Risky Goods: Arcane Transporter 2

by Jami Gray

  Since my magic wasn’t reacting, and oaths were not light things, I undid the clasp and put it on. The stone was warm as it settled just below my throat. “Thank you.”

  She nodded. “Enjoy tonight.”

  “I’ll do my best.” I turned to leave but stopped with my hand on the door. Without looking back, I said, “Just promise me if the Arbiters take me out, you’ll return the favor.”

  Her laugh filled the foyer. “Of course I will, Rory. I like you.”

  Chapter Five

  After leaving Sabella’s, I returned the borrowed BMW to the Arcane Guild’s aptly named showroom. Half mechanics’ garage, half vehicular nirvana, it took up the top floor of the Guild’s parking garage and was locked behind dual layers of electronic and magical security. Any type of wheels needed to complete an assignment could be found in the stunning collection of automotive art and deceptive junkers. I thought I’d lose my access to the showroom when I hung out my own shingle, but thanks to the addendums in Sabella’s contract, and her personal friendship with the Guild director, I still had access to all the pretty toys.

  After handing off the keys, I reclaimed my precious beauty, a rebuilt 1968 Mustang Fastback. Won in a street race with an overconfident college student who had more money than sense, the Mustang was my most prized possession. Her stunning coat of midnight-blue paint was graced with white racing stripes on the hood that covered an engine with five hundred fifty-one horses. Even better, the college student had managed to incorporate modern conveniences into the classic interior, like a kick-ass stereo system and dual security system that used both electronics and wards, benefits I totally reaped.

  Once inside, with the air conditioning beating back the triple-digit heat typical for June, I swiped my phone’s screen and brought up the texts that had arrived during my drive back from Sabella’s. First up was one from Lena, my roommate and best friend, letting me know she was on her way home and was contemplating swinging by our favorite sushi place.

  I sent back a quick, Can’t, have dinner meet, which got a Your loss reply.

  I moved on to the next text. I didn’t recognize the number, but a search of the address that made up the entire text confirmed it was the mom-and-pop taco place Bryan had mentioned. After a check of the time and a bit of mental math, I figured the six thirty time was doable. I sent a curt OK and then, despite knowing the folly of making assumptions, I took a second to add the number to my contacts as Zev.

  I moved to the last text, a string of numbers from an unknown phone. Excitement stirred. I shifted screens, opened an incognito internet window, went to a site I’d memorized, and typed in the numbers. A map popped up, and at the top, a timer was counting down.

  “Dammit.” Stinging disappointment snuffed out my momentary buzz as I closed the browser window.

  Chances were slim to none that I would be able to get my racing fix and make some easy cash with that night’s event, considering my upcoming dinner meet with the Arbiters. Not to mention that indulging in my slightly illegal pastime when Sabella was in town and I was on call wasn’t the best idea in the world. I would just have to wait for the next race. My inner speed demon whined.

  Before I could delete the text, the phone rang. I answered. “This is Rory.”

  I spent the next ten minutes negotiating a courier assignment for the following week. By the time I set my phone in its holder and pulled out of the garage, my demon was pouting in the corner, leaving me alone with my thoughts—not always a great place to be, unfortunately. Especially when those thoughts bounced from the twist and turns of Family dynamics to the terrifying dangers of a viable Delphi serum before sliding into the stomach-spinning speculation of what existed between Zev and Imogen.

  Even though I considered myself a fairly well-adjusted woman with a healthy self-esteem, Zev still managed to rattle me like no one else. Part of Zev’s allure was in witnessing how he protected those he considered his, no matter the cost. That kind of deeply rooted loyalty and commitment was the ultimate fantasy, especially for someone who’d grown up on the streets with no one to call family. But I also felt an undeniable attraction to the man. Hell, most females would find it hard to ignore the unspoken challenge presented by a sexy six-foot-two package wrapped in dark and dangerous. The relentless pull both fascinated and pissed me off, which meant most of our interactions came with an edgy bite. Even when I’d managed to scrape up some maturity and ignore it, he obliterated all my good intentions, somehow knowing exactly which buttons to push to drive me nuts. And then, like an idiot, I’d had to go and kiss him.

  Worst decision ever. Well, maybe not the worst decision, but definitely not my smartest move.

  I didn’t really have an excuse, but when he’d sat across from me, all taunting temptation, and dared me to take a risk, I couldn’t resist. Instead of being smart, I accepted his dare, only to have him blow my mind and set my body on fire. When we pulled back from the unexpected implosion, both of us were jonesing for more, but then he’d called me trouble and walked away.

  Now that I’d had three weeks and two days to think about that kiss and the possible long-term ramifications of getting involved with a man like Zev, I wondered if it wasn’t only me who’d been thrown off kilter by the whole situation. Not that it really mattered in the overall scheme of things, because both of us were nothing if not professional. There was no way Zev would let something as trifling as physical attraction interfere with fulfilling his responsibilities to the Cordovas. As for me, a little unsettling rose-colored lust would keep me on my toes, but with my fledgling reputation and business to protect, I couldn’t afford to let him get in the way.

  As for whatever it was between him and Imogen, that was none of my business, no matter how much my green-eyed monster grumbled otherwise. My role was to gather the facts and ensure that the investigation was thorough, not stand between Zev and his overly possessive ex-girlfriend. Too damn bad my heart isn’t as practical as my brain. I knew myself. If Imogen continued to ignore Zev’s obvious brush-offs, I’d eventually give in and slap her back a step or four. Sometimes badass individuals needed protection, even one as badass as Zev. Regardless, chances were high that my heart would end up bruised, but I’d survived worse, so I would survive this.

  Resolute, I tucked away all my messy emotions and made the turn into my condo’s parking garage. I pulled into my assigned space and noted that Lena’s sleek two-seater was crouched nearby. I collected the file Sabella had left with me and got out. Even in the dim depths of the underground garage, the heat was smothering. By the time I made it to the elevator, I was already sweating. The elevator’s air conditioning was feeble at best, and by the time I stepped out on the eighth floor, I was so ready to get out of my work clothes and into something cooler.

  I unlocked our door then swept through and called out, “Lucy! I’m home.”

  I walked into the open space of our kitchen and living room and then tossed my keys onto the kitchen island. They slid across the slick surface and came to rest against a pile of neatly stacked mail. Leaning against the counter next to the fridge was Lena, holding a tray with three sushi rolls. Her hair, a mix of red-gold and browns, was currently tamed into a French twist. Considering the tailored slacks and sleek blouse, she hadn’t been home long.

  “Hey, bitch, what’s up?” She popped the last bit of rice-wrapped goodness into her mouth.

  I dropped the file on the counter then took a seat on one of the barstools, giving a heavy sigh. “It’s been a day.” I eyed the sweating glass of tea on the counter next to her. “Pour me one?”

  Her eyes narrowed, speculation sharpening their gold glint. “What happened?”

  As Lena knew all my dirty little secrets, I didn’t even consider dodging her question. “Sabella and Zev.” As his name left my mouth, I winced and braced for impact.

  It didn’t take long to hit. “Oh my God, Rory. We talked about this!” The plastic rattled against the counter as Lena lost her casual pose and all but tossed her
sushi aside to stand there with her hands on her hips and disapproval written all over her face.

  I scrubbed my face, dropped my hands, and blew out a hard breath. “Yeah, but this was not my fault.”

  She gave a disbelieving huff, turned, and opened the fridge. “What happened?”

  While she pulled out the pitcher of tea and poured me a glass, I gave her the basics of how Sabella had set me up as a proxy mediator in a family dispute. I was careful not to reveal anything about the Delphi project or the serum, which wasn’t easy.

  As soon as I mentioned Leander Clarke, her spine stiffened, but she didn’t turn around. “The Clarke Family is involved?”

  Considering Lena’s mom was an excised daughter of the Clarke Family and a First Nation shaman, I wasn’t surprised by her reaction. “Yep, seems they held shared interests in LanTech.”

  “And they’re okay with you mediating a bunch of Family fixers?”

  “First, I wouldn’t call Arbiters fixers—more like judges, juries, and when needed, executioners.”

  She shot me a look over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “As I said, fixers. And this doesn’t worry you?”

  “Of course it does. It’s just that in this case, with multiple families involved, Sabella thought it best to use someone impartial.”

  “You sure that was her intention?” She handed me the glass of tea.

  Lena’s distrust of the Arcane Families was deeply ingrained. At thirteen, in an effort to escape the politics and machinations of the Clarke Family, she’d basically turned herself into an orphan by disavowing any claim on the Family and then joining the Guild as a curse breaker.

  “For the most part, yeah.” I pulled out the chain with the polished jasper agate and laid it on the counter. “She did give me this.”

  Lena used one polished nail to snag the chain and dragged the necklace over to her. “A scrying stone.”

  I picked up my glass. “She wants a secure way to stay in contact.”

  Lena’s gaze met mine, her worry evident, but all she did was make a noncommittal hum.

  I looked back at the innocent-looking piece of jewelry. “Could you…?”

  “Make sure that’s all it’s meant to do?” Lena finished dryly.

  It was nice to know my paranoia wasn’t completely unjustified. “Yeah, because it’s the other part that worries me.”

  She bent in, bracing her arms against the counter. “The other part?”

  “I think she wants to see what I can do.”

  Lena picked up the chain and held it so the stone dangled above her other palm. Gold glints began to glow in the depth of her eyes as her magic flared. Sitting as close as I was, the flashover of her power set the hair along my arms on end. A red gold glow twined around the stone, climbing the chain like ivy.

  Time ticked by like it was being dragged through honey, but only a couple of minutes passed before her magic faded and she held the necklace out to me. “As far as I can tell, it’s clear.”

  Maybe the amount of relief I felt at her statement should have worried me. I reclaimed the necklace and undid the clasp. “Thanks.”

  She watched me fasten the chain around my neck. “I’m not sure how confident you should be in my assessment.” Her gaze lifted to mine. “This is Sabella we’re talking about. From what little I know about her skills, she could easily bury something in there that no one would be able to detect. Well, until it was too late.”

  “You’re right.” The stone settled just below my throat, the weight warm. “But I don’t think she wants to harm me.”

  “There are worse things than being hurt, Rory.”

  “I know.” After reading the journal, I was all too aware of the threat the more powerful members of the Arcane world posed for me and why. But it was getting harder and harder to keep my secret.

  She tilted her head and studied me. “Yet you don’t seem concerned about continuing to work for her.”

  “Oh, I’m plenty concerned, but it’s not like I can refuse.”

  Nor did I want to refuse her, if I was being honest. If someone I had no connection with was hunting a killer armed with an experimental drug and some corrupt agenda, maybe I could bury my head under a pillow and let others handle it. But Zev was involved, and I just didn’t have it in me to trust Bryan or Imogen to have his back.

  Her eyebrows rose. “You sure about that?”

  “Breach of contract, steep financial penalties, yada yada yada.” I propped my chin in my hand and studied the face of the closest thing I had to a sister. She knew me so well—I had to give her some truth. I softened my voice and turned serious. “Honestly, even if those weren’t considerations, I’d probably still agree to this.”

  That got me a sharp response, “Why? You’re not normally a glutton for punishment.”

  No, I wasn’t. In fact, up until recent events, I’d gone out of my way to avoid gaining unwanted attention. “I need to know what I can do.”

  Skepticism was alive and well in her voice. “I’m not sure that pitting your untrained abilities against a group of hard-core mages with hidden agendas is the best way to learn about being a Prism.”

  “Probably not. But with Sabella’s weight behind me, it’s the best chance I’ll get while still being able to leash Zev and the others to some extent.”

  Lena pushed up from the counter and reclaimed her glass of tea. “I don’t know, Rory. If one of them wants you or is ordered to acquire you, I don’t think the threat of Sabella would be enough to stop them.”

  Lena could very well be right, and in an effort to reassure her, I said, “Sabella is not someone you want to fuck with.”

  Unfortunately taking calculated risks would be necessary if I wanted to secure my future as a Prism. If there was one lesson to be gained from the journal Sabella had given me, it was the importance of knowing my own power. And thanks to the disturbing lack of information on Prisms, there were some things I couldn’t do without help. It was just a matter of recognizing that trusting that help only stretched so far.

  She stood across from me, studying me silently for what felt like forever but was probably just a few seconds. “There’s something more to this, isn’t there?”

  I didn’t say anything, which in itself was an answer. She shook her head and looked down at the glass in her hands, her mouth pinched with worry. Nothing I could say would ease her concern, so I stayed quiet.

  When she finally looked up, her eyes were hard, matching her voice. “You’d better watch your back.”

  “Always do.” It was an easy vow to make because I knew this whole situation was one misstep from disaster. Then, to ease the tension, I gave her a cocky grin and lifted my glass in silent toast. “Besides, if they do go after me, I know you’ve got my back.”

  That earned me a wry twist of lips and a dryly amused, “I’m a Key, babe, not a miracle worker. Cursing them won’t bring you back from the dead.”

  Chapter Six

  Five minutes before the scheduled dinner meet, I turned my Mustang into a parking lot behind a boarded-up storefront across the street from the taco shop. Well, maybe calling it a lot was being generous. It was square, surrounded by a metal fence, had pitted asphalt, and didn’t require a fee. I recognized the matte black Harley parked between an older Impala crouched low to the ground with an in-progress paint job and a battered but well-cared-for SUV.

  Looks like Zev beat me here. I pulled my Mustang into the empty space on the other side of the SUV and got out. I hit the button activating the electronic security and, to ensure that no one messed with my baby, sent a tendril of my magic out to trigger the personalized wards as an additional precaution. If anyone tried anything funny, they’d be seeking the services of a curse breaker, and Keys did not work cheap.

  The taco shop was in an older neighborhood that bordered the trendier revitalized section of downtown, so my well-worn jeans and a faded concert T-shirt fit right in. I waited for a break in the evening traffic and jogged across the street. There wasn
’t much to the place. A mismatched collection of sun-faded tables and chairs were clustered under an awning, and just beyond those was the shop itself.

  I crossed the patio, stepping aside for a couple of guys in construction vests with their hands full as they made their way to one of the empty tables. I caught sight of Zev and Bryan already seated at another table. Returning Zev’s head tilt, I went to order my food. The shop held a narrow counter space up front for customers to place their orders. A young man and an older woman were taking orders in a jumbled mix of English and Spanish. Behind them was a pass-through large enough to reveal the well-oiled dance of the four-person team working the kitchen. Tantalizing spicy scents drifted through the opening and made my mouth water.

  It didn’t take long before I had three barbacoa tacos in hand and was winding my way through the patio. When I got close, Zev waved me to the empty spot next to him. I settled in, noting that the jeans-and-T-shirt motif extended to both Bryan and Zev. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who’d had a chance to change out of work clothes.

  “Hey, glad to see I’m not the last one here,” I said.

  “Imogen likes to make an entrance,” Bryan said before taking a bite of a taco.

  Not sure how to take that, I concentrated on arranging my food before I dug in. The rumble of conversation washed around us like white noise—not overwhelming but enough to make holding a private conversation difficult. Neither Zev nor Bryan appeared concerned as they continued their casual talk between bites. I listened with half an ear, as I didn’t have much to add, and enjoyed my food.

  Then, to prove Bryan right, Imogen made her appearance. I had to give credit where credit was due—it was definitely an entrance. But that wasn’t hard to pull off in this crowd, especially since she hadn’t changed from her expensive heels, tailored slacks, and silk shirt that she’d worn at the meeting earlier that day. She stuck out like a well-polished sore thumb.