Fireworks at Midnight: A Witch's Night Out (1Night Stand)

by Tara Quan

  “The pods cost almost a buck each. Do I look like I’m swimming in cash?” Noticing his peeved expression, she gave an inch. “If you’re looking for ways to spend your Christmas bonus, I’ve been eyeing this blowtorch….”

  He groaned. “Live a little, will you? All you two ever ask for are gardening and jewelry supplies. It’s gotten so out of hand, I had to listen to Mom complain for half an hour this morning.”

  She’d never understood why Shelley and her entire family preferred waking up at half-past four. It didn’t make a lick of sense, and by the time Sweets got out of bed, they’d already have had three hours’ worth of arguments. “So the guy who tutored me through calculus is telling me to be less responsible?”

  With a melodramatic sigh, he polished off the last of his drink and held his hand out for her empty cup. Lowering the window with the push of a button, he aimed the cardboard cylinders at a trash can a few feet away. After he tossed them both in the air, they landed in the metal mesh confines with the aid of a few gusts of wind.

  Closing the window, he pulled his seat belt across his chest. “I need to be somewhere at nine, but I’ll be back. Got any plans tonight? I can come over, cook dinner, and weasel my way into Shelley’s good graces with some chocolate cake.”

  She’d have said yes if he’d pitched this to her ten minutes ago. After that little pheromone-filled trip, she wouldn’t let him near her any time after sunset. “You might want to give Shells a few more days to cool down, and New Year’s Eve is the best time to hawk jewelry.” When he opened his mouth, she lifted a finger. “I would invite you over later, but I sort of have a date.”

  On Halloween, she’d gifted her sister a one-night stand from an online dating company run by the mysterious Madame Eve. Before Cat left on her romantic getaway, she’d given the same service to Sweets as a joke. A vellum invitation for tonight had showed up in this morning’s mail, indicating she should meet her date at a New Year’s Eve party at the Castillo Waterfront Hotel.

  Since the hookup came with all-you-can-drink champagne and happened to be located in the capital’s busiest shopping district, she didn’t see the harm in showing up. If the guy turned out lame, she’d bail after indulging in some free bubbly. Either way, she’d get a much-needed distraction from the weird, fucked-up situation between her and Mikal.

  “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. What’s he like?”

  Even the threat of a ruined friendship couldn’t make her tell him an outright lie. “No idea. I’ve never met him before. Someone else set it up.”

  Something about the way his forehead wrinkled suggested he didn’t approve. “Don’t forget to load up your phone. Give me a call if he gets frisky.”

  She burst out laughing. Thank God he still treated her like a naughty little sister. “Dude—if the guy so much as looks at me the wrong way, I’ll put him on the floor myself. I’ve buffed up since you left, and this whole foresight business gives me a half-second advantage. I don’t want to brag, but I’ve been kicking ass and taking names. Go find some poor defenseless victim to hover over.”

  ***

  Mikal resisted the urge to flinch when Jackson Frost the Second looked up from the Enforcement transfer papers. The sixty-five-year-old Director of the Clandestine Affairs Agency reeked of old magic. Operating under the cover of a flourishing legal practice, the Mage’s Council’s spymaster oversaw all supernatural matters in Washington, D.C. The CAA kept an eye on human governments, and its director played an obscure advisory role on the magical community’s governing body.

  The floor-to-ceiling windows of Frost’s corner office showed off an icy K Street lined with piles of muddy snow. The city’s financial, legal, and corporate center, the area consisted of steel-and-glass skyscrapers, gridlocked streets, and expensive cars. Along the dark Metro stairs and in shadowed shop corners, the homeless begged for scraps as lobbyists in expensive suits buzzed by without pause.

  With witches and warlocks forming an unreported extreme minority in America, the Council had to limit its footprint in the hub of human power. Until recently, the arrangement came with no downsides. For the past century, the District’s sterile and almost soulless atmosphere had deterred migration from blue-blooded magical families who preferred more vibrant cities like New Orleans, New York, Charleston, Atlanta, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. The majority of mages who lived around the capital either had roots going back to the Mayflower or had immigrated from foreign countries where persecution was an issue. Both types went out of their way to maintain an inconspicuous lifestyle.

  But the recent economic downturn had drawn college graduates from all corners of the nation to D.C., one of the few regions with rising demand for educated labor. With the Spanish Inquisition and Salem Witch Trials footnotes in textbooks, the country’s magical youth continued to test the boundaries of their parents’ traditional shadows. The Clandestine Affairs Agency didn’t have enough bandwidth to police the city, and the complete absence of an official law and order representative here had spelled trouble.

  Clearing his throat, Mikal broke the uncomfortable silence. “I hope everything is in order, sir.”

  “You have the necessary qualifications.” Frost didn’t sound too pleased. Perhaps to make a transfer as difficult as possible, the warlock refused to allow any Council employee to operate in his city outside the umbrella of his law firm, which housed the analytical and administrative branches of the CAA. To fit into this surface-level cover, an agent must possess a law degree and pass an exam to become a patent attorney. Due to bureaucratic politics, Enforcement refused to fund the pursuit of either, so the city had been left without its presence.

  To come here, Mikal had obtained the necessary credentials on his own time and at his own expense. Under Frost, he’d be expected to work full-time as a lawyer on top of fulfilling his role as the magical community’s sheriff. Thank God the supernatural population here remained relatively low. “If you have everything you need, I’ll be back next week….”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, boy. You’ll start today.” Pressing the intercom button, Frost barked, “Send Ms. Mao here in fifteen minutes with new-hire paperwork.” Without waiting for any indication there’d been someone on the other end of the line, he hung up. “Tell me, why did you join Enforcement? According to these files, you’re a dissident.”

  Of course, the damned spook would run a thorough background check. “That’s an exaggeration. I once wrote a few articles in an underground college newspaper. Didn’t we all do stupid things as kids?”

  The warlock drummed his fingers on a manila folder marked CLASSIFIED—FYEO—NO FORN. Why the CAA would deem Mikal’s personnel record a matter of Council security, he didn’t know.

  “You took the Enforcement test when you turned twenty-one. A curious choice, for someone with your virulent opinions.”

  Mikal had answered this question several-hundred times while strapped to an empath on one hand and a telepath on the other. Nonetheless, the issue came up at every stage of his career. “The best way to find out if the rumors about the Council are true is to become part of it. For personal reasons, I’d been curious.”

  Frost narrowed those creepy mercury eyes. “You have someone you want to protect.”

  “Don’t we all? After four years in Enforcement, I’ve confirmed the conspiracy theories pertinent to my situation to be a load of b…lies. The rest doesn’t keep me up at night.”

  “And why did you want to come to D.C.?”

  He’d been prepared for this question. Spies had a reputation for paranoia, and Mikal had worked days and studied nights for four long years to obtain what most would consider a lateral move. “I have family in the area. It’s home.”

  One corner of the warlock’s mouth curved up. But for a few light lines, the man had a smooth, chiseled visage and the complexion of a marble sculpture. “I have a boy your age. He works here, and I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

  Since spending five minutes in this office threatene
d to give Mikal frostbite, he couldn’t blame the man. To avoid insult, he equivocated. “I get along with my younger sister.”

  “But you must prefer New York to here.”

  Mikal shifted in the leather chair designed for discomfort. Two inches closer to the floor than normal, the non-adjustable seat squeaked at his slightest movement.

  Compared to the District’s monotony, the Big Apple was the shiny center of magic, culture, entertainment, and art. But no matter how much fun he had there, none of the experiences seemed complete. Each almost-perfect moment lacked any fulfillment, as if a crucial piece of the kaleidoscopic puzzle had gone missing.

  Though the holidays he’d spent at home had been a boring flurry of home-cooked meals, jogs through the park, and trips to the grocery store, he preferred them to the pale facsimile of contentment he’d achieved in New York. He’d smiled more this morning than he had in months. “On the contrary. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. And from a career standpoint, this is a place where I can make a name. A good number of young witches and warlocks have flocked here, not all of them the kind who’ll stay under the radar. Someone needs to be around to remind them about the consequences—to prevent minor magical accidents from turning into catastrophes.”

  Frost lifted a snow-white eyebrow. “None of those things have happened on my watch.”

  “Yet.” When his future boss squinted, Mikal cleared his throat. “Having to police the city is a drain on Clandestine Affairs’ resources. Your operatives are trained to dig up secrets, not keep a bunch of teenage as—idiots out of trouble.”

  Frost snorted. “Do I look like I have men to spare? Someone’s been keeping kids from blowing things up, but it’s not us.”

  The revelation came as a surprise. Enforcement assumed Frost had been spreading his assets around. For the past couple of years, the low level of serious supernatural crime had been statistically anomalous. “Did you investigate?”

  The warlock placed his elbows on the giant mahogany desk and formed a triangle with his hands. “If some masked bimbo wants to play vigilante for free, I’m not going to stop her. That’s your job. But if you run into the witch, send her my way. I hate female operatives—they end up popping out babies and wasting my time—but having someone around with breasts has its uses.”

  With that sales pitch, Mikal doubted any woman would sign on. He’d noticed the conspicuous lack of female lawyers in the firm, and, according to Council records, the male-to-female ratio among operatives in the CAA hovered around eight to one. Even Enforcement had made more progress with their employment practices.

  “Do you have any more information on this vigilante besides the person’s gender? It would be useful. We’re bound to run into each other.” To be specific, Mikal planned on hunting the chick down and threatening her with an obstruction-of-justice charge. He considered few things more dangerous than untrained civilians running around, pretending to be superheroes. Best-case scenario, they got in the way. Worst-case scenario, they got themselves killed.

  Frost shrugged. “Not much. Late teens or early twenties. Between five-four and five-seven. Non-elemental. Skinny. Brunette. Brown eyes. Hispanic. Mouths off and wears a black-leather eye mask.”

  “Huh.” Ill at ease for a reason he couldn’t quite tease apart, Mikal stored away the information. The description fit several hundred people in the D.C.-Metro area. “I’ll keep an eye out. Anything else I should know before I start?”

  The spymaster drummed his fingers against each other. “You’ve been instructed to carbon copy me on all incident reports and loop me into all ongoing investigations?”

  Working for the Council amounted to 70 percent paperwork, 25 percent meetings, and 5 percent actual work. “Of course.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy. Frost pulled out a drawer, rummaged, and tossed a red envelope onto the desk’s glass surface. “Since I’m stuck with you, here’s your first assignment. Show up there tonight and report back.”

  An Enforcement agent on loan to Clandestine Affairs shouldn’t have to take on additional duties, but an evening’s work seemed a fair price for an olive branch. Besides, the day-job salary he’d be pocketing from Frost and Sons was twice his current pay.

  Pulling out a thick piece of vellum from the crimson sleeve, he read the text out loud as confirmation. “Madame Eve cordially invites you to a one-night stand. Your mystery date will meet you at the Castillo Waterfront Hotel’s New Year’s Eve Party at 10:00 p.m.” Furrowing his brows, he inquired, “You want me to investigate a prostitution ring? This seems like a job for the local cops, unless these are magical escorts. Even then, as long as they’re discreet….”

  Frost scowled. “Who gives a shit about hookers? This is a fact-finding mission. Two employees here, both warlocks, fell victim to this purported dating service. I signed you up before you transferred to see what would happen. If your one true love shows up tonight, then we’re dealing with a run-of-the-mill matchmaker. Nothing I can do about that. If someone attempts to use mind control, you’re trained to detect and resist. Either way, I want to know why some French witch is targeting me.”

  “By fell victim, you mean….”

  “The works.” The warlock’s fist landed on his desk. “Lowered efficiency, more time on the phone, vacation requests, you name it. They’re dropping like flies, and my bottom line is suffering.”

  Mikal wouldn’t categorize two employees finding romance as dropping like flies, but he’d gain nothing from contradicting the man signing one of his paychecks. “So, she’s been going after clandestine operatives?”

  “No, they’re both dimwits with more magic than sense. I wouldn’t recruit them to work for the CAA in a million years.”

  “Okay, then why—?”

  The warlock’s hand met tempered glass. “Spies don’t make me money. They eke out their minimum billings and flit away to stalk fancy dinner parties. Both these victims were attorneys in their prime.” White frost spread from the point of impact to cover the entire surface. “I had a decade of eighty-hour work weeks left in them, but lately they’ve both cut back. My own son’s threatening to quit unless I dial him down to sixty hours. Pah. At the boy’s age, I worked twice that. All this because he wants to spend more time with his new piece on the side—some bimbo he hasn’t even bothered to introduce to his father.”

  Mikal straightened his tie. If he’d been in this kid’s shoes, he would turn in his resignation and move to Bermuda. Frost had better not expect the same lack of work-life balance from him. “I see.”

  The warlock’s liquid-silver eyes glinted. “No, you don’t see. Look, boy, this Council business is well and good, but my first priority isn’t them, it’s my bank account. God knows there’s nothing I can change if they’re fated pairs, but if it’s some sort of brain-addling spell, then I want to bloody undo it—starting with my son.”

  When a soft knock interrupted their chitchat, Mikal heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t care why Frost tasked him to do this. Wild goose chase or not, he planned on filing for overtime.

  Chapter Three

  Dulcina’s grumpy voice crackled over the speaker. “Leo? I thought you guys were on vacation? Did Cat not like the ring?”

  Mikal settled into the creaky rolling office chair. Unlike his boss’s suite, this closet-sized room had no windows, came with a circa 1940s desk, and the computer still ran Windows XP. For reasons he didn’t quite understand, a tape recorder hooked up to a microphone sat next to his keyboard. “Umm…it’s me. Who’s this Leo person?”

  “That’s weird. I swear the Caller ID said Frost and Sons. My phone must be glitching.” She sounded guilty, confirming his suspicion she’d rejected the calls he’d placed on his mobile. Despite her outward surliness, she’d almost bounced with glee when he told her about moving back. Her smile erased several years’ worth of lethargy. She might not know it yet, but he’d come home for her.

  With the demographic tide shifting faster than the Council’s antiquated views
, Enforcement’s presence in the nation’s capital would soon grow to match the influx. He intended to establish seniority by then, putting him in a position to take command. Though he hadn’t lied to her earlier, he’d omitted one key finding. The Council kept tabs on precogs because of their predilection to get into trouble, and the Registry’s intent might be to protect. But both Enforcement and the CAA wouldn’t shy away from embroiling a foreseer in dangerous situations. Coming out of the closet would bring her no harm as long as he had the power to dictate the terms of her involvement. His elemental command hadn’t been mature enough to make the old guard hesitate three years ago.

  It was now.

  “This is Frost and Sons. Are you dating someone here, too?” The thought of her going out with a sleaze-bag lawyer prompted him to scowl at the dusty LCD screen. Though he planned on taking his time getting her to come around, he had no intention of letting another guy swoop in.

  They weren’t just friends—never had been and never would be—and they’d danced around this simple, scary truth for far too long. He didn’t know when things had changed, but sometime over the past dozen years, he stopped seeing her as a second little sister.

  In their teens, her crush on him had been damn annoying. Many a youthful necking session in his parents’ garage had come to an abrupt end when he’d glimpsed a scrawny brown kitten skulking amidst the shelved containers. By his junior year in high school, he’d developed the habit of searching his bedroom before a date showed up, lest he risked a feline voyeur.

  To his relief, she’d matured enough to back off the summer before his senior year. Then he’d left for college, and, with each return visit, the four-year age gap that had seemed like a giant canyon to a seventeen-year-old boy, narrowed to an insignificant pothole.

  His intense attraction to her had smacked him in the head three years before on this very day. The dynamic duo had joined him in the Big Apple to witness the famed New Year’s Eve celebration at Times Square. Having joked about needing someone to lock lips with at the end of the countdown, he and Sweets had made a pact to save each other from loser-dom. When people started yelling numbers, she’d stared up at him with an unmistakable invitation etched on her expressive face. He’d bent his head as she leaned in, the scent of his own shampoo wafting off her sable hair. If an accident hadn’t sent the drink in her hand crashing into his chest, he didn’t know what would have happened when the fireworks went off.