by M. J. Scott
I shrugged. "Simplest explanation. Guys like you—"
"What the hell does that mean?"
I rolled my eyes. "Don't make me say it. You know what I mean." I meant rich powerful corporate kings. "You make enemies. Business rivals, who hopefully are too smart to email threats. People you've pissed off in life generally—there has to be some of those. And then game heads and employees have to be the biggest pool of possible nutters. Like I said, not that many people knew I worked for you. Fewer still knew that we...." I trailed off. That was another thing I didn't want to spell out.
"Anyway, it seems more likely that an employee would know enough about me to want to try and set me up for whatever this is." It was my turn to lift an eyebrow. "Maybe if you told me more about the messages, I could be more help."
Damon opened his mouth to answer just as the office door opened inward and Cat marched in bearing a tray. She set down two coffees—mine was black, the way I liked it; she might not be on Team Maggie, but she was too good an assistant to get that wrong—and a plate of Danishes.
"Anything else?" she asked.
"No, thanks, Cat." Damon smiled at her and picked up his coffee.
I waited until she'd closed the door again before I reached for mine. Then paused. "Should I assume this is safe to drink?"
Damon's eyes widened, and he swallowed his mouthful fast. Too fast perhaps. He coughed slightly. "Are you suggesting Cat would do something to your coffee?"
"Well, she isn't exactly one of my top fans," I said. "She did a good imitation of an iceberg while I was waiting for you." I shrugged and blew on my coffee. "I don't blame her. She's protective of you. And I caused trouble. I get it."
He frowned. "She doesn't dislike you."
"Oh, you've asked her that, have you? Do you think she'd tell you if she did?”
"She's never been shy about stating her opinion. But she wouldn't poison you."
I snorted. "I was thinking of something less drastic." I inhaled the divine scent of genuine coffee beans and decided I didn't care. "But what the hell. Why waste the good stuff, right?" I took a reverent mouthful and closed my eyes to enjoy it.
When I opened them again, Damon was looking at me strangely. "What?" I said.
Was I imagining things, or was there a faint flush of color in his cheeks? And if there was, why exactly? That seemed to fall under the topic of things that shouldn't be discussed either. I put the cup down and grabbed a Danish, wanting to make the coffee last. It could be a long time before I got to taste it again. "So, are you going to tell me what these messages that have your team so up in arms are? Threats?"
"So they tell me."
"You haven't read them?"
"I read the first couple. Then security stepped in."
"How long has this been going on? "
"Two weeks perhaps?" He wrinkled his forehead as though he was trying to remember.
"Two weeks? Why did it take you so long to tell me?"
"I didn't believe it was you," he said. "But the team started digging. The last month has been a bit of a blur leading up to the launch. Last week, in particular, was madness. I've barely had time to come up for air. Mitch waited until launch day and then insisted we needed to do something. I still didn't think it was you, so that's when I came to see you."
I didn't know whether to be pleased that he trusted me or annoyed that me supposedly giving him death threats was obviously low on his list of priorities. "Launch?" I said, hoping like hell I sounded like I had no idea what he was talking about. I was in no way ready to talk about why the main character in his new game looked like me.
"New game," he said. "The first one since the recall."
Either he had bought my act or he was doing me the courtesy of pretending he had. Still, I wasn't quite sure what to say next. We were straying into dangerous waters again. There seemed to be a lot of them around. But when in doubt, return to a safer subject. If threats supposedly coming for me could be considered safer.
"Interesting timing. Did the messages say anything about the launch? Tell you to delay it or anything like that?" That could narrow it down to someone who'd been affected by the recall.
"No. They didn't make any demands. It isn't blackmail or extortion. At least not yet."
"Just threats. To do what?"
"Well, the ones I read involved me and various painful fates that await me." His mouth flattened. "I'm told they haven't improved."
If that was the case, I couldn't blame him for not wanting to read them. "And how many were there?"
"About ten that first day. There have been batches most days since then."
Batches? How many emails exactly did it take to get your point across if you were making death threats? "Any patterns?"
"I'd have to ask. But I would have thought they'd have looked into it if they'd identified anything. They haven't told me if they did."
"Okay. Just a thought," I said, sipping coffee. I was trying to make it last, I realized, and I had no desire to think too hard about why that was. I didn't really think I could add much to help Damon out that his own teams couldn't already.
He was staring at his own mug as if the black liquid might hold the answers he was looking for. Then he looked up and our eyes locked.
Blue. So goddamn blue.
"Do you think this could be connected to what happened?" he asked.
I almost choked on my coffee. Did he mean the demon? "Honestly? I have no idea."
"Is it possible?"
"I think you need to ask someone who knows more about that stuff than I do," I said. "Is there a reason you think it might be?
"Just trying to cover my bases."
I didn't believe him. He wouldn't be raising the subject of magic with me unless he had something specific to talk about. "Has anything else happened besides the emails?"
"Nothing specific. Cassandra sent someone after...it happened, and apparently there was no sign of anything lingering then."
My eyebrows flew up. That was what he meant by the Cestis being helpful? Mr. I-don't-do-magic had let the witches check things out? "Who did she send?”
He looked vaguely guilty, and I realized it must have been Lizzie. She was no slouch with tech. She gamed, and she'd helped me install our system. She wasn't as good as me or Yoshi—after all, it wasn't her job—but I figured she'd know enough to do whatever the Cestis needed to do to make sure the demon hadn't left any nasty surprises at Righteous. "It was Lizzie, wasn't it?"
"Yes, her and another guy. Not someone from the Cestis. They checked out my house as well. And recommended some healers to work with the beta testers."
I filed that tidbit of information under "things Lizzie had neglected to tell me." But I couldn't blame her. After she'd started randomly checking up on me in those early days after Nat's funeral, I'd made it very clear that Damon Riley was strictly off-topic. In her place, I wouldn't have mentioned him either if I'd been trying to make friends with someone who just wanted to be left alone.
"I can ask them to take another look if you like," I offered.
"Can't you do it?" he asked.
"I wouldn't know where to start. I'm hardly an expert in that...kind of thing."
"I thought you might have studied up after what happened."
"I had a few other priorities," I said. Like avoiding magic as much as possible. Not something I’d admit to him. "You're not the only one who had fallout to deal with."
He grimaced. "I'm sorry. The last nine months have been...not pleasant. Then, yes, please. I would appreciate it if you could talk to Lizzie. My team can look into the employees, the betas, and whoever else they can come up with, but they don't know about magic."
"You didn't tell them exactly what happened?"
"About what was behind it? No. The Cestis said not to. As far as the vast majority knows, there was an unforeseen complication from the static code that adversely affected some users. Which we've fixed now. Mitch knows that magic was involved, but even he doesn't know a
bout the...."
He didn't want to say “demon.” I couldn't blame him. "I see." I wondered if the Cestis had signed off on the new version of the game. But it didn't surprise me that they'd covered things up. They'd covered up Nat's cause of death, too.
I sighed.
So much for getting Damon out of my life.
Hopefully the Cestis would either know what was going on or declare nothing magical was involved. "It will be easier for me to talk to Lizzie if we have the details of the messages."
He nodded and hit his datapad again. "Mitch? I need a complete dump of the emails you've been looking into and any analysis your team has done. Send it to my personal server." He slid the datachip back into the slot in his desk. "And I'll be sending you an analysis of Maggie Lachlan's system. It's clean. And before you start arguing, yes, I trust the source. You need to start looking at other possibilities. Maggie is in the clear."
He disconnected the call. Apparently no arguments were going to be entered into. So that was a relief. Though I wasn't entirely in the clear. I'd been hoping to get in and out with minimal contact, yet I'd already agreed to do the man another favor. I needed to get out of there before I did anything else stupid.
I stood abruptly. "Send that stuff to me. Or send me a datachip. I'll talk to Lizzie."
Chapter Nine
"What do you think he wants us to do?" Lizzie asked me about two hours later. When I'd first arrived home, she'd been napping. Yoshi had left me a message on the house comp saying he'd had to go to another gig and to keep him posted.
I changed out of my “visiting the billionaire ex” outfit that I'd been telling myself I hadn't spent way too much time choosing and wandered out to the kitchen to make myself syncaf—ugh—and then do some planning. But Lizzie had joined me. So I started making grilled cheese and talking instead.
She perched on a stool near the counter and yawned as I told her what had happened. Until I got to the part about him wanting the Cestis to check things out for him.
Then she got focused fast. Hence the question.
"I don't know," I said, poking the grilled cheese with a spatula to see if it was ready. "I guess whatever it was you did for him last time." I raised my eyebrows at her as I flipped the sandwich out onto the waiting plate.
Lizzie pulled it toward her. "Don't wriggle your eyebrows at me. You were very clear that you wanted nothing to do with Damon or Cestis business at the time. If I'd told you about it, you would have gone through the roof. Besides, I was just doing my job. It didn't take very long. It wasn't as though I was hanging out with the guy."
No. Because she'd been busy hanging out with me in those first few weeks after Nat died and Damon bailed. Yes, she'd disappeared for "work" a few times, but I'd been a mess huddled on my sofa watching mindless old movies and trying to remember how to breathe.
"I didn't say anything," I muttered.
"Good. I won’t apologize for doing my job. Or for choosing your peace of mind over total honesty." She bit into the sandwich as I put the one I was making for myself into the skillet.
"You don't have to," I said. I sighed. "I owe you an apology though. I'm pretty sure I was an asshole most of the time when you first moved in."
"You had your moments," Lizzie agreed. "But grief sucks, and you had good reason to be off your game. You still do. So apology accepted." She wiped sandwich grease off her fingers. "Did he say why he thinks there's something magical going on?"
"No, he just said he wanted to cover all bases."
"Did you believe him?"
I hesitated, prodding the sandwich again. "I'm not sure. I'd like to think he wouldn't lie to me, but who knows? Or he might not be lying. He might just not be able to admit to himself that something has him spooked."
"Sounds like someone else I know," Lizzie said.
"I told him you were hurt and that he'd have to wait a few days."
"And he was okay with that?"
"They have other avenues to pursue," I said. I flipped the sandwich over. "And he's in the middle of a launch. Things must be crazy right now."
"I guess. Archangel is number one on all the charts, so it seems to be going well." She fixed me with a curious look. "Did you ask him about it?"
"Did I ask my ex-boyfriend who hates magic about why there's a character in his new game who looks like me? No. I'm not a masochist. I don't want to know."
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Lizzie chanted softly.
"Shut up and eat your sandwich." I tipped mine onto the plate and put the skillet in the sink, too hungry to stop and clean it. The few bites of Danish felt like a long time ago, and my appetite was back now that I was over the nerves about meeting Damon.
We both ate in silence for a while. Lizzie looked better than she had yesterday, but she was still pale. Whatever it was Damon needed, he could definitely wait. She needed to rest for a few days. And refuel. Magical healing burned lots of calories. She was already wiping the last crumbs of her sandwich off her plate with a finger.
"Do you want another—" I broke off as the housecomp began to chime. I frowned toward it. "Are we expecting anyone?" I asked Lizzie.
"No. Yoshi said he'd check back later, but I assumed he meant he'd call."
"Identify," I said to the housecomp.
"Cassandra Tallant," the electronic voice came back, sounding somewhat bored.
I looked at Lizzie. "Been adding to the guest list, have we?"
She shrugged. "I didn't want any of them triggering an alarm when they came to help with the wards."
"Is that why she's here now?"
"I don't know," Lizzie said. "Probably checking up on me." She sounded irritated. "Better go let her in. She doesn't like to be kept waiting."
There didn't seem to be an alternative. I'd asked for a day or two to sort out my issue with Damon before we got back to the issue of where my magic had gone. It seemed I wasn’t going to get it.
"Hi," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic as I opened the door.
"Hello, Maggie." Cassandra handed me a plate of something wrapped in a daisy-patterned sil-wrap. From the smell wafting up from it, I'd have to guess it was chocolate chip cookies. If Cassandra kept this up, I’d be 95 percent cookie before all this was over.
"I was in the neighborhood," she said.
That might have been true, but I doubted this was a casual visit. "You want to see Lizzie? She's in the kitchen." I waved behind me, indicating the general direction. Was this going to be life now that I'd broken my “no contact with the Cestis” rule?
"And how is whatever problem it was you had to deal with?" Cassandra said as I caught up with her.
Her tone suggested that she definitely didn't think I should take too long to find a solution. But I wasn't ready to just hand myself over so she could put me through my magical paces until something cracked and my magic came back.
"I'm heading in the right direction," I said, hedging. It might be easier to let Lizzie tell her Damon had asked for help. I pushed open the kitchen door, relieved to see Lizzie still at the table, calmly peeling an orange. "Cassandra brought cookies," I said, holding up the plate.
Lizzie smiled at that. "Cookies are good." She glanced at Cassandra. "Let me guess, you were just in the neighborhood?"
"Exactly. And now that I'm here, you can tell me how you're feeling."
"You could have just called." Lizzie rolled her eyes.
"I can't see your energy field on a call," Cassandra said. "Which means I can't tell if you're lying to me."
"I'm fine," Lizzie said. "No need to lie. My arm’s still sore, and I'm definitely going to take another nap this afternoon, but I'm fine. It was only a fracture. You should all chill."
Cassandra watched her closely as she spoke, her big golden brown eyes narrowed. But apparently whatever she saw in Lizzie's energy field didn't contradict what Lizzie was saying, because she just nodded after a few moments and said, "That's good. We need you back up and running."
"More importantly, I ne
ed to get back to work. It's one of our busy times."
Cassandra wrinkled her nose. "Evie understands what you do for us."
"Yes she does," Lizzie agreed. "But I also understand what she does for the kids out there. So I don't want to leave her in the lurch right now."
Evie London, I knew, was Lizzie's boss. I hadn't known she knew about Lizzie's other job. Did that mean she was a witch, too? I was still hazy on exactly what the foundation Evie ran did. I knew it involved teenagers, and that Lizzie worked in "philanthropy management". That seemed to be a fancy name for fundraising. Obviously the Cestis took up a chunk of her time, too. I'd never been brave enough to ask if that was a paid position. I imagined it had to be. Ian was the only one whose lifestyle confirmed him to be actually rich. Though, to be fair, I hadn't actually seen Cassandra's house, just the store.
Radha worked as a healer, though, from what I'd gathered, that could be a vocation for witches as well as a job. The sort of thing you did even if you didn't need the money.
Lizzie contributed her half of the bills and groceries every month without complaint. I didn't charge her rent. I owned the house, even if it was a wreck, and the help she was giving me with the rebuild was worth more to me than a rent check would be.
I didn't know if there was a third job in there somewhere, but she didn't seem to lack for money. Though I was starting to feel bad for not knowing. Sure, I'd had a lot on my mind for the nine months, but exactly how self-absorbed had I been that Lizzie and I had never really talked about her job?
She and Cassandra were watching each other silently across the table. It was a little disconcerting to see them at odds. Usually Lizzie was easygoing. She wasn't a doormat, and she spoke up when she wanted to, but in the Cestis, Cassandra ran things. Maybe being injured made her cranky.
"Speaking of work," Lizzie said just as I was starting to rack my brain for something to say before the silence got too weird, "Damon Riley has asked us to do another sweep."
Cassandra turned to me. "When did you see Damon?"
"Why do you assume it was me? Lizzie did whatever a sweep is for him last time, didn't she?"
