Smoke and Mirrors

by Jess Haines

  She opened her mouth, maybe to argue. He held up a hand, forestalling whatever she was about to say.

  “Seeing as your professor was not so forthcoming as yourself, you’ve caught me unprepared to deal with your request.”

  Kimberly closed her eyes for a brief moment as though to pray, and then opened them. She pressed her lips together and let a slow breath out through her nose in a quiet sigh before she nodded, resigned.

  “Come back tomorrow evening. Same time. Bring me another coffee.”

  He had to remind himself that he was buying time for himself, not granting her wish yet. The spark of barely suppressed joy that lit her from within at those simple words of his shouldn’t have meant a thing. Yet, a chill that had long settled over his heart melted just a little to bask in the sunny smile she turned on him; so much warmer than the fog of fear and despair she’d been carrying like a cloak.

  Tomorrow. That should be enough time for him to prepare counter-spells to negate her illusions, fascinating though they were. He wanted to question her again when she had no way of hiding her emotions from him or altering his perceptions. Without scent cues and with the possibility that she was only projecting what she wanted him to see, he couldn’t be sure she was telling the complete truth. He wasn’t about to ask her what she expected to give the dragon in return for its services or how long she intended to keep it bound without knowing with certainty that she meant what she said.

  He also needed to speak to Eleanor to confirm whether his theory about what had possessed her to send Kimberly to him was correct. And, more importantly, find out what was in it for him.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Hunter,” Kimberly said.

  “Don’t thank me yet.”

  He hadn’t yet decided if she had bought herself a golden ticket out of all her troubles or a ringside seat to her own downfall.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Kimberly declined the cab Cormac offered to call, lying through her teeth when she said it wasn’t much of a walk back to her apartment. Judging by his snort and narrowed eyes, she didn’t think he believed her, but there was no way she could afford a cab ride back to her rent regulated apartment. The slip with the sage was bad enough. Figuring out how to pay for another drink for him tomorrow was making her stomach roll, so she focused on putting one foot in front of the other and making her way home.

  Once Cormac saw her out, she waited until she was about half a block away to bend the light and shadows in her vicinity to make herself nearly invisible to any other passersby on the street. A two mile trek home through the heart of New York City in the middle of the night wasn’t safe for anyone. Unlike most, she had the ability to keep herself hidden from the eyes of predators lurking in the dark, human or Other. Exhaustion made her concentration slip now and again, her wavering image appearing in puddles or reflected on windows, but her twist on an invisibility spell kept her safe from most of the denizens of the night prowling for an easy mark.

  Head down and hands pocketed, she spent a good portion of the walk thinking about Cormac Hunter.

  She wasn’t sure what to make of the guy. There were times when she was positive those strange blue eyes had seen right through her illusions, cutting through the image she portrayed of a polished, if ordinary, student to see the coffee-stained, ragged, rumpled ragamuffin underneath. Whatever he saw, he didn’t make her feel like she was being judged. More like coveted, though she couldn’t put her finger on why.

  Not to mention how her heart did a funny little leap in her chest at the memory of his smile.

  What help he might be able to give still eluded her, but for the first time in weeks, some of the panic and pressure of the looming end to her time at Blackhollow was lifting. She wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath, inhaling the lingering scents of incense on her skin and smog-tainted city air. A weight she hadn’t realized was dragging her down had faded, making the world around her a little brighter, somehow.

  Not to mention making enough room in her chest for a butterfly flutter of excitement at seeing Cormac take residence where the ever present knots of stress used to be.

  By the time she reached her apartment building, it was nearing midnight, and she was dead on her feet. Swaying with exhaustion, she stumbled up the uneven steps to punch in the security code. Then entered the code a second time when one of the buttons got stuck.

  Down came the illusion. Up three flights of stairs she went. Then five doors down on the left. The hall still smelled like dog pee. Her next door neighbors on the right, Charlie and Zack, must not have finished cleaning up that morning after their daschund, Schlong, and his latest “accident” in front of the apartment of his nemesis, Princess the not-exactly-purebred Persian.

  Taking shallow breaths through her mouth, as soon as she got past the third lock on the door, she lurched inside.

  “Mom? Are you home?”

  Nobody answered. She tossed her backpack into the hall and then shut the door behind her, closed her eyes, and leaned her back against it as she slowly sank down to sit on the floor.

  A TV’s constant, distant mumble filtered through the walls. Somewhere, a kid was crying that it was not bedtime. And a surly growl had her eyes popping open, searching the dark hall and what she could see of the living room until she spotted the eerie yellow-green luminescent eyes glaring at her from the shadows between the milk crates that made up their coffee table.

  “Can’t I have five minutes without someone getting pissed at me? Just five. That’s all I’m asking,” Kimberly said to no one in particular, then groaned as she heaved herself back to her feet. At the cat’s insistent meow, she hushed him. “I know you’re hungry, I’m coming. Hold your horses.”

  Kicking off her sneakers, she locked the door, dragged her backpack behind her, and flicked on the kitchen lights. After a brief delay, the fluorescent track lighting flickered to life.

  There was a note from her mom on the counter.

  Working late tonight. Food for Monster on the counter. Don’t stay up too late. Rent due in four days.

  Aside from the note, nothing. A niggle of panic for her mother’s safety was beaten back by closing her eyes, taking a series of deep, gulping breaths, and reminding herself that it was too soon for anyone to take a shot at her family. She hoped.

  Kimberly couldn’t be everywhere at once. Logic dictated any attacks would be directed at her, and they would more than likely happen at school between classes. Maybe after school let out, when she was on her own and away from the watchful eyes of the dean and teachers.

  In between everything else on her plate, she’d have to find the time to cook up some protective spells in some form that her mother could carry around.

  Trying not to think about all the horrible things that could happen to her mom without her around to keep her safe, she put her backpack on the counter and then checked the refrigerator, which was just as empty as it had been when she left that morning. Nothing in the fridge but a few condiments in the door. The freezer had a bag of spinach and an empty box of Lean Cuisine. With a deep sigh, she tossed the box, got herself a glass of water, then poured the Ziploc baggie of cat food into a dish for Monster as he complained at her slow pace so loudly that the upstairs neighbor thumped something heavy a few times.

  “Sorry!” she shouted, then shushed the cat again as she put his food on the floor.

  The big Maine Coon arched his back and butted up against her legs, nearly knocking her off her feet on his way to his dish. Then he took a swipe at her when she dared give his back a little pat.

  “Asshole cat,” she muttered, leaving him to his meal.

  While pouring the cat’s food, she had noticed her hands were still shaking. The weakness in her limbs wasn’t just exhaustion. Digging through her backpack, she pulled out the bag of sweets, the rosettes, and the orange she’d swiped from school. Aside from the banana scarfed down during a break at Allegretto’s, she hadn’t eaten since lunch. Her stomach growled so loud when she caught whi
ff of the pastries that the cat stopped eating long enough to give her a surly stare.

  Sipping her water, she leaned against the counter and half-heartedly picked the skin off the orange, eating a slice at a time despite her gnawing hunger. As soon as the last slice was gone, she took apart the rosette with a bit more gusto. The bread practically melted in her mouth, the flavors of thyme and butter exploding over her tongue. Don might have been a thoughtless prick sometimes, but damn, the man knew how to cook.

  Though she was sorely tempted to polish off a second rosette, she took one out for her mom and left it on the counter, then knotted the bag and tucked the last one into her backpack. She had no such compunction about leaving all the sesame and rainbow cookies, which she didn’t care for, while pulling out the remaining biscotti, chocolate-dipped wafers, and the lone cannoli for herself.

  Fruit, bread and cookies. The dinner of champions.

  She headed to the lone bedroom, dragging her backpack with her, pausing along the way to pick up the shredded remains of a scarf that had previously hidden the cigarette burn in the left arm of the couch and re-drape it as best she could.

  Both beds were still unmade from that morning. She collapsed facedown into her own, groaning into the pillow at the relief to be off her aching feet. It would have been wonderful to simply lie there, but when she dropped the illusion on her clothing, she got a good whiff of herself. Parfum de sour coffee and sweat made her nose wrinkle.

  With another heartfelt groan, she rolled out of bed, undressed, took a quick shower, then brushed her teeth and threw on an old T-shirt and pair of gym shorts. It was nearing 1AM, and the other bed was still empty.

  It had to be a late shift. Nothing more serious than that.

  Had to be.

  Sinking back onto the bed with a low squeal of bedsprings, she stared at the bedside clock blankly. Then reached out a hand to touch a phantom image of her mother she’d conjured.

  Unlike those she summoned illusions to fool, she could always see through her own creations, no matter how much effort she put into them. The ghost of a touch from the slender fingers twining with hers lingered, but it was more a tingle of her own magic prickling over her skin to tell her she’d made contact with her construct than like anything solid and real.

  “I’m proud of you,” a whisper in a familiar voice told her, and she almost believed the illusory smile.

  “I wish that was true.”

  The phantom said nothing.

  Jerking her hand away, Kimberly dismissed the illusion, turned off the lights, and drew the covers up to her chin, using them to wipe away the dampness on her cheeks.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Cormac hardly waited for Kimberly to set foot beyond his threshold before he had snapped his wards back up to full power and strode with purpose to his office above the store.

  He had purchased the building decades earlier, entrenching himself in the heart of the city, much to the irritation of the local powers-that-be. The master vampire of New York, Alec Royce, had once attempted to bribe him to move on to greener pastures. Since that meeting, not a single Other in the city—and perhaps quite a distance beyond that—had made any effort to oust or accost him.

  Knowing his reputation, the magi usually kept a healthy distance. Perhaps it had been too long since the last example had been set, he thought. Eleanor should have known better than to meddle in his affairs.

  Taking the stairs two and three at a time, he slashed a hand through the air as he reached the top of the stairwell, cutting a path through another layer of unseen protective spells and wards. The previously invisible glyphs etched into the thick wood burst into a fierce red glow, casting strange, dancing shadows against his pale skin and on the walls. Once he passed through, the wards sealed behind him with an audible crack of expanding, superheated air.

  Candles set on candelabras of all sizes lit themselves as he passed, illuminating the massive, open chamber. A pair of heavy leather chairs flanked a large couch facing the plasma TV hung over the fireplace. Oak tables in a variety of sizes dotted the room. At the opposite end, floor-to-ceiling casement windows gave a view of the street below.

  There were no bookshelves. No magazines. No DVD racks, artwork, or other distractions to be found, greatly at odds with the clutter downstairs.

  He went straight to the kitchen. He’d had it redone recently. The bulk of the electronic gadgets baffled him, but he rarely used the space for more than storing food in the fridge. The phone on the island in the center had a short list of phone numbers written on a pad next to it. The paper was yellowing and curling, but the writing was still legible.

  He dialed the fourth phone number on the list, fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm on the limestone countertop.

  Within a few rings, there was a click, followed by a familiar voice. “I was wondering when you would call.”

  “You know very well,” he ground out, “how much I detest games like this. Why did you send her to me?”

  “She deserves help.”

  “You’ve never been known for your charitable contributions to the less fortunate. What’s in it for you?”

  “Maybe I have a soft spot for the girl. She reminds me a great deal of myself when I was her age.”

  He waited, knowing there had to be more to it than that.

  Eleanor didn’t disappoint him. The moment the silence bordered on uncomfortable, she told him the real reason. “She also needs someone who can guide her, both morally and magically, once she realizes just how much power she has. Her skill set is valuable if she can learn to work with others and keep her pride in check.”

  “She’s in a bloody school full of magi brought up to hate everything she is, all learning the same spellcraft she doesn’t have a prayer of mastering. They’ll never learn how to work with her and most likely more than a few of your own coven want to see her dead. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

  “I don’t think you understand, Cor. She lives with her human mother in the projects. Won’t leave her side. And the other kids avoided her until now since they assumed she’s nothing more than a half-blood. I’ve heard the things they call her in the halls and when they think the teachers aren’t paying attention. She needs someone to lean on who won’t put up with her attempts to sidestep protocol, and someone who can keep her and her mother safe until I can convince the rest of the coven she’s worth having.”

  He harrumphed, the immediate edge of his anger taken off by the admission. The projects? Most magi would conjure up a fortune or the appearance of one for themselves if they didn’t find a way to earn money on their own. Living with the human half of her parentage explained the ratty shoes she hadn’t thought to disguise and why she kept fiddling with loose threads on her clothes. That, and the brief look of panic that flit over her features when he suggested she take a cab home.

  And if the young magi gave her grief for being half-blooded in the halls where teachers could overhear, he could only imagine what might befall her once word got out what she truly was.

  “You’re the only one I trust to do that effectively,” Eleanor continued, taking his silence for belligerence rather than contemplation. “You remember what it was like, I’m sure.”

  Ha. He knew he was right. He still pretended he hadn’t guessed exactly what Eleanor was up to, adding an edge of disgust to his tone that wasn’t much of a stretch considering what he thought of her coven.

  “You’ve tagged her for The Circle?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. Or put off. They won’t take her without knowing she’s stable. I’ve laid the groundwork. I need your help to do the rest.”

  Once more, Cormac didn’t respond immediately. Like most Others, he was well aware of how easy it was to put your foot in your mouth and sign away a promise or a service without intending to when dealing with those versed in magic arts. He’d already done as much for Kimberly, though he thought she might be a bit too green to understand yet just what he had committed himself to doing for
her by promising his aid. One’s word being one’s bond wasn’t just a saying to magi and their ilk—it was law.

  When she wasn’t busy doing her civic duty as a professor, Eleanor Reed was a high-ranking member of The Circle—the premier chantry of magi on the East Coast, and the largest and most influential in the United States. The last thing he wanted to do was agree to anything more than he’d already offered without knowing more about Eleanor’s intentions. If she wanted Kimberly in her coven, there was good reason for it.

  He thought about telling the girl to run while she could, but he had a taste of her tenacity down in his shop. Taking a step out of poverty and the human world to rub elbows with the elite of the supernatural community had to be one hell of a carrot to have dangling just out of her reach. Particularly with her no doubt in a perpetual state of worry that either her own or her mother’s life was in constant danger. No wonder she had told him she was desperate.

  “You know what you’re asking,” he stated quietly, resigned.

  “I do.”

  “Are you officially calling in the favor I owe you?”

  “I am.”

  “Fuck you, Eleanor.”

  She laughed and hung up on him. He slammed the phone down, hard enough for the plastic to give a decided crunch it wasn’t intended to make.

  While he might have willingly made the choice to help the girl, if only to sate his curiosity about her, being cornered into working for anyone else didn’t suit him one bit. Eleanor obviously wanted him back under her thumb, which led him to wonder if Kimberly was in on it. Perhaps she had played him from the start. Any other magi in her shoes would have been salivating at the offer of a walk-on position into The Circle, let alone having a dragon at their beck and call. He assumed she was no exception.

  Stomping to the center of the iron circle etched into the kitchen tile, he suppressed a growl. He would know the truth soon enough. If the magi wanted to play hardball, he could play, too. With a harshly uttered Word, the circle blazed to life, and he rolled up his metaphorical sleeves as the real work began.