by Kim Harrison
Mouth dry, I retreated, slipping when my foot hit the charms spilling out of my bag. Was that why Trent had taken my place? Did he know my magic was faster? Was he going to distract them so I could do something? Improvise? Damn it, I wish I knew what he was doing!
Dr. Cordova shifted from foot to foot. A gap of air showed between Mark’s head and the gun in her hand. I found my balance, spooling line energy until my skin hurt. There was nothing from the earbud dangling down my front.
“Get rid of that useless witch,” Eloy barked, and Dr. Cordova shoved Mark at me.
I reached out and caught him, keeping us upright as our feet scrabbled for purchase amid the spilled charms. He was a tad overweight, and we almost went down, even as he turned to face them, sweating and stinking of redwood.
I crouched to grab a charm, pulling to a stop when Eloy made a negative sound.
Hand reaching, I froze as I saw Dr. Cordova’s gun aimed at Trent’s middle. A shot there wouldn’t kill him right away, but it would kill him.
Trent just stood there, his lips pulled back from his teeth slightly, that same wild look I’d seen on him once before as Cordova’s arm wrapped around his neck, her gun pointed into his side. “I would have preferred Eloy, but this is acceptable,” he said, and then I stiffened when I felt a circle go up. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t Mark. It was Trent.
“No!” I shouted, reaching out helplessly as the gold shimmer wove a net around all three of them. Behind the haze, Trent became boneless, his dead weight making Dr. Cordova tighten her grip on him. The gun went off, and Eloy cried out, the shot ricocheting off the inside of Trent’s circle and slamming into Eloy’s shoulder.
Swearing, the man fell back against the inside of Trent’s circle, one hand on his shoulder, the other pointing his gun at Dr. Cordova.
“Ta na nevo doe tena!” Trent shouted, Dr. Cordova’s arms holding him to her.
Dr. Cordova screamed as Trent’s magic hit her. I backed up, horrified as I recognized the curse, the same one that had mutilated Winona. Where did he get the blood? I wondered when Cordova let go and fell, pawing at herself as her body contorted, her shoes falling off as hooves formed. Her head hit the floor, her brow heavy and misshapen. Small horns scraped the tile as she screamed, her voice cut off in a strangled gurgle of terror as she looked at her hands, now thick and short fingered. Terrified, her voice came in high-pitched squeals as a curly red pelt wormed its way out of her skin.
Blood seeping from around his fingers, Eloy pressed against the wall of Trent’s circle. Gun forgotten, he stared in horror as Dr. Cordova turned into the mirror image of Winona. The woman’s thin tail lashed wildly, and he recoiled when it touched him. It worked on humans. The curse worked on humans . . .
“On the floor. Now,” Trent said to Eloy. “Or I’ll turn you into what you really are, too.”
His voice was cool and dispassionate, hard and unforgiving. I stared at him, seeing not a businessman out of place playing at something he was not, but the same man who’d perched atop a horse in the sunset, the world at his fingertips and justice waiting to be meted out—calmly, surely, and satisfyingly. Eloy dropped his gun, terrified.
I jumped when Mark accidentally bumped my shoulder. He was watching, wide eyed. “Wow,” he breathed as Trent’s circle dropped and Dr. Cordova mewled weakly, her little hooves scrabbling at the tile. “I almost didn’t come in tonight.”
Eloy lowered himself to the floor, his eyes never leaving Dr. Cordova. The woman was crying, dark streaks running down her black face. Her breath rasped in and out, and she cried out pitifully. Eloy jumped when Trent kicked his gun to me, then Cordova’s to a corner.
Cold steel slid across the tiles, and I stopped Eloy’s gun with my foot, not bothering to pick it up. “I thought you said I wouldn’t like your charms,” I said, and Trent grinned, reminding me, for some reason, of seeing him perched in a tree, crouched and dangerous. He hadn’t killed anyone, and a part of me was undeniably glad.
An unexpected burst of radio noise came from out of nowhere, and I twisted, finding the earbud on the floor. Something was happening.
In a surge of motion, Dr. Cordova scrambled to her feet, her hooves skittering on the smooth tile. Goat-slit eyes wide in panic, she tried to run only to reach for a table and miss, her jaw cracking on the flat of it. She slid to the floor and started to crawl, crying.
“Get her!” I cried, and Eloy lifted his head. In a fast crab walk, he lunged for Cordova’s gun, six feet away under a table.
“Look out!” Mark shouted, and I turned to the front windows—just in time to see six men boil in the front door. The-men-who-don’t-belong screamed at us to freeze as they surrounded all of us. Though dressed unalike and in street clothes, it was obvious they were professionals. It wasn’t the wicked-looking guns pointed at us, or the boots designed for running. It wasn’t the short haircuts, or that every single one of them looked like he could do a six-minute mile. It was their faces, as uncaring as if they’d have no problem shooting us even if it was a mistake.
“Gun! Gun!” I shouted, pointing at Eloy, but it didn’t matter. They already had him down, and as I watched, someone snapped his wrist when he refused to let go of his pistol. Eloy screamed, and I felt myself pale.
Remembering what the captain had said, I put my hands in the air. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I shouted as a very large black man walked in, his cap saying “captain” more than his confident walk. “I got nothing on me but chalk. Splat gun is in the purse. Where in the hell have you been?”
Trent started to kneel with his hands behind his neck, and one of the men grabbed him, shoving him into a booth. “Hey,” I started, affronted, and then shouted, “Hey!” again when the captain grabbed my biceps and roughly propelled me onto the same bench as Trent. “I thought we were working together!” I exclaimed, but my sudden pull on the ley line sputtered to nothing and my knees gave way.
Smiling as if having expected it, the captain hauled me back to my feet, a silver amulet in the shape of an eagle suddenly glowing brightly. Dazed, I wondered if that was where my attempted blast of ever-after had gone. “Did you just . . .” I started, reaching for it, and he shoved me farther into the booth.
I hit Trent’s shoulder, and the elf grinned at me as he scooted over to make room, his hands carefully atop the table where everyone could see them. “You enjoying this?” I said, in a bad temper, and he smiled even wider, the scent of woods and wine spilling from him.
“It’s better than studying portfolios with Quen,” he said as Mark landed on the bench across from us, looking scared but relieved. My shoulder bag was next, sliding to a stop at the end of the table. The charms, I noticed, were being swept up with a huge, very quiet vacuum cleaner that was taking everything not nailed down: chunks of plaster, broken glass from the pictures, Dr. Cordova’s shoe . . .
People were still pouring in, some of them in street clothes, but most in nondescript blue work coveralls. Hats and clipboards, I thought, thinking they could walk anywhere at any time and get into anyplace, never seen, never noticed. And what was with that ley-line drain? I’d never felt anything like it. Watching the captain, I started to slowly spindle the line, taking it in a trickle.
“Knock it off, Morgan, or I’ll show you how we take down dead vampires,” the big man said without looking at me, and I let go of the line. Damn! Who had I just invited into my parlor?
“They’re fixing the damage,” Trent said as the dusty scent of wall spackle pricked my nose and a metal ladder clanked upward.
“You okay?” I asked him, and he nodded, his enthusiasm undimmed but getting harder to see as his usual calm control exerted itself. I could see it there, though, simmering.
“Yeah!” Mark said, leaning over the table toward us since we appeared to have been forgotten for the moment. “What just happened? What is she?” he said as Eloy and Dr. Cordova were literally dragged out the back door.
“Justice,” Trent said, and the big man standing at the end of the table t
urned.
“Better you don’t know,” I said as the captain’s eyes squinted. He had his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging from under his polo shirt. “I thought we were doing this together?” I complained. “Nice of you to come back, but if all you’re going to do is abuse us, you can just go away and we’ll take Cordova and Eloy in ourselves.”
“Relax, Rachel. I’m sure this will even itself out,” Trent said as he scooted a bit farther from me and relaxed his shoulders. In an eyeblink, the businessman was back, but I could see through it. I think the captain could, too.
“Truer words have never been spoken,” the man said, his voice the same one from my earbud. His eyes never leaving mine, he shifted a lapel mic closer to his mouth. “Cleaners.”
My gut tightened as the captain’s satisfaction that they had HAPA was tempered by my feeling of a new uncertainty. We’d given them their take, but I didn’t like how they were treating us. Mark hiccupped and slid to the back of the booth when the captain eased his well-muscled bulk onto the bench across from me. Past our little corner of quiet, a dozen people silently worked washing Eloy’s blood and Dr. Cordova’s spit from the floor, spackling, painting, replacing pictures of babies dressed up as flowers. From the ceiling, the whine of a battery-powered drill intruded, and I blinked as they replaced the broken fixture with an identical one.
“Thanks for the help,” he said, and I brought my gaze back to the captain, startled to see him sitting quietly with his hands laced on the table.
“Really? You’re appreciative?” I said tartly. “You could have fooled me. Here I am trying to get to know you, and you get nasty.”
The captain inclined his head. “I wanted to evaluate your performance in a controlled setting. You did good. He did better. Interesting.”
Trent? I thought, following the captain’s attention to him, and Trent frowned, clearly angry with himself. He had thought this might happen. I’d known it was a possibility, but I had so badly wanted a working relationship with someone who had guns that I’d ignored it. My heart pounded, remembering both the ley-line sink and his comment about taking down dead vampires. And now they were interested in Trent? Great.
Trent cleared his throat, the sound attention-getting, confident. “We just saved you—”
“Nothing,” the man interrupted as he leaned back, sourly eyeing us all. “You got in the way. Made a mess of things. Jeopardized six weeks of work—not just this acquirement, but the entire week. The last ten minutes proved to me that you’re a menace, Morgan, not only to yourself, but to everyone around you.”
I’d been told that before, and it still didn’t bother me. “We can work together, you know. It works with Glenn pretty good. Inderlanders and humans.” I wasn’t going to give this up. I wanted someone on my side.
The captain’s focus sharpened, his mind clearly on something else. “Tell me about Mathew Glenn.”
Beside me, Trent stiffened. “Don’t.”
“He’s one of the most honest, upright people I know,” I said hotly. “You think he’s HAPA? You think he’s working with that nutcase you just carted out of here? He’s dating my roommate and he eats pizza. There’s no one except maybe Jenks and Ivy I would trust more with my life.”
Trent’s foot touched mine. “You’re making a mistake.”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling them!” I said, then frowned as a man in a lab coat came in, a little tackle box in his hand.
“No,” Trent said patiently. “You’re making a mistake.”
I shut my mouth. I didn’t like men in lab coats. The big man across from me sighed, his arms back over his chest as he flicked a glance at the doctor, then back to me. “I think so, too. Just wanted your opinion.”
My chest hurt as he stood up and gestured for the man in the lab coat. “You leave him alone. You hear me?” I all but hissed. “If you touch him, I swear I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
The man in the lab coat stopped at the table beside ours, opening up his little box and bringing out a glass vial and three syringes. The glass vial hit the table with a clear and certain clunk, and I stared at it, my pulse hammering. Seeing what was happening, Trent sighed. Mark’s eyes were huge, but he didn’t move, trusting us—trusting me.
“Roll up your sleeves, please,” the doc said, and I stared up at him, scared out of my mind. Beside me, Trent was undoing his cuff button, his motions having a quick sharpness that told of his anger.
“I’m sorry. Do what he says, Rachel,” Trent said, and I shook my head, shrinking back and holding my arms to myself.
“No. You can’t do—hey!” I shouted as someone grabbed me from behind and another yanked my arm out, pinning it to the table. I tried to rise, the line singing in me. The captain pinned my wrist to the table, and the line washed out of me. I tried to stand, but someone behind me had grabbed my feet from under the bench.
“Rachel!” Trent shouted, and I caught my panic. The captain was watching me sharply. Mark was frightened, his arm out as the doctor finished injecting him with something. Trent offered his arm next, and I felt a moment of helplessness. I couldn’t fight them all alone.
“It’s a memory blocker,” Trent said, his eye twitching as the doctor tied his arm off. “I recognize the label. I’m sorry. I should have . . . done something.”
Memory blockers? I hesitated in my panic, and then a new fear slid into place behind it. I would be fine, but Trent. Damn it, I didn’t want him forgetting the last three days! I’d had fun!
“You lied to me!” I said, and the captain smiled.
“Not at all. I haven’t shot you—yet,” he said, and I struggled until the man holding my arm hurt me. Wanting to fight back, I looked around the coffeehouse. Everything was back where it belonged, right down to a cup of coffee steaming at the pickup window. Most of the-men-who-don’t-belong were gone. It was just us—and whatever they had injected into Trent.
Trent grimaced as he bent his arm up to prevent any blood leaking out. His motions jerky, he pulled his sleeve back down and buttoned it.
“You’re all going to pay for this,” I said and the doctor gingerly tied a rubber hose around my arm. “You’re all bullies,” I said, wincing as the needle slipped in. “Bullies and weenies. You know what happens to weenies?” The needle pulled out without a pinch, and the doctor turned to put his stuff away. Someone let go of my feet, and I kicked at them. “They get roasted!” I shouted as the man behind me let go of my shoulders. Panting, I sat there as they all left and the door shut behind them. Damn it to the Turn and back. As soon as it took hold, Trent was going to forget—the curses he gave me, helping me with Eloy under the streets, our conversation in my kitchen.
And then it was just us three, the doctor, and the captain.
Trent’s car keys hit the table, dusty from the vacuum and apparently lost in the fight. Or maybe they had lifted them to search his car. I was betting it was the latter as Trent dragged them off the table and into his hand with a sour expression. This sucked. This sucked royally.
Mark was pale, and he pulled himself away from the wall. “Are we going to die now?” he said, his voice quavering.
The captain put his hands on the table and looked down at us. They were huge and covered with scars. “No. You’re going to forget the last two hours happened.”
I looked up from rubbing my arm as the doctor snapped his bag shut and glanced at his watch. I wasn’t. I was going to remember. I wasn’t going to let this go. Ever.
“You will not notice anything out of the ordinary when we are gone,” the captain continued, “and you, Mark, will change your entrance code at the back door to 0101 like I told you the last time. Got it?”
Mark bobbed his head. “Yes, sir.”
I could feel the demon curse hazing through me, spilling along my muscles like slow tequila as it neutralized the toxins. “And maybe repaint the floor with some metallic circles so I can catch people easier,” I added, making the captain of the-men-who-don’t-belong frown.
“Yes, ma’am,” Mark said obediently, and the captain turned to Trent and me.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” I said, frustrated anger filling me. “I hate memory charms! They don’t last. We will remember.” I’d make sure of that. It might take me a week in Al’s library, but I’d find a way to return Trent’s memory. I didn’t want to be the only one to remember this—the way he looked, what he did to see the run through. How dare they take that away, a moment when he was exactly who he wanted to be? It was only two hours, but it was the stuff that made us who we were.
I jerked back as the captain reached for me, finding his hand behind my neck as his other hand pulled my lower eyelid down to see how my pupils were dilated. “Which is precisely why we don’t use them, Ms. Morgan,” he said softly as he gauged my state. “I prefer old-fashioned drugs.”
“Get off,” I snarled, and he jerked his hand back as I tried to hit him.
Eyes narrowed, the captain leaned away. “You both will forget the entire evening,” he said, and I glared at him. “Including the realization that HAPA has infiltrated the FIB. We’re getting them one by one, and your interference is sending them deeper. HAPA does not exist anymore as far as you’re concerned.”
Bullshit. But I forced myself to relax like Trent and Mark were, pretending. I let my hands unclench, and my shoulders slumped. Beside me, Trent breathed, slow and relaxed. I’m sorry, Trent. I will get your memory back for you. I promise.
Head bobbing, I watched the captain huff as if satisfied, then glance up at the doctor, standing at the end of the table. “Well?” the captain said, and the doctor looked at his watch.
“They won’t remember a thing,” the man said, his European accent harsh. “Not even how they got here.”
“Good. Let’s go. Lady. Gentlemen,” he said, hands on the table as he rose. Without a backward glance, they headed for the door. Just as they reached it, the captain hesitated, turning with one hand raised in question. “Oh, and if you ever interfere with another one of my actions, I will put both of you in the cells next to those cretins we just caught. I have lots of room in my facility, and unlike Alcatraz, I’ve never had anyone break out. Elf. Vampire. Were, or witch.”
