Wicked Words

by M. J. Scott

  "Tell you what. You come by my place about ten tomorrow. We'll see what you can do." I waited to see his reaction. Ten was early enough to be an inconvenience if he was only going to bed at two. He could blow me off if he wasn't keen.

  But he had no hesitation. Another grin spread over his face for a moment before he wrestled it back into a neutral expression. Definitely young, I thought, watching the sparkle in his eyes that betrayed his excitement.

  "Chill. Lizzie's got my tag. Send me your info."

  I nodded. "Tomorrow, then."

  "You got it, TechWitch."

  I restrained myself from rolling my eyes. I wondered what Lizzie had told him about magic. For that matter, I needed to know if he had power. But that conversation could wait. He had a paying customer waiting, and I had to go see if the Cestis were going to make me put my hand in a bowl of magic goo that could potentially kill me.

  Chapter Six

  The journey from Dockside to Nob Hill took less time than I would have liked. My anxiety didn't subside as we put distance between us and the harbor. Instead, I just swapped my anxiety about Dockside for my fear of demon stone, my stress ramping up as each minute took us closer to Ian Carmichael's apartment. By the time we stepped through his front door, I was clammy and once again feeling like I might lose my lunch.

  Ian's apartment still looked like what you might get if a very expensive nineteenth-century Parisian brothel mated with Aladdin's cave. Ian himself looked older than he had nine months ago, his dark hair newly speckled with gray and the lines of his face sharper.

  Regardless of whether I might be responsible for some of that gray, the man had flawless manners, and he automatically started to make polite small talk as he led Lizzie and me to the living room where Cassandra waited with Radha Morgan, the fourth surviving member of the Cestis.

  Radha nodded hello to me, blue eyes cool, but immediately turned her attention to Lizzie, leading her over to one of the silk brocade sofas. She gestured at Lizzie's arm, the champagne beaded earrings she wore glinting against her dark skin as she bent closer and then asked a question I couldn't hear.

  I joined Cassandra. The room was unchanged from my last visit. Enormous fireplace. Expensive art. Elegant rugs. Furniture that was older than anyone in the room. Its centerpiece was the immaculately polished round walnut table.

  But my focus was drawn not by the artistry of the table but by the glowing white ceramic bowl sitting on it. Like the room, it was all too familiar. I knew exactly what it held beneath its warded lid.

  Demon stone.

  Very rare, very expensive, and requiring magical containment. Deadly to demons or those deeply infected with demon taint. Capable of eating through wood, steel, or even hypercrete in a matter of seconds and just keeping on from there. Only magic kept it from devouring the flesh of humans being tested by it or the vessels used to contain it.

  Not the sort of thing to accidentally let loose in a city the size of San Francisco. It would do more damage than any earthquake. Definitely not the sort of thing I wanted anything to do with.

  Because, if a demon was in any way responsible for my magical problems, it might just kill me.

  My vision blurred as I stared at the table, and I blinked furiously. Demon stone had killed Nat in the end. Cassandra and Lizzie had tried to tell me it was the demon, not the demon stone, but I knew better.

  I'd stabbed my best friend with a demon-stone-primed dagger to break her free of possession. It had killed her.

  I had killed her.

  I'd gotten not thinking about that fact too often down to a fine art. But much as it had been when Damon appeared on my doorstep, avoiding it here was kind of impossible. Last time I'd been given the choice between one of the Cestis reading my mind for demon taint or demon stone, I'd chosen demon stone. This time, I didn't think I could.

  The others, at least, gave me the grace of silence as I took several shaky breaths, trying to regain control. When I felt sure I could talk without choking on the words, I turned back to Ian. "Let's start with that reading me thing this time."

  One of his bushy eyebrows lifted. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes." I tried not to shudder at the thought of the bowl behind me.

  "Very well," Cassandra said. "Take a seat. Radha, will you do the honors, please?"

  I pulled out the nearest chair. Radha moved to stand behind me. Lizzie came with her and rested my hand on her good one. "It's okay, I can shield you. She won't see anything you don't want her to see."

  I didn't want her to see anything at all. But that wasn't going to get me anywhere. Radha was better than demon stone.

  "Are you ready, Maggie?" Radha asked.

  No. But I nodded anyway, closing my eyes. Putting it off wasn't going to make it any easier.

  Radha's hands settled at my temples. The perfume she wore, warm and floral, drifted around me. "Just relax," she said.

  Easier said than done. Part of me was braced for an invasion. Part of me was trying to see if I could sense anything of what she was doing, like I had the first time Cassandra taught me to feel the energy fields. But there was nothing. No tingle of energy. No sense of warmth. Just the same dark nothing I'd felt every time I'd tried to light the candle.

  Fuck. What if I was possessed?

  My jaw started to tic. I clenched my teeth harder and tried conjuring up imaginary sheep to frolic across the darkness while the seconds dragged past.

  I got to about fifty of them before Radha said, "She's clear."

  That should have been good news, but I just felt numb. And I was beginning to shiver. I pulled my feet up onto the chair, hoping Ian would forgive my abuse of his antiques, and hugged my arms around my knees.

  "When did she eat last?" Cassandra asked Lizzie.

  "Lunchtime, maybe?" Lizzie said.

  "Does that mean you didn't eat dinner either?" Cassandra said, looking exasperated. "You can't heal if you don't eat."

  Damn. I'd forgotten to feed Lizzie. Though there was food she could manage one-handed in the fridge at home.

  "I had a protein shake," Lizzie said. "I'm fine."

  "I'll send for tea," Ian said. "Then we can talk." He walked across the room and pressed a bell. His assistant/butler/partner—I'd never quite figured out which—stepped into the room, then vanished back out the door after a murmured conversation.

  "No demon taint is good," Lizzie said. She patted my shoulder as she stood.

  "It is," Radha agreed, coming out from behind me, "but it doesn't leave us any wiser about why Maggie can't access her powers." She tugged at one of her earrings, leaning down to peer at my face. "What have you done to yourself?"

  "Don't you know now?" I managed to say through teeth that only chattered slightly.

  "I wasn't looking for that," Radha said. "You didn't give me permission."

  The thought of letting her try again made me shiver again. Dumb when I hadn't felt a thing.

  "You're cold," Lizzie said. "Let me grab you a blanket." She took a couple of steps toward the nearest sofa before she swayed and nearly stumbled. Ian caught her before she could actually fall.

  "Lizzie!" I said.

  Ian scooped her up and deposited her onto one of the sofas as Radha crossed the room in three quick steps.

  Cassandra gestured for me to stay put. "She overdid it, but she’ll be okay.”

  Was that a hint of guilt in her voice? Well, she could join the club. It was hard not to feel like I’d caused this again.

  Radha was hovering over Lizzie, blocking my view.

  "What's going on?" I asked.

  "She'll be fine," Cassandra said as Ian's assistant came back into the room pushing a trolley laden with a china tea service and trays of snacks.

  Cassandra helped him serve tea, ladling sugar into each cup with a heavy hand, as Radha did whatever she was doing to Lizzie. When she finally stepped back, Lizzie was sitting straighter and sipping tea, looking no worse for wear than when we'd arrived.

  Radha accepted a cup,
her expression assessing as she watched Lizzie.

  But Lizzie was apparently in no mood to be fussed over. She let Cassandra pass her a plate of small sandwiches and Ian put a napkin across her lap but then shooed them away irritably with a flap of her good hand.

  Ian said something I didn't quite catch, which made Lizzie first roll her eyes and then smile reluctantly. He settled on the sofa beside her. Cassandra and Radha headed back to me, hemming me in.

  "Now that we know it's not a demon," Cassandra said, "we need to determine what exactly is stopping you from using your magic."

  I knew she was right, but I just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep.

  "Can we talk about it tomorrow?" I said. "I've had a work issue come up. I have a busy day to get through. And I need to get Lizzie home to bed. She obviously still needs to rest."

  "How do you intend to deal with a work problem if you can't do what you do?" Cassandra said.

  "It's not that kind of problem," I said, unwilling to elaborate. I'd asked Lizzie not to mention Damon's visit to the others. Not yet, at least. He didn't need a team of Cestis-approved investigators descending to make sure his issue wasn't related to another demon. Especially not when it seemed my issue wasn't.

  His code had given my demon a way through, so it was likely that any hints of more problems at Riley Arts would spike their interest. I doubted he'd appreciate that. I'd dragged enough trouble into his life so far; I should, at least, attempt not to bring more in my wake now. "Not difficult but very time sensitive."

  The last part was true. I hoped that it wouldn't actually take me long to prove the messages weren't coming from me. Not if Yoshi was as good as Lizzie said.

  "It would still be good to work out a plan to fix you," Cassandra said. "As I said, we could use the help."

  An expression I didn't quite like flickered over Radha's face at that pronouncement.

  "I think it's a mental block," Lizzie called from the sofa. "She needs to want it back badly enough instead of being scared."

  I grimaced at her. "Aren't you supposed to be replenishing your blood sugar or something?"

  She stuck out her tongue, which eased my worry a little.

  "I can replenish and talk about you. I have skills." She saluted me with her teacup.

  "A mental block isn't unheard of," Radha mused. "Maybe we could look her energy meridians, see where—"

  "I'm sure my energy meridians—whatever the hell they are—can wait another day," I said. I'd had my fill of mystical weirdness for one night.

  "Well, there's always the old-fashioned way," Ian said with an evil grin.

  "The old-fashioned way?" I asked.

  "We could summon an imp, see if you can fry it again before it eats you."

  I really hoped that was an attempt at humor. But there was an edge to his words—faint but there—that made me think that maybe Ian, like Radha, wasn't someone I could currently call one of my biggest fans.

  So if two out of the four Cestis members didn't like me, why was Cassandra pushing to get me involved? "Hard pass."

  "No one's summoning anything," Cassandra said crisply. "We have enough going on with without adding to our problems. Lizzie and I will keep working with Maggie."

  I flinched; I couldn't help it. I knew I needed to try, but the thought of magic lessons—particularly ones I failed at—was about as appealing as sticking my hand in the demon stone. "Sure. We can work on that after I sort out this other thing."

  "Wouldn't it make your life easier to fix the magic first?" Cassandra said.

  "I have no idea," I muttered. That much was true. "Besides, I'm hiring an assistant. That'll get me through for a while."

  "An assistant?" Cassandra said. "You didn't say anything about that this afternoon."

  "It was Lizzie's idea," I said, hoping that would stop the other three from interrogating me about Yoshi. "It's just a trial." I wasn't renowned for playing nice with others. It was part of the reason I started my own firm rather than working for one of the big consultancies. I liked things better when I got some say in the rules. Maybe it was a legacy of thirteen years with a mother who was definitely in the my-way-or-get-out camp.

  "Having someone else do the work for you is hardly an incentive for you to solve your problems," Cassandra pointed out.

  "Maybe he'll be really annoying and drive me to it in self-defense."

  "Yoshi's not annoying," Lizzie said.

  "Yoshi Liebfield?" Radha's brows arched.

  "You know him?" I asked.

  "I've met him a few times. He's a good kid."

  Well, that figured. The foundation Lizzie worked for did something with troubled teens. She'd mentioned once that Radha sometimes helped out in the kitchen there. That made sense. Radha struck me as the earth mother type. Feeding Lizzie's strays would be right up her alley.

  Pity she didn't count me as one of Lizzie's strays. She might have liked me more. Then again, I understood why Ian and Radha had their reservations about me. Every time they met me, there were demons and disaster not far behind. In their place, I probably wouldn't like me much either.

  "Yoshi's awfully young," Radha continued.

  "He's good," Lizzie said. "Besides, a job with Maggie is better than a Dockside stall."

  "True," I agreed. "Which is why we need to get home and sleep. We need to be awake when he arrives tomorrow."

  Chapter Seven

  Compared to me, Yoshi looked ridiculously chipper at ten in the morning. I should have known Lizzie would try and foist another morning person on me—if only so she could have company while I staggered around like a zombie trying to wake up. This morning was worse than normal. I didn't know if it was the late night or the two—okay, three—shots of scotch I'd had when I'd gotten home to calm my lingering panic, but I felt distinctly hung over. Just as well that I wasn't heading into work today.

  At least Yoshi wasn't wearing another eye-popping plaid combo, just battered jeans paired with a pinstriped jacket and a button-down shirt. Of course, the jacket was a sludgy green and the shirt was a pale purple, so it wasn't exactly a tame ensemble.

  Or normal for a nineteen-year-old. Then again, I knew nothing about what teenagers were wearing. I'd been holed up in my house for most of a year.

  "This house is chill," he said, swiveling his head from side to side to scope everything out as I ushered him into the kitchen. The chunky glasses were nowhere to be seen, and in the daylight, his eyes were a pale blue-gray that stood out against his dark hair and gold-tinged skin.

  They could be colored contacts, of course, given the lack of glasses—or even a more expensive eye tint—but somehow I didn't think so.

  "It will be when it's finished." Where exactly was he living that my part building site, part wreck of a house seemed cool?

  "It's still chill. I don't get out of the city much." He peered out the kitchen window, which looked over the back garden but also over all the gardens of the other houses that spilled down the hill from where mine perched. "That's a lot of green." He blinked a few times and leaned closer to the window as though snared by the view.

  I frowned at that. Downtown San Francisco was redeveloped, and there'd been a lot of emphasis on making both the streets and the buildings greener. There were small parks, rooftop farms, and green spaces wherever room could be found. If those weren't enough, there was always Golden Gate Park. Only the nastier areas like Dockside were devoid of any vegetation. Note to self: Ask Lizzie where Yoshi lives. "Do you like gardens?"

  "They look pretty," he said. "And growing your own food seems chill. Don't know much about plants though."

  Note to self: Also ask Lizzie what his school situation had been. Even during my high school days, there'd been an emphasis on planting urban gardens and sustainable small crop methods in biology and home sciences.

  "Do you want something to drink? Syncaf or something?"

  "Do you have soda?"

  I nodded toward the fridge. Lizzie usually stocked a variety of carbonated t
hings with or without caffeine, vitamins, lurid coloring, and other ingredients. I stuck to syncaf, water, and juice.

  Yoshi took the invitation to rummage and emerged with something in an acid-green bottle. "So, I guess you want to give me some sort of test?" He cracked open the drink.

  "I guess." I'd spent the morning wondering if I was doing the right thing.

  Maybe it would be smarter to call in a proper security expert. I knew a few. But confiding in any of them risked word getting out that I was losing my touch. My field was niche, but no one was going to pay me if I couldn't do the job. My reputation was what won me work. And reputations could be tanked easily. Of course, Yoshi could rat me out, too. But Lizzie trusted him, so I could at least give him a shot. Because he was here, and available, and I was rapidly running out of time. So, I'd give him a trial and then lock him down with a confidentiality agreement.

  He had seemed eager last night. I hoped it was "I'm not going to screw up a gig" eager rather than "poking around in the TechWitch's systems will be a good story at the game clubs" eager.

  I nodded at the comp panel at the wall. "Did Lizzie tell you I don't have an office right now? So this is my home system. Used to be my office system, so it's solid and has more grunt than your average bear. I've set you up an account. We just need to verify."

  "Chill." Yoshi slurped soda, then went to the control panel on the wall and put his palm on the glass. I stayed quiet while the computer ran through its security routines, adding his voice and palm prints to the system.

  His access was locked down tight, I'd made sure of that, but it still made me nervous to let a virtual—no pun intended—stranger into my system.

  Something I needed to get over fast given I was about to drop the kid in the deep end. I'd considered dummying up something to test him with, but I didn't really have time with Damon's deadline ticking away.

  I'd already spent more time analyzing the data in my logs this morning before Yoshi arrived. Unsurprisingly, I'd found nothing. My system still insisted it hadn't sent anything to Riley Arts since the day I'd submitted my final invoice—for the amount they'd already paid me a few weeks after Nat's funeral.