Risky Goods: Arcane Transporter 2

by Jami Gray

  Around us, conversations stopped, and some brave but deluded fools managed to fill the air with wolf whistles. Imogen ignored them, her attention focused on us. Her gaze swept over our table, and both men gave chin lifts acknowledging her presence. Since my mouth and hands were full of taco, I did the same. Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth curled into something perilously close to a sneer. Either she didn’t like her reception, or she didn’t like the ambience. Deciding not to court her drama, I went back to my dinner.

  “Gentlemen.” Imogen stopped by the empty chair between Bryan and Zev and pulled it out. “Rory.” She put a hand on Zev’s shoulder as she sank into the chair.

  Sitting as close as I was to Zev, I didn’t miss the slight jerk as he moved his shoulder out from under her hand. I caught her flash of sly satisfaction as she dropped her hand and carefully brushed invisible crumbs from the table. Yeah, this is going to be fun.

  I wiped my mouth with my napkin and then returned her cool greeting. “Imogen.”

  Apparently oblivious to the underlying tension, Bryan stopped just before taking a bite of his taco to ask her, “Are you going to grab anything?”

  She shifted in her seat so she could cross her legs. “It smells delicious, but I’ll pass, thanks.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” His shell crunched as he took a healthy bite.

  Imogen’s gaze swept over the other diners on the patio, and when it turned back to the table, a small frown marred her forehead. “I was expecting something with a little more privacy.”

  Still chewing, Bryan gave her a closed-mouth grin, and his blue-green eyes took on a faint shimmer. An uncomfortable brush of magic swept over my skin, and I barely held back a shudder. The white noise of surrounding conversation cut out as if a switch had been thrown, locking us in a curiously quiet bubble. Even more surreal, the construction workers who’d been eyeing Imogen suddenly turned back to their meals as if she’d never existed.

  Hmm.

  Bryan swallowed and asked Imogen, “Better?”

  She inclined her head. “For now.”

  Bryan shook his head and was about to take another bite when he caught my gaze. Whatever he saw made his smile reappear. “I know that look.”

  Taking the bait, I shot back, “What look?”

  “The one that says you’re trying to figure me out.” His watchful eyes belied his light-hearted tone.

  Recognizing this as the test it was, I nudged my plate back a few inches so I could put my elbow on the table. I wiped my fingers on my napkin, then I braced my chin in my hand and studied him with mock seriousness. “It’s too easy.”

  “That’s what they all say.” That surprising comment came from Zev, and I choked back an unexpected laugh.

  Bryan sent him a one-finger response and turned back to me. “Come on, Ms. Costas. Tell me what I am.”

  Ignoring Imogen’s eye roll, I decided to play. “Illusion mage.” He made a motion for me to give him more, so I did. “Since no one’s screaming in fear and trying to claw their eyes out, Nightmare is out.”

  “You going to work your way through all the illusion classifications?” Zev settled back in his chair, studying me with dark eyes.

  “Nah, that would take too long,” I said.

  Mage classifications could get cumbersome with their nit-picking. At its highest level, most magic was commonly split between a Mystic ability—one that utilized psychic phenomena—or an Elemental ability, which was fairly self-explanatory. Those abilities were then divided into mage classifications, which were further defined by a core set of common designations separated by razor-thin differences.

  So when it came to illusion mages, outside of Nightmares—who could manipulate people’s deepest fears into reality—there were Mirages and Charmers. The difference between the two was minor but distinctive. Mirages could render themselves invisible. The stronger Mirages could spread that invisibility to include people and things around them—a handy trick until someone unaffected walked into them. Charmers could create illusions so realistic they could interact with the physical world, making it difficult to tell what was real and what wasn’t. If a Charmer turned someone invisible, for all intents and purposes, that person was invisible. Charmers, in my opinion, were tricky bastards who should be avoided at all costs.

  I studied the people around us. A couple on their way to a nearby table passed behind Imogen, and she shifted the barest fraction. I turned back to Bryan. “Mirage.”

  Bryan gave me a slow clap. “Brava.” He leaned forward, bracing his folded arms on the table. “My turn.”

  Refusing to squirm under his stare, I held his gaze, fairly confident my secret would remain safe—at least from him and probably from Imogen. The one who really worried me was the silently intense man sitting next me. Zev had been up close and personal when I used my magic, and he made it clear he had questions. I think the only reason he hadn’t unearthed his answers was because the truth about Prisms was buried deep in the dusty tombs of history. So long as he didn’t decide to start channeling a whip-wielding archeologist, my secret should be safe.

  “Sabella’s a connoisseur, which means you can’t be some ordinary Hagatha.”

  Imogen gave a delicate snort at his comment but we all ignored her. As Bryan started his guessing game, I could feel Zev’s attention sharpen.

  Bryan kept going. “She’s all but made you our chaperone, which means there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

  “Call it what it is, Bryan—she’s our babysitter.” Imogen’s taunt carried a bitter bite.

  Knowing she’d keep up the snark until she got a reaction, I gave her one but not the one she expected. “If Sabella felt you all needed a babysitter, I don’t think any of you would be sitting here right now, do you?”

  Her lips thinned, and her eyes sparked as she folded her arms. I had no idea what type of magic she held, but I sent up a silent prayer it didn’t involve fire because if her glare was any hotter, I’d be sporting one hell of a burn.

  “Down, Imogen,” Bryan murmured as he leaned back in his chair. “Sabella made it crystal clear that we’re to treat Rory as her eyes and ears. Since I know the Clarkes aren’t the ones picking off researchers, I’ve got no reason to bitch.”

  Imogen turned her displeasure on Bryan. “Is that an accusation?”

  He gave an unconcerned shrug. “It is what it is.” He turned back to me, leaving Imogen to fume in silence. “Since I’m not aware of any Costas associated with the local Families, I’m going to guess you’re tied to the Guild in some way, so my first guess is Sentinel.”

  It actually wasn’t a bad guess, all things considered. The Arcane Guild was a mercenary storehouse that housed five publicly acknowledged crews, each one specializing in particular areas. There were the Hounds for tracking and retrieval, Keys for decryption and curse breaking, Spiritualists, who encompassed necromancers and mediums, and Sentinels, who handled personal and professional security. Then there were the Transporters, speed demons like me who made secure deliveries. In addition to those five were the two who eschewed the limelight—Scouts, who were spies, and Blades, who were assassins. It was a weird family and one I called mine, even if I recently and officially had left them behind.

  I gave Bryan an unconcerned smile. “Nope, not a Sentinel, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  He cocked his head. “But you are with the Guild.”

  I shook my head. “Not anymore. I’m an independent contractor. Any more guesses?”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. “Key, then, right?”

  I shook my head, actually starting to enjoy this.

  Zev bumped my shoulder with his. “Just tell him, or we’ll be here all damn night.”

  I shot him a disgruntled glare that bounced off his titanium hide.

  Bryan gave in. “Tell me.”

  “Transporter.” I had the satisfaction of watching his face go blank in disbelief.

  “Transporter?” He said it like it was a fo
reign word.

  “Yep, one of the best actually.” If I didn’t toot my own horn, no one else would.

  Imogen laughed. When she caught all of us looking at her, she waved it off. “I’m sorry, but why would Sabella consider a driver important enough to help us?”

  Her question carried all sorts of scorn and wiped out my amusement. I felt my face harden as a cold relentlessness filled me. “Transporters are much more than drivers, Ms. Frost.”

  Imogen’s haughty expression didn’t waver. “Really?” she purred.

  I didn’t need the vindictive light in her eyes to know what was coming, but it was the only warning my magic needed before it snapped into place. Ice formed on my uneaten taco and quickly spread over the table. Zev and Bryan both cursed, grabbed their uneaten food, and sprang to their feet, getting out of the way of the spreading freeze. I held Imogen’s gaze and stayed relaxed in my seat even as her power pounded against my magic’s invisible diamond-hard shield. It held the brunt of her attack at bay, but my skin still pebbled as wisps of blood-freezing cold seeped through. The painful chill settled against my flesh. It hurt, but it wasn’t debilitating. And it was definitely not the result Imogen intended. The pressure increased, and my magic undulated in response. As much as I wanted to flex my recently learned offensive skills and redirect her attack, I refrained. There was no sense in revealing all my secrets, not when the surprise of them might save my ass later.

  When I continued to remain unaffected, the smug arrogance of the woman across from me changed to consideration, and a wariness seeped into her narrow-eyed gaze.

  “Dammit, Imogen,” Zev hissed. “Knock it the fuck off.”

  A hint of red rose in Imogen’s cheeks, but the relentless pressure of her power disappeared, and so did the thin layer of ice. Remarkably, it left no traces behind. One moment, it was there. The next, it was gone as if it had never existed. No water stains, no dripping food, nothing. Yeah, okay, turning someone into a human Popsicle is impressive. It also means I need to watch my ass around her. Great.

  The men retook their seats while Imogen and I continued our stare down.

  “Right, so we all know we can handle ourselves, then,” Bryan said.

  “It appears so,” Imogen said and finally looked away.

  “Good.” Bryan set his arms on the table and leaned in. “Then let’s get down to business.”

  Chapter Seven

  For the next thirty minutes, safe within the bubble of privacy, we shared facts and our grandstanding took a back seat. I mainly listened as the other three talked. During my brief stint at home, I’d managed to skim the file Sabella gave me and noted the basics of the case, but I hadn’t had time to review them in depth. I planned to correct that.

  The Delphi project had initiated with Origin and Dr. Kaspar’s research. Only after she began sharing her research did LanTech create its own team, and then the race was on. Of LanTech’s two-person research team, Chloe Sellares and Neil Pasternak, one was dead and one was missing. The investigation into Chloe’s unexplained death remained open but was currently stalled, partially due to the fact that no one could find Neil.

  In a disconcerting twist of circumstances, after Lara’s death, Origin had also been left with a two-person team that recently dwindled to one—Jonas Gainer’s badly burnt body had been found dumped in an alley a few days earlier. The surviving Origin scientist, Dr. Kerri Michaels, was currently being kept under watch by the Trask Family security—headed by Imogen.

  Between the questions surrounding Chloe and Jonas’s deaths and the disappearance of both Neil and the serum, it was clear there was something more than coincidence at play. We agreed that finding Neil before he joined the list of LanTech’s dead should top our to-do list, but to do that would require retracing his last known steps. Although Bryan shared that the Clarkes had already taken that route and found nothing, he did reluctantly agree that it should be done again on the off chance that new eyes might find something that had been missed.

  That settled, we turned to Dr. Kerri Michaels, the lone survivor. The fact that she was still breathing triggered a cynical debate about her possible culpability. Things were getting heated when Imogen stated in coldly polite tones that Kerri’s initial interview and subsequent background search had provided no indication of involvement. In an equally polite yet frigid voice, Zev pointed out that Kerri was our one and only accessible source at this point, which made our upcoming interview list short and to the point. Bryan and I watched avidly from the sidelines as the other two stared each other down. Finally, Imogen relented and reluctantly agreed that a follow-up interview with her would be added to our action list.

  Bryan chose to wade into the volatile undercurrents and redirect the conversation with a reminder that time was of the essence, not just for Neil’s well-being but for our overall assignment as well. A decision quickly followed to split into two teams. Fortunately, Bryan chose to partner with Imogen. I wasn’t sure who was more grateful, Zev or me. If I hadn’t been convinced that Imogen would do her best to screw me, I would have offered to be her partner, as it would ensure that the team’s Family obligations were evenly balanced. But no way in hell would I take that chance after witnessing the dirty looks, snide comments, and icy temper tantrum.

  We put together a plan. That night, Imogen and Bryan would retrace Neil’s steps, something that had been on Bryan’s agenda initially. Meanwhile, Zev and I would go through Jonas’s house. This arrangement gave us something tangible to do that night while allowing each invested party a chance to retrace previous investigative steps. The next morning, Zev and I would meet with Chloe’s parents. Bryan offered to arrange the meet since he was the one working Chloe’s case and had already established a relationship with them. Zev accepted, and we finalized our game plan with the intent to find a commonality among the dead, the missing, and the breathing, but it was clear from everyone’s grim looks that no one was holding out much hope.

  The last of the sun’s light was fading from purple to the indigo gray of early evening, and the heat was slowly receding under the incoming night when our dinner meet drew to a close.

  “Check in tomorrow?” Bryan asked.

  When everyone, including a watchful Zev, turned to me, realization hit—Bryan was talking to me. It was disconcerting, to say the least, but I had a job to do. “Let’s touch base by four, see where we’re at. If we need to get together then, we can choose a place.”

  Some of the underlying tension eased. It made me wonder what they’d expected from me. I would ask Zev about that. He was a safer bet than anyone else in the group.

  Bryan looked at Imogen, who gave him a nod. “Right.” He rapped his knuckles against the table. “If we’re done here…”

  When he got an assortment of positive responses, he leaned back and got to his feet. His magic swept out like an invisible tide, taking the silence with it. Noise from the surrounding conversations and nearby traffic rushed to fill the void. Once again, no one blinked as we reentered the other customers’ reality. The casually deceptive display of Bryan’s ability was a stark reminder that I was punching above my weight. It was worrisome, but not enough to have me looking for an escape route. Well, not yet. Life had taught me early on how to survive in a world filled with bigger fish who had sharper teeth. When it came to evading those predators, I wouldn’t hesitate to fight dirty because it was my only way of ensuring my survival.

  Goodbyes were exchanged and numbers shared to make future communications easier. Well, Bryan said goodbye. Imogen gave Zev a not-so-subtle look as she bade him farewell and pointedly ignored me before following Bryan into the night. Amused at the petty move that screamed jealous ex, I pushed back from my seat and stood. My stiff muscles complained, so I did a spine twist, unlocking the kinks. Then I picked up the plate with my uneaten taco and empty cup to take them to the trash. Next to me Zev rose and did the same. I turned, the movement sending my crumbled napkin rolling across the paper plate. It was stopped by the uneaten taco,
which hadn’t shifted even the slightest bit.

  That’s weird.

  I adjusted my hold and then poked the taco. The corn tortilla shell shattered like brittle glass and collapsed. Despite the fact that Imogen had blasted it with ice more than a half hour earlier and it then sat undisturbed in the Arizona heat, a chill still emanated from the pieces.

  Trepidation stole my breath, and the plate in my hand jerked. “Holy shit.” The curse came out in a near whisper.

  Zev caught my plate as it wobbled. “Careful.”

  I looked at him, not caring that my shock was easily read. “It’s still frozen.”

  His dark gaze searched my face, his thoughts hidden. “Imogen didn’t get to her position on looks alone, Rory.” He didn’t wait for my response, just tugged the plate out of my hand and walked it to the trash bin, leaving me staring at his back.

  You are so out of your league, girlfriend.

  I couldn’t afford to forget that. I was starting to wonder if Sabella’s belief in me was sorely misguided, because Lena’s suspicions about Sabella’s true purpose behind my involvement were gaining teeth.

  What the hell did I sign up for?

  By the time Zev returned, I still hadn’t found an answer. We made our way off the patio and toward the street. Even the touch of his hand at my hip as he nudged me ahead of him couldn’t drown out my rising worry.

  We were waiting at the light to cross the street when he said, “Rory.”

  I blinked and realized he’d asked me something. “Sorry, what?”

  “Do you want to follow me or ride together?” When I simply stared, he added, “To Jonas’s address.”

  Right, the investigation. Before I could answer, the light changed. Together, we crossed the street and headed down the poorly lit sidewalk to where we were parked. “Where does he live?”