Witchlight

by Sonya Clark

  Vadim stared at nothing as thoughts tumbled through his head. There were things he sometimes missed about dealing. The danger and the rush, mostly. The fear he inspired just by walking into a room. Heady stuff for a powerless young witch. He had a different kind of power now though, and it suited him far better. Not only that, he’d take thievery over violence any day.

  A few people, Braeden had said, were looking into this girl’s death. Vadim felt confident at least one or two of them were the type who really excelled at violence. Good, he thought. Hopefully they’d put the bastard in the hospital.

  He turned his attention to club business. First, he set about tackling stacks of paperwork. He had a tablet and internet access, both in the office and his home, but that made him rare among the Magic Born. Most eschewed the kind of tech that had helped reveal their existence decades ago, as well as the science that allowed Normals to identify and herd them all into urban reservations. Even without taking his unique abilities into account, Vadim would have wanted the tech. There was an elegance to it he found much more aesthetically pleasing than fussing with traditional nature-oriented magic.

  He would have been glad to take care of all this paperwork on his tablet too, but he was forced to use actual paper rather than create online accounts with the Normal businesses he worked with. That’s how other Magic Born did it and no Normal business was comfortable letting him do otherwise. He consulted a spreadsheet on his tablet, then filled out by hand an order form for the beer distributor. Next up was a similar form for the hard liquor. Rather than trust the sketchy postal company, the envelopes would be delivered by Tyler or one of his other runners, as would the monthly bribe to the city liquor board. Like the zone administrator, they insisted on cash.

  Vadim counted out the money for the two bribes, placing them in separate envelopes. Only a couple of hundred was left in the cash reserve he kept in the safe underneath his desk. Safe locked and envelopes ready for Tyler to pick up, Vadim settled into the chaise lounge with his tablet. An easy trance session to move some money around wouldn’t take long.

  He had a complicated system with various bank accounts set up under false IDs. Most of the money went into keeping the railroad up and running but a not inconsiderable amount was needed to keep Lewis and the Normals he did business with happy. Some of the accounts were in New Corinth banks so they could be accessed directly via ATMs, a fake ID badge and enough glamour to befuddle security cameras. Some were elsewhere in case the local accounts ever drew unwanted attention. Calla had been the first of his orphan runners to be entrusted with picking up cash. Now the job belonged to Tyler. Along with the various drop-offs, Vadim would have the kid visit an out-of-the-way ATM after dark and make a withdrawal. First, though, he had to move enough money into the local account he planned to have Tyler use.

  It had long been his habit to keep small sums in the local accounts, with the serious money kept elsewhere. Moving funds from one account to another was a quick, simple job of easy trancehacking since he’d done it so many times.

  This time, shock ripped him out of trance and nearly sent him tumbling from the chaise lounge. Gasping, he struggled to make sense of cyberspace and realspace, blinking away the last vestiges of blue-white lines as he shook off the aftereffects of the trance. The distant account he’d planned to move money from was empty, not a single dime left.

  Forty minutes later, Vadim was running through the rain pounding the Rockenbach section of the city. The area had been a military installation decades ago, but had long since returned to civilian use. Its barracks and family housing units now served as hostels and apartments. Most of the area was run-down and drab, with graffiti providing the only color during the day. At night, old neon signs blazed in the dark. Few people were out on the wet Sunday afternoon, giving the neighborhood a drained, empty pallor.

  The rain intensified as Vadim reached his destination. The gray, dingy building had once been quarters for military families, a town house-style structure with four units. Now it was configured into eight apartments. Tuyet lived in the top-left corner, in what had been the second floor of a home. Vadim hurried up stairs separated from the first floor unit by plywood. Shouting and the greasy tang of cooking food came through the thin barrier as if it was nothing. As he reached the second level, music replaced the cacophony of voices. Instead of knocking, he faced the tiny camera positioned on top of the doorsill.

  “It’s just me, Snow. Let me in.”

  The door opened a tiny crack. “You’re not allowed to call me that.”

  He grinned. “Tuyet means Snow. It’s your freaking name so I’ll call you either.” He leaned against the door and spoke into the crack. “Unless you’d like to tell me the reason no one’s allowed to call you Snow.”

  The sojourner opened the door without warning, sending him into an ungainly lurch. She said, “I never said no one was allowed to call me that. Just that you aren’t.”

  There was a story there, he knew it. He’d get it out of her one of these days but not today. “I’ve got a problem. Can we talk?”

  She stepped out of the way so he could enter. “What’s up?” She closed and locked the door, then checked the monitor feed from the camera. The six-inch monitor sat on a small, scarred wooden table next to the door, along with a taser and a black, deadly-looking handgun.

  Vadim had only been inside one other time: the day she moved in, after the Jennings fiasco. Curious, he took a look around. The main part of the room was Spartan in the extreme. A camp bed was pushed against one wall, half a dozen dog-eared paperbacks stacked neatly on the floor at the head. The larger mate of the table by the door sat in the middle of the room, low to the ground and holding a plethora of tech and weapons arranged with care. The lone window was covered with a sheet of plywood that hung from rope attached to the wall, secured at the corners with twine tied to hooks. An escape hatch. A black rucksack sat beneath it, clothing peeking out of the open top. The kitchenette was equally sparse and spotlessly clean. A black curtain hung over the door to the only other room in the place. The lone piece of decoration in the entire apartment was a dragon made of red resin, small enough it would fit in Tuyet’s palm. It sat in the midst of the weapons and tech on the low table.

  Vadim gestured at the weapons. “Expecting company?”

  “I like to be prepared.” She moved with feline grace to the camp bed, sitting on the floor in front of it with her knees drawn up to her chest.

  He made a point of looking around. “Would it kill you to have a chair?”

  “What do you want, Vadim?”

  Swearing inwardly, he sat on the floor. “One of the out-of-town accounts has been emptied. I need you to do some digging, make sure it’s just some random hackery.”

  “You have any reason to think it’s not?”

  He shrugged. “Other than wounded pride at having somebody steal from me, no.”

  “Then why bring it to me?”

  “Because you’re the only one I know better at this than me, and right now I don’t have the time to spend hours tracing a Normal hacker.”

  Amusement glittered in her golden-brown eyes. “And I do?”

  “I was hoping you could work it into your busy schedule of paranoia in the morning and keeping secrets in the afternoon. And whatever the hell it is you do at night.”

  A grin flashed across her face, gone so quick it barely registered. She said, “You’re in no position to call someone out for keeping secrets.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t like people who work for me keeping secrets from me. Everybody else, fine, but not me.” He weighted his words with mock indignation to let her know he was teasing. He expected Tuyet to share her secrets about as much as he expected the skies to rain candy.

  “Poor Vadim,” she said. “Forced to trust someone. Does it bother you?”

  “Not nearly as much as it bothers you.”


  Her face closed like a door slamming. He regretted needling her, but not enough to apologize. “So will you do it?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Not like I’ve got anything else to do.” The complaint in her tone was loud and clear.

  “I figure sometime after the new year, we’ll get you back on the road.”

  “It’s been months, why wait?”

  “I want to be sure.” He fished a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Here’s the account information. Let me know as soon as you find anything.”

  Tuyet didn’t let him linger. At the entrance to the subway station he paused. Back to the zone? Or take a westbound train to the moneyed side of town? Red hair and terrified eyes flickered in his thoughts, flashes of lightning from a storm he didn’t want to get caught in. Instinct told him it was too late for that, so he boarded a westbound train and tried to figure out how best to handle Elizabeth Marsden.

  * * *

  The third time Lizzie read the same paragraph and didn’t understand a word of it, she gave up on the report. Dry and full of statistics about crime, poverty and education, it couldn’t hold her attention no matter how many urgent messages about it she received from Duane. She closed the document and typed a quick response to his latest missive: There’s something to be said for bullet points. Then she put the tablet in sleep mode and left it on the desk while she went in search of something else to occupy her mind.

  Anything to keep from thinking about the previous night.

  Her parents’ house echoed with emptiness. She hadn’t lived in it since college, had already been planning for a place of her own when they were killed in a car accident. The place was too big for one person, still too full of their presence. She’d kept it out of sentiment more than anything else. It provided a nice place to hide too, when things got to be too much. She preferred her modern apartment with its sleek lines and close proximity to both work and play. Antique furnishings and domesticity didn’t suit her. The house was a place for a family and that was something she had no intention of ever having.

  She mixed a drink and programmed the entertainment center to cycle through her mother’s collection of classical music. Tucking a soft knitted blanket around herself, she sank into the overstuffed sofa in the solar and watched the rain through the bay windows.

  Tomorrow, she’d be calm enough to be around people again. The rattle in her nerves would be gone, and the buzz of energy constantly ping-ponging through her senses would have worked itself out. Time alone, away from the overstimulation of crowds and noise and exposure to magic that scented the air like faint perfume, always helped. Last night had been the worst episode in a very long time—years. That godforsaken spell and the firestorm it had created inside her were to blame. No, that man Vadim Bazarov was to blame. Whatever he wanted from her, he wouldn’t get.

  Except she knew that wasn’t the truth. For years, ever since she’d been old enough for her father to explain the concept to her, blackmail had been her worst nightmare. She could imagine nothing worse than having someone else in control of her life. Her throat constricted and her pulse jumped. She clenched one hand into a fist, but the familiar bite of her nails into her palm didn’t help this time.

  Lizzie had no one to turn to for help. She’d have to figure out a way to deal with this Bazarov man on her own.

  The lights flickered at the same time a tiny vibration of energy prodded her awareness. She pushed the blanket to the floor, gripping the glass tighter, the closest thing she had to a weapon. With breath held, she waited. For a noise, for the lights to flicker again, for another ping of magic on her internal radar. But after several minutes there was nothing.

  Feeling foolish, she downed the last of the drink and stood to make another. Vadim Bazarov stood in the entrance of the solar, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets and an insouciant smirk on his roughly handsome face.

  “Good afternoon, Councilwoman Marsden.”

  Lizzie threw the glass, aiming for his head. It glanced off the wall six inches from her target. Unmoved by her violent greeting, he stepped into the room and looked around.

  “Nice place,” he said. “If a bit old-fashioned. You grew up here, right?”

  “Get out!”

  “We have things to talk about. I told you I’d be back and here I am.”

  She suppressed a scream. Not of fear. He didn’t scare her physically. He did enrage her though, and the thought of scratching his eyes out appealed to a deeply primal part of her she hadn’t even known existed. “How much?”

  He cocked his head, squinting one eye. “How much what?”

  “How much to pay you off and get rid of you?” She spat the words, the cold calm she desperately needed eluding her.

  Vadim shook his head. “I don’t want money.” He picked up the blanket from the floor, folding it carefully as he spoke. “Money won’t get me what I need. Not anymore.” He draped the blanket on the back of the sofa and stepped toward her. “Do you know how to use the magic in you?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “What difference does it make?”

  “You’re going to need it to get me what I’m after. So please answer the question.”

  For the first time since he revealed his true intentions the night before, a bit of relief stole through Lizzie. There might be a way out of this yet. “No, I don’t. I have no training, no idea what to do with it. I can’t use it. All I can do is suppress it.”

  “Well, that’s a damn shame,” he said. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

  “You’re trying to blackmail me. What do you think, genius?”

  Another one of his infernal grins. God, she wanted to smack it right off his face.

  He said, “I think you’re going to wish you did know how to use your abilities. Because since you don’t, I’m going to have to teach you.”

  Something unrecognizable flared in Lizzie. With her heart in her throat, she did her best to push the strange feeling away but couldn’t quite manage it. “No.” She shook her head, stepping back. “That won’t work.”

  “Why not? Has someone tried to teach you before?”

  “No, of course not.” She’d thought surely he would want money, or something valuable. Blackmailing her into using magic? That made no sense. “I don’t understand. If you want to out me, just do it. A blood test will do the rest.”

  He relaxed on the sofa, one arm draped across the back and the other on the armrest, fingers pulling at the material with what struck her as uncharacteristic nervousness. “I don’t want to out you, Elizabeth. That wouldn’t serve my purpose at all.”

  The sound of her hated name grated her already raw nerves. “Don’t call me that. So what is your purpose, other than to make my life hell?”

  “What should I call you, then?” Dark eyes met hers, full of an intensity that should have repelled her.

  She swallowed, feeling on firmer footing. Because she knew that look, on him, on any man. He might want something, but he also wanted her. That, she knew how to deal with. It was something she could use, and she would.

  She seated herself on the ottoman, angling her body to face him, legs crossed, hands linked on her knee. “You will address me as Councilwoman Marsden or Miss Marsden.”

  A dirty smile creased his face. “Oh, I will, will I?”

  “And you will tell me what this purpose is. Or you will get out and never come back.” Comforting ice filled her with confidence.

  He leaned forward, dangerously close to her personal space. She refused to flinch though. He said, “I can prove you’re Magic Born. I can have you tossed off the city council, out of your nice apartment and this stuffy old house. Out on your ass and right into FreakTown. So let’s dispense with this nonsense and get down to business, shall we, Red?”

&nbs
p; Their gazes locked, she counted the seconds, partly to keep from blowing a gasket. She had no options, not good ones anyway. Without knowing more, the best she could hope for right now was forcing him to respect her. Still keeping up her end of the stare-down, she said, “You will call me Councilwoman Marsden or Miss Marsden. I won’t answer to anything else from you.”

  The smug arrogance left his face, replaced by something unreadable. He looked her up and down quickly. “Councilwoman Marsden. You can relax. I don’t want to hurt you, or make you hurt anybody.” He spread his hands. “Nobody’s getting hurt. I just need a little information from time to time.”

  “A little information?” Lizzie didn’t believe him for a second.

  “Oh, yeah, and steal for me too. That’s where the magic’s gonna come in.” He sat back, throwing one arm across the back of the sofa. “So about these magic lessons. I say we start now.”

  Lizzie felt her facade crumble as panic and that same unrecognizable emotion from earlier tore it down like a pair of wrecking balls. “What? No, that’s not possible.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll start slow. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm you. I’ll be gentle.” He winked.

  By God, he’d fucking winked at her. Thoughts of murder whispered in the back of her brain.

  He clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. “Councilwoman Marsden,” he said with an unseemly relish. “I’m ready to get it on. How about you?”

  Chapter Five

  The councilwoman hurried to her feet, darting halfway across the room before he could reach her. She said, “I can’t learn magic. That’s not possible.”

  Vadim stood but let her keep the distance between them that she seemed to need. “Of course you can. It’ll be a little harder, being an adult. A little less instinctive. But you can learn, and you will.” The moment she’d greeted him by throwing a glass at his head, most of his guilt had dissipated. The show of temper had amused him, even turned him on a little.