by Jaye Wells
I raised my chin because I’d danced this dance before. I knew all the right moves. “That won’t be a problem.”
A slow smile spread across her lipstick-free lips. “Good.” With that, she got out of her chair and flung open the office door. “Morales!”
A few seconds later the dick from earlier appeared in the doorway. He slid me a smirk before raising his brows at his boss. “What’s up?”
“Round up the team. We’ve got crimes to solve.”
* * *
Morales wasted no time getting down to business. Without sparing me a glance, he walked back out the door. “Round up!” he called to the others.
Gardner passed me to follow him out. “Well? Come on.”
I blew out a sigh and followed. The sooner we got the formalities out of the way, the sooner we could get moving on the case.
We all gathered by the entrance of the makeshift lab I’d spied earlier. Well, “lab” was a generous term for what was basically a long table and a counter with cabinets overhead. The shelves were filled with various herbs and liquids—all neatly labeled. Bunsen burners flickered under glass beakers with simmering liquids of varying colors and viscosities on the counter. It had been a long time since I’d entered another wizard’s lab. Despite the bare-bones setup, I still experienced a little quickening in my veins. My eyes eagerly inspected the liquids, identifying most from scent or color. The rest I couldn’t name without further inspection, but I wasn’t about to do that until I was invited to do so. First rule of visiting another Adept’s lab: Don’t touch without permission. Usually this was as much a safety precaution as just good manners, and for me it was also self-preservation. Just being this close to the apparatus was making my palms itch.
I glanced toward the window and saw that the wizard’s view was a large billboard rising high above the freeway a couple blocks over. It advertised a new self-tanning elixir from Sortilege, Inc., that no one in the Cauldron could afford. Clearly the picture of a young blond woman playing on the beach was meant for the Mundane commuters who zoomed through the Cauldron on their commute to the suburbs.
Now that the team was gathered again, the jokey, hazing atmosphere had been forgotten entirely.
Gardner jerked her thumb toward me. “You’ve met Officer Prospero.”
I bit my tongue since I wouldn’t exactly describe the scene earlier as an introduction.
“The Cauldron’s her beat,” she continued. “I’ve invited her on the team because of her extensive knowledge of the covens and their key players. Officially she’s a consultant, but as far as we are all concerned she’s as much a full member of this squad as any of us. Is that clear?”
I blinked at her public support after the warnings she’d just delivered in her office.
The guy with the dreads shot me an impish smile. Gardner pointed to Morales. “I believe you caught Special Agent Morales’s name when you arrived.”
I nodded. “Hey.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s up?”
“Morales is second in charge around here. If I’m not available you take your cues from him.”
“Okay,” I said. Inside, however, I was thinking, Oh shit. The shit-eating grin he shot me confirmed my concern that he wasn’t done with the hazing.
“That’s Shadi Pruitt,” Gardner continued. “She was recruited into the MEA from Detroit PD. She’s our surveillance expert.”
The female jerked her chin up in greeting.
“Agent Pruitt,” I said.
“Shadi,” she corrected. Her tone wasn’t combative, exactly, but she was definitely sending off a vibe that our shared gender didn’t make us automatic allies.
“And this,” Gardner continued, “is Kichiri Ren.”
The other guy came forward and held out his left hand. “They call me Mesmer.”
“Mesmer?”
“Mez, for short.” He nodded back knowingly. “I’m the team wiz. You need a protection amulet or magical weapon, I’m your man.”
“He’s a magical bad ass.” Shadi winked at him. “Right, Mez?”
He shrugged, but his smirk was self-assured. “I try.”
Gardner decided the social hour was over. “Any hits on the blood sample yet?” she asked Mesmer.
“Yeah, about that,” Mez hemmed. “There’s some bad news and some bad news.”
“Start with the bad.” Gardner leaned a hip against the counter.
“I’ve never seen anything like this in a dirty alchemy potion before. It’s got some elements I haven’t identified yet.”
“Because you can’t?” Gardner asked.
“Don’t insult me.” Mez rolled his eyes. “I will be able to identify every component—it just takes some time. It’d be easier if we could get a sample of the potion off the street to break down.”
“What’s different about it?” I asked.
He looked up as if he’d forgotten I was there. “In addition to the antimony, there’s also oil of rose quartz.”
My eyebrows slammed down. “You’re sure?” Oil of rose quartz was a distillation often used by alchemists to improve physical stamina. It was even thought to make men more virile, which is why the Big Magic companies used it in erectile-dysfunction potions.
“Why?” Shadi asked.
I glanced at her. “Most street wizards use down-and-dirty ingredients to cook. Their potions have more in common with moonshine or a meth lab than a true alchemical potion,” I explained. “They prefer quick and cheap so they can turn a faster profit.”
“It’s kind of like alchemy’s redneck cousin,” Mez added. “But oil of rose quartz of this quality is not cheap to come by, and even if a wizard saves money by brewing it himself it’s pretty time consuming.” He turned and looked at me, clearly enjoying talking to someone who spoke his language. “But that’s not all—there’s also blood.”
Shadi raised her hand. “And that’s bad why?”
“Most wizards from the alchemical tradition won’t touch blood potions,” I said. “They think it’s the dirtiest kind of magic.”
“But alchemy’s dirty, too,” Morales said, coming closer.
“It’s one of those weird hierarchy things,” I said. “The street alchemists see themselves at the top of the food chain, magically. Sex and blood magic are bastardized from other magical traditions, so alchemists consider those potions beneath them.”
My fingers itched to get a hold of a sample of Gray Wolf. Unfortunately, even if we had a sample and I somehow overcame my aversion to using magic, the fact remained that the courts had deemed evidence gathered through magical means inadmissible. Still, part of me wished that shortcut was available to us because I had a feeling getting the evidence through conventional means was going to be a pain in the ass.
“Keep working on it,” Gardner said to Mez. “Let us know what you find out. Soon.”
The wizard nodded.
“Shadi?” Gardner prompted. “Any leads on your end?”
“I hit all the apartments that looked down on that alley where Harkins killed the vic. People ain’t talkin’ as usual.”
“Keep trying. I want to know if Harkins knew the vic or if he just attacked at random. You find out anything about who she was?”
“Her name was Jessica Sprote. She was on her way to work.” She glanced down at her notebook. “She’s a cleaning lady at Volos Towers.”
My head jerked up. “Really?”
“What?” Gardner said.
Part of me wanted to keep the whispers I’d heard about Volos’s involvement close to my vest. But in the end, I accepted that if I was going to prove myself good enough to stay on this team, I’d have to start sharing intel. “Not sure it’s solid. Lots of people work in Volos Tower.” I shifted on my feet and crossed my arms. “But John Volos’s name has been cropping up ever since I killed Harkins. He’s got the mayor and the chief convinced he’s gone straight, but no one at the street level believes it.”
“Wait,” Morales said, “is
n’t Volos the hotshot land developer?”
I nodded. “Yeah. He grew up in the Cauldron, though. He was Abe Prospero’s right hand.” I didn’t add that he’d gained that position once I’d walked away. “He’d certainly be capable of cooking a potion like this.”
I waited for someone to question me about sharing a last name with the former leader of the covens, but no one did. That meant they’d probably already been briefed on my background, which, frankly, was a relief.
“But you don’t think it’s him?” Morales asked.
“Not likely,” I admitted. “Volos is an alchemist, sure—a talented one. But I can’t wrap my mind around a motive for him. He’s already got money and power. Why screw up his sweet position as Babylon’s golden boy with a dirty potion?”
“Just because we can’t think of a motive doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist,” Morales countered.
I nodded. “Sure.”
“We shouldn’t rule anyone out at this point,” Gardner said. “But I’m inclined to agree that it’s too soon to focus our lens too tightly on Volos.”
Morales nodded, but I could see his detective instincts filing away that conversation for later use. He turned to Shadi. “What about the blueprints of the Arteries?”
I raised my brows to Gardner—a silent request to be brought up to speed.
“Since Harkins was trying so hard to get there, we thought he’d probably already been in the tunnels. Maybe someone saw something.”
I snorted. “No offense, sir, but even if someone saw him questioning the tunnel rats it wouldn’t help much. Between them all, they don’t have ten brain cells left to rub together.”
“Still,” she said, “it’s an angle I intend to pursue.”
I nodded and shrugged. “Of course.”
Shadi sucked at her teeth. “Gettin’ the runaround down at the department of records.”
“Who you talking to down there?” I asked.
She pulled out her notepad and flipped through a few pages. “Guy by the name of Stewart.”
“Ah,” I said. “You need to go through his assistant instead. Her name’s Nancy and she’s a sweetheart if you use your polite words.”
“Thanks,” she grunted. She turned to Gardner. “On that note, I’m heading back to the hall of records before I go back for more interviews.” She snatched a few ampoules off Mez’s workbench. “You mind if I take a few of these protection shots?”
Mez shot her a look. “What happened to the doses I gave you last week?”
“It’s a dangerous world out there.”
“Hmm.”
With that Shadi pocketed the vials. As she walked away, she said, “Thanks for the tip, Prospero.”
Once she was gone, Gardner turned toward Morales. “All right, that leaves you two,” she said to us. “Any idea where to start tracking down Bane’s involvement?”
I did an inner high five with myself for having the forethought to talk to Little Man. “A bar called the Green Faerie on Exposition. I have intel that indicates a dealer might be dispensing Gray Wolf from there.”
Morales crossed his arms and shot me a dubious look. “Where’d you get this intel?”
I shrugged. “I got a source.” I was willing to share intel, but I was too protective of my CIs to hand LM’s name over. If they wanted to use my sources, they needed to keep me around.
“How reliable is this source?” Gardner asked.
“Reliable enough to bring it up to you.”
“Morales, you have any leads?” she asked.
His jaw clenched. “No, sir.” A chill filled the space between him and me. Guess he didn’t like the new girl showing him up.
Gardner’s eyes narrowed as she considered her options. “All right. You two check it out. Let me know what you come up with.”
“Probably nothing,” Morales said under his breath. To me, he turned and snapped, “Well?”
I smiled sweetly. “After you.”
Chapter Ten
On the dark side of Exposition Boulevard, a discreet green door sat in a red brick wall. Over that, a small, faded sign depicted a faerie with green wings. The Green Faerie—a whimsical name for an establishment that catered to some of the most dangerous magical criminals in all of Babylon.
The club used to be an old speakeasy dating back to the dark decade in the twenties when the US government tried to outlaw alcohol during Prohibition. Little had Uncle Sam known that magic would pose a far greater threat to the moral fabric of America than alcohol ever could. Unfortunately it took another four decades for that lesson to hit home and by then it was too late to close Pandora’s box.
You didn’t need a password or secret handshake to enter the club these days, but it was probably a good idea to have a gun or other weapon easily accessible.
As it stood, Morales and I weren’t planning on entering the club, since they’d smell the bacon on us the minute we crossed the threshold. Instead, our goal was to watch the perimeter for any of the usual suspects or signs of deals.
“Gardner seems like a real ballbuster.” My tone was conversational instead of accusatory. We’d been sitting in the car for more than an hour without much conversation and I was getting antsy.
Morales lowered his sunglasses, performed a leisurely once-over of my person, and smiled. “Takes one to know one, right, Prospero?”
“Suppose so.” I shrugged. “It’s a common enough act for most female cops.”
He pushed his glasses back up on his nose before answering. “Gardner’s not acting. I haven’t verified this, mind you, but I’d bet money she’s hiding an impressive pair of stones in those panty hose.”
I grimaced at the mental image this conjured. “What’s her story?”
“All you need to know about Gardner is she’s good, real good. Fair unless you cross her and she has a long memory. So don’t fuck up.” With that he seemed to dismiss me entirely in favor of reading the magazine in his lap.
“What are you reading?”
He sighed and held up the magazine. Trigger Happy was a rag that catered to men who enjoyed looking at pictures of well-endowed women holding guns.
“Nice,” I said, my tone arid.
He shrugged. “Read it for the articles.”
I rolled my eyes, but I wasn’t offended. The magazine was a regular fixture in the coed locker room at the station. If you overlooked the centerfolds of silicon-inflated bimbos licking AK-47s, they had some decent features on the latest trends in Mundane weaponry. However, I noticed Morales kept skipping the pages covered in text in favor of the ones filled with boobs and ballistics.
As I watched, I noticed for the first time that his left hand was badly scarred. The scars webbed across his wrist and knuckles like melted wax. I cringed inwardly as I imagined the pain he must have gone through. The urge to ask where they came from was strong, but I figured I’d save myself the time. Guys like Morales weren’t big on discussing anything that made them seem vulnerable. Plus, he didn’t seem real eager to bond with me anyway.
I dragged my gaze from the hand to look outside. The corner was quiet, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t stay that way long. “You done many of these?”
“Hmm?” He didn’t look up.
“Stakeouts.”
He sighed as if I were a five-year-old who asked too many questions.
“Hey,” I said. He ignored me.
I grabbed the magazine. His head jerked up and a fierce scowl was suddenly aimed at me. “What the fuck?” he snapped.
“I was talking to you.”
“So?”
I jerked my chin up. “You got a problem with me, Morales?”
He chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, I got a problem, Cupcake.”
“Well?”
He sat up straighter. “Look, I can tell you’re ambitious, and that’s great. But don’t be getting your hopes up that we’re going to be real partners or anything.”
I blinked once, twice. Finally, I said, “Let me get this straight: You’re
being a dick because you don’t want me to get too attached to you?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Something like that.”
“Get over yourself. This isn’t a fucking date. I’m here to do my job. For the record, I’ve worked for five years without a partner and that suited me just fine. But if Gardner wants us to work together to get the job done, then we’ll have to make the best of it. Starting with you never calling me ‘Cupcake’ again.” I tossed the magazine back to him. “Asshole.”
He stared at me with a poker face for a good five seconds. Then he lifted the magazine and started “reading” again without another word. But he was smiling like he was amused, so that was something.
I sighed and resumed my surveillance of the corner. Luckily, a bum limped on the far side of the building and distracted me from being irritated with the knucklehead next to me. The bum’s skin had the jaundiced cast of a man addicted to a greed potion. Poor bastards took the stuff hoping the potion would help them win the lottery or get a raise at work. First time, the potion usually worked. They’d find a twenty on the sidewalk or win ten bucks on a scratch-off ticket. Barely enough to cover the cost of the potion, but enough to make them go back for more on the chance they’d get even more money next time.
Wasn’t long before the potion started working on them from the inside. Large, yellow warts would sprout all over their skin. Even as the outward symbols of their greed appeared, their money—what was left of it—disappeared down the black hole of the Cauldron. Eventually, their addictions would take away everything: their houses, their families, their jobs. Most ended up digging in trash for aluminum cans to sell so they could buy their next hit, hoping this next time they’d finally get lucky.
Unlike Mundanes, Adepts rarely became addicted to potions. Some did, but since we could manage the magical energy better it rarely changed how we looked. Instead, Adepts who cooked dirty became slaves to the two Ps: Power and Profit.
That’s why I knew street wizards like John Volos never fully got out of the game. He had plenty of money through different sources, but he’d always be addicted to magic’s power.
