
A prickliness rose up in her—because it was none of Quill’s business who she did and did not date. Never mind that she didn’t date at all, not in any normal sense, and certainly not with some abnormally hot FBI agent who made her uncomfortable whenever he was physically present. She rose up from her seat. “Quill Thacker, you are an excellent IT adept, but your opinion on my personal life is not asked for nor required.”
His expression softened. “Don’t go all Death Witch on me. I’m just trying to…” He frowned. “I’m looking out for you, Mercy.”
“As if I need that.” Okay, now she was ramping up to pissed.
“Yeah, actually. You do.” He unfolded his arms and took her by the shoulders. It startled her enough that she just stood there and looked up into his concerned eyes. “We’re friends, right? Or have I read all of this wrong?”
She relaxed a little. “Well, we were friends. Then you started being nosy. And I was forced to terminate our friendship contract with extreme prejudice.”
He smiled. “Let’s pretend I’m still your friend. And that I carry around the burden of a mountain-sized crush on you that I can’t seem to shake, even though my love for you is destined to be eternally unrequited.”
She narrowed her eyes. “We’re pretending this?”
“Yes.” He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “So, as your friend, I’m just saying… watch out for landmines with this Agent Payne character.”
“Because of the way he looks at me?” Why in the world did her heart give a small flutter when she thought of that—Swift looking at her.
“Because of the way you look at him.” He was dead serious.
Mercy just blinked. Did she really… oh, shit…
Then Quill startled her again by leaning forward and dropping a sweet kiss on her forehead. “I don’t want one of my favorite people to get hurt, okay? Just saying. As a friend.” Then he released her and turned and walked out the door, leaving her gawking.
And a little shook.
Just then, her phone chimed again. She stared at the incoming call from Swift a beat too long then accepted the video chat.
“Hey,” he said, his crooked smile doing something to her insides that she really wanted to pretend wasn’t there. “Back on video? Good. Because I got in.”
Her heart leaped and not because she was attracted to the very fine Agent Payne. “Did you find them?”
He shook his head, then the phone’s camera swung to show an empty warehouse. Large, two-story, some racks along the walls, but mostly a big empty space. “Can you see it?”
“I see a whole lot of nothing.”
Swift swung the camera back to his face. “Yeah. But there are scrapes on the floor—some shiny marks, evenly spaced. Something was here. And recently moved.”
“That’s not much for evidence.”
“No, it’s not.” Swift frowned. “I think I’ve got all I can get for today. I’m coming out, and I’m bringing the data with me. Are you ready to pull an all-nighter? Because I’ve got terabytes of data that need analysis, and we’ve got a ticking clock with this.”
“I’m ready for whatever you’ve got.” Then she felt heat rush to her face. That was way too open-ended.
But Swift didn’t seem fazed. “All right. See you soon.” Then the phone went blank.
Mercy bit her lip as she hung up. Quill was right—she should stay away from Agent Payne, in a personal sense, or at least keep things extremely professional, though not for the reasons her friend thought. She should keep her emotional distance because she couldn’t have anything like a real relationship with anyone, much less an uber-sexy FBI Agent who would put someone like her in jail if he knew what she could do.
She couldn’t help looking at the box sitting on her shelf. Waiting.
If she took the pill, maybe she could have a normal life. She’d no longer be an adept, but there was more to life than magick. She could make something out of a “simple” life. Maybe have a lover who wasn’t just around for sex for a few nights. Not Swift. Or Quill, even though he obviously cared for her. Neither would want her if her magick was gone—or if they knew the truth about the magick she had. But someone else, maybe...
She sighed and returned to her computer. Now wasn’t the time to make that decision.
But soon.
Chapter Six
Swift made three copies of the data before he was even a block away from Raine Magitek. One for the lovely and insanely brilliant Mercy Strange—he’d already dropped that off with her. One for the Chicago field office, where he handed it over to Zane Walker in the Magickal Crimes Division—his analysts probably didn’t have the brainpower of Ms. Strange, but they had the field experience to dig for clues. And the third… for his true bosses. The ones he’d never met because everything in PsyOps was silo’d on a need to know basis, and he never needed to know.
His job was to follow orders and stay out of trouble. And his handler was there to “help” with the second part.
Swift sucked in a breath, bracing himself emotionally, as he stared at the doorknob to Agent Leela Dalvi’s office. The sign on her door said Science and Magick, Analyst, but she wasn’t anything of the sort. She was his handler, pseudo parole officer, part-time therapist… and his guardrail, if he was honest, keeping him on the straight and narrow so he could stay out of jail and keep this good gig he had going with the FBI. She was also PsyOps, and the most powerful witch he’d ever met.
Swift gritted his teeth and swung open the door. She knew he was coming. He’d texted her on the way.
“Ah, Swift! You made good time.” Agent Dalvi rose up from her FBI Standard Issue desk and walked around to meet him. Her clothes were unusual for an agent—gold-and-burgundy brocaded corset with sheer-black, billowing skirts of material that swished when she walked. It was a sort of half-sari, half-ball gown ensemble, and it made her delicate Indian features seem both regal and somehow softer, less intimidating. Her long brown hair was worn plain, reaching nearly to her waist, and her ruby lipstick and silver eye makeup both highlighted her feminine side.
All of it masked the true power she carried… but it supported her cover as a low-level analyst temporarily transferred to Science and Magick to assist with the Resurrectionist case. She’d be here only as long as Swift took to complete his mission.
A mission with several parts.
He held the USB stick out to her. “Here’s all the data I downloaded. MCD has copies as well as Mercy Strange.” He’d kept a copy for himself, just in case. He wouldn’t be able to analyze the genomic data, but he might find something else.
Dalvi lifted a thin eyebrow and took the data stick. “You decided to trust the Strange witch with the data?”
“It is her company.” Swift swallowed as Dalvi set the USB stick on her desk. “She’s also highly skilled. She might find something that will help the case.”
“I see.” She turned the stiff-backed metal chair in front of her desk around, so the seat was facing Swift, then gestured for him to sit. He did, ignoring the break of cold sweat at the back of his neck. Dalvi remained standing, like she normally did, but took a moment to retrieve her phone from the noisy folds of her gown. Probably turning the ringer off for their session. Maybe setting her phone to record. He never knew for sure.
The hum of her emotions gave no clues.
Swift could read Dalvi’s emotional state like he could anyone else’s—and it was always a low buzz of steely intent. He’d seen her smile, even laugh once. He’d seen her frown and tease and gently chide. That was all on the ou
tside. He was no psychologist—that was her field—but he knew there was something wrong when the smile on your face didn’t match up with the emotional state thrumming the air around you. She wasn’t a psychopath—those had an eerie silence where their emotional symphony should be. Sociopaths were less severe, but still very muted—yet occasionally turbulent. Dalvi was more like a Tibetan monk, where her emotional detachment was nearly absolute. Maybe she was only that way when handling assets—which he definitely was to PsyOps. And to the military before that. Swift was a thing everyone wanted to control—and Dalvi was here to make sure he stayed in check.
“Are you ready to report?” she asked, finally done with her phone.
“Do you want a verbal report first?” he asked, hopefully, twisting to peer up at her.
“I’ll see everything I need to.”
Swift swallowed again then faced the blank wall of her office. “All right.” He tried not to tense up—that only made it worse. He pulled in a deep breath and let it go just as her thin-fingered hand landed on the back of his neck.
He twitched, the shock resonating throughout his body, not from her touch but the invasion into his mind that it signaled. Scrying. Asher Strange had voluntarily undergone a memory scry to get an image of Violet Thorn. That was low-level stuff. Swift was technically a volunteer, but only because he took a seat without someone holding a gun to his head. Once Dalvi was in his head, everything was open to her. The best he could do would be to guide her, highlighting or emphasizing the things he needed her to see—which was mainly when he used his Talent. That shone like a neon light in the fog of his memories, so it was easy to find. The whole idea of undergoing the scry was to make sure he wasn’t illegally using his mental magick.
