Dime Store Magic

by Kelley Armstrong

  "Frantically?"

  "Very."

  The other man's brows lifted. "I don't think I've ever seen Lucas frantic about anything. That seals the matter, then. Kill her."

  "And put her head in his bed?"

  The man's lip curled ever so slightly. He only shook his head, as if Sandford's quip wasn't worthy of an answer. Sandford stiffened, then dropped his gaze.

  "Would you prefer I sent a videotape, then?" Sandford said. "Of her death?"

  "That should do."

  "Degree of suffering?" Sandford asked.

  "Average. Enough to hurt him, not enough to convince him it was overtly personal."

  "I'll send my best."

  "No, you'll send your most expendable. An independent contractor. That will be more cost-effective and will make it more difficult for Lucas to trace it back to you. You'll involve no one else from the Nast organization in this matter, and you'll eliminate the contractor once he's finished the job. As soon as I leave, you'll move her to a second location. From there you'll arrange for the contractor to kidnap and kill her. You'll then include this note with the videotape."

  The man handed an envelope to Sandford. When Sandford looked down at it, the man went on, "The note simply makes it clear that her death is his fault, that had she not become involved with him, and his 'crusade,' she'd still be alive."

  Sandford smiled. "A little guilt's always good for the conscience."

  "Now make sure this cannot be linked to you or the Nast Cabal. As for me, I was never here."

  "That goes without saying. We have a deal, then?"

  The man nodded.

  "Just to, uh, be clear ..." Sandford continued. "If I do this, I'm guaranteed a position in the Cortez Cabal, at a twenty-percent salary increase."

  "That's what I said, isn't it?"

  "I just wanted to be sure. I'm taking a big risk here. It would have been easier if I could have persuaded Kristof to get rid of her, but he's still stalling, worried about that witch-brat of his. When he finds out this one disappeared on my watch, I'll probably be out of a job, friend or not. So, of course, I want to be sure--"

  The man's gaze hardened. "Did I give you my word?"

  "Y--yes, sir. Forgive me."

  "I appreciate your having brought this ... unique opportunity to my attention, Gabriel. You will be very well compensated for it." The man turned toward me, lips curving in a humorless smile. "I must say, it's almost a shame she has to die. My father's been worrying that Lucas will never provide him with grandsons. It's hard to perpetuate a dynasty when the current heir shows no inclination to father future heirs. He'd be so pleased to hear that Lucas has finally found someone. Then he'd meet her ... and probably drop dead of shock." The man shook his head. "A witch? Unbelievable, even for Lucas."

  "Not just a witch," Sandford said. "The head of the American Coven."

  "Oh, there's a dynastic alliance guaranteed to make the Cortez Cabal the laughingstock of the supernatural world. I'm doing my father such a favor, it's a shame I can't tell him about it."

  The man turned to leave. As he walked out, a fireball flew from the ceiling and struck the side of his head. He whirled to Sandford.

  "Don't look at me," Sandford said, stepping back. "That wasn't one of our spells."

  The man turned to me. I glared at him, pouring every bit of hate and fury into that glare. The man opened his mouth, as if to say something, then shut it and settled for returning my glare before stalking out the door.

  "I want her dead by sundown tomorrow. FedEx the tape to Lucas's motel room. Overnight express."

  CHAPTER 46

  SEND-OFF

  Despite Cortez's brother's warning about involving others, Sandford had at least one ally: the half-demon Friesen. Less than thirty minutes after Sandford left me alone again, Friesen walked in. Without a word, he tossed me over his shoulder. He carried me from the room and across the basement to a hatch, much like the one in my house. Then he opened the hatch and pushed me through it.

  I tumbled out the hatch door into a weed-choked garden. After being in the near-dark so long, the blast of sunlight made my eyes water. I struggled to wiggle free of my bonds, but they were tied tight. Friesen hefted himself out of the hatch, then picked me up, oblivious to my struggles, and slipped across the backyard to the barn. Inside the barn, a panel van was waiting. So was Gabriel Sandford. As Friesen carried me toward the van, Sandford snapped shut his cell phone.

  "Done," Sandford said. "He'll be at the cabin in two hours."

  Friesen nodded. With me still over his shoulder, he flipped open the van's rear gate. He laid me inside, faceup, then stepped back. His gaze traveled slowly over me, pausing at my chest and bared legs.

  "Shut the door and get moving," Sandford said. "Before someone notices she's gone."

  Friesen gave me another slow once-over, then slid his gaze toward Sandford. "I was just thinking ... you're sending Lucas Cortez a video, right? Of her death? Why not ... you know ... bump it up a little." His gaze shot back to me, a gleam of hunger alighting in his eyes. "I'll do it for you."

  "You'll do what?" Sandford caught the look Friesen was giving me and his lip curled. "Rape wasn't part of the deal, and it's not going to be. Just take her to the cabin, and let the professional do his work."

  "Seems like a waste, don't you think?"

  "No, I'd prefer not to think about it at all, thank you very much." Sandford started to turn away, then frowned at Friesen, who was still staring as if I was a free buffet dinner. He shook his head and threw up his hands. "Oh, hell, do what you like, but do it away from the house and before you get to the cabin, okay? You've got two hours. Now move."

  Friesen smiled and slammed the door.

  As we pulled away from the house, I started to count. I had to get out of here before Friesen got far enough to pull over, and by the looks he'd been giving me, he wasn't going to wait longer than necessary.

  When I reached a hundred, I decided we were out of sight of the house, so I closed my eyes and concentrated on mentally casting the suffocation spell, aiming it at Friesen. Nothing happened, not surprising, since I couldn't speak. Yet, back at the house, someone had lobbed a fireball. The spell came from my secret grimoires, so it had to have been me, though I wasn't sure how I'd done it. Had my fury somehow manifested itself in an unintentional spell? I hoped so, as I hoped I could do it again, this time choosing my spell.

  The van slowed, then pulled to the side of the road. Already? We couldn't be more than a half-mile from the house. Friesen put the van in park. Then he swiveled, undid his seat belt, and squeezed through the front seats. I fought the urge to struggle and instead put everything I had into a mental cast. Nothing happened.

  Friesen loomed over me. I started to fight against my bonds, inching backward across the floor.

  "Not yet, honey," he said, crouching over me. "Nothing to worry about yet. I'm just going to take a better look."

  As he unbuttoned my blouse, I rocked and twisted, but couldn't move enough to even hamper him. He spread my shirt apart, then grinned.

  "Red," he said, gaze glued to my bra. "Black's okay, and white's kinda nice, but there's nothing like a girl who wears red." He stroked a finger across the bra cup. "Silk, I bet. A girl who really knows how to dress."

  While he fiddled with the front clasp, I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on casting something, anything. My bra popped open. Friesen inhaled sharply.

  I opened my eyes and tried to wriggle away. He reached down for my breast, then stopped before his fingers touched me. He held his hand there a moment, then squeezed it into a fist and pulled back.

  "Not yet," he murmured. "Prolong the fun."

  He grabbed my hips. I kicked at him, but he only tugged me sideways, so I was facing the front of the van. Then he reached down and hiked my skirt up around my waist. I writhed and bucked, trying to get away, but he only grinned broader.

  "Red silk," he said, chuckling as he touched my panties. "A matching set, of course.
Very nice. Poor Lucas. That boy probably didn't know what hit him. You sure knew what you were doing, honey. I gotta give you credit for that. A first-class ticket to the good life ... even if it did mean screwing that geek sorcerer." He smiled and ran a finger up the inside of my thigh. "If you gotta go, I figure the least I can do is give you a better send-off."

  He took another look at me, then straightened and went back to the driver's seat. As the van pulled onto the road, he readjusted the rearview mirror so he could see me.

  "There now, that's better," he said. "Couldn't ask for a better view."

  My fear crystallized to rage, blind rage. The van swerved onto the shoulder. Friesen swore. My head bounced up, then slammed down on the metal floor. Something jabbed into my scalp as Friesen yanked the van back onto the road.

  "Damn," he said glancing in the mirror and chuckling. "More of a distraction than I thought."

  The cut in my scalp throbbed. I twisted to see the corner of a metal strip of edging protruding from the van's side. I wriggled upward until I'd aligned the jutting metal with my gag. Then I lifted my head, trying to snag the top edge of the cloth. The van hit a washboard of ruts and the metal sliced my cheek.

  Friesen's gaze went back to the mirror. I stopped and waited until he'd looked his fill and returned his attention to driving. I brushed my cheek against the metal strip. This time the gag caught.

  I wriggled the cloth down over my top lip. Then the van hit a bump and the snag came loose. I worked my jaw until enough of my mouth was free that I could mumble. Then I cast the suffocation spell. Friesen coughed and I froze.

  He glanced in the mirror again and smiled. "Seem to be getting a bit short of breath. Must be those red panties. Let's see if I can't find a place to pull over."

  When he looked away, I cast again. Nothing. Quickly I recast. He coughed, then wheezed. The van swerved. Friesen fought to keep it on the road, gasping for what seemed like an eternity. Then the van went off the road, thudding over grass.

  The right side dipped. For a moment, the van continued thumping along, slowing, sliding into the ditch. Then the world spun. I flew from the floor, hit the side, then struck the roof, knocking around in the van until I didn't know which end was up. Then everything stopped.

  When I lifted my head, the seats were over my head. The van had come to rest on its roof. I shifted, trying to flip onto my back. The van groaned and trembled, then settled and went still.

  I looked around, searching for something that had broken off sharp. The window nearest to me had broken, but it was safety glass. Useless. I looked overhead. One of the seats had broken, exposing a metal rod that looked suitably sharp. It took about twenty minutes and plenty of cursing, but I finally cut through the bindings on my hands. I undid my legs, then crawled out through the broken window.

  Friesen was still in his seat belt, hanging upside down. He had a gash on his head. His eyes were closed. I crept forward and saw that he was unconscious but alive. Though I was tempted to do something more painful to the bastard, I let him be. Unconscious was good enough.

  I spent the next few minutes searching Friesen and the van for a cell phone. Of course I couldn't find one. That would be too easy. Finally I gave up and sealed the doors with the strongest lock spells I had. As I fastened my bra and buttoned my blouse, I looked around. The van had landed in a field. When I got to the road, I paused to get my bearings. I had a decision to make. To return to the house or to go for help? It seems an obvious choice, doesn't it? I'm not stupid. Surely I should have realized that the wisest course of action would be to get to safety, bring in some muscle, then go back for Savannah. But I couldn't do that. Right now, I knew where to find her. If I went for help, she might not be there when I returned. Yes, it was insane, but I had to go back.

  I headed deeper into the fields, out of sight of the road, then began the long walk back to the house. What would I do when I got there? I didn't know. If I could rescue Savannah, I would. It seemed unlikely I could do it alone. I admit that. If it wasn't possible, maybe I could get a message to her, telling her I'd return. At the very least, I could assess the situation, go for help, then hurry back to keep watch over her from a distance.

  We must have driven at least three miles. Fortunately, Friesen had turned only once and the roads were spaced far enough apart that I could easily guess where to turn. After about a mile of tramping through the fields, I heard a distant motor and froze.

  Though I was too far from the road to be spotted, I crouched and waited for the vehicle to pass. A farm pickup finally drove by, moving well below the speed limit. Once it was out of sight, I straightened and resumed walking.

  I'd gone about another mile when the faintest notes of a scream blasted through the silence. I dropped to the ground like a shot. The fields were silent. I waited another minute, but when all remained quiet, I rose and began moving forward, slower now.

  I'd gone about another hundred yards when I saw a stretch of trees surrounding what looked like a two-story white house. Yes, there had been huge evergreens along each side, as a windbreak. Before I could break into a run, I picked up the sound of voices. I dove for the ground again and lay flat on my stomach in the long grass.

  "I'm not going back in there!" Sandford, his voice shrill.

  "If I tell you to, you will." Nast, cool and calm.

  "No, I will not. As of now, I'm no longer a member of your fucking organization. I quit, you got that? Quit!"

  "You have a contract."

  "You want me to tell you where you can shove that contract? I am not going in that house. She's your daughter. You get her out."

  A yelp and a thud in quick succession. Then silence. I inched forward until I could see the two men through the trees. They stood in the side yard. Sandford crouched on the ground, nose and mouth streaming blood. Nast stood a few feet away, arms crossed, waiting.

  "Please, Kris, be reasonable," Sandford said, pulling himself to a sitting position, but making no effort to stand. "You're asking me to risk my life for a witch."

  "I'm asking you to help my daughter."

  "How long have we known each other? You asked me to take this assignment as a special favor and I did. Now it's all gone to hell, but I'm still with you, aren't I?"

  "You'll be well rewarded for that loyalty, Gabriel. Bring Savannah out of that house and you can expect a six-figure bonus."

  Sandford wiped a bloodied hand across his shirt. Then he looked up at Nast. "A bonus plus a vice presidency. With a twelfth-floor office."

  "A tenth-floor office ... and I'll forget who was supposed to be looking after the witch when she vanished."

  Sandford hauled himself to his feet and nodded. "Done."

  "I want her unharmed. Not a scratch. Understood?"

  Sandford nodded again, then headed toward the front door. I waited until he was out of sight, then I scurried to the woods and circled around to the other side of the house.

  CHAPTER 47

  A LESSON IN RESPECT

  Moving behind the trees, I circled the house. The side door stood open. I scampered across the yard and in the open door.

  When I stepped into the house, the first thing I saw was the necromancer Shaw's body. She lay crumpled at the foot of a narrow set of stairs. I checked each way before stepping through the door. Overhead I heard one, maybe two, pairs of footsteps. I crept to Shaw's body. From the angle of her head, I guessed she'd fallen down the stairs and broken her neck.

  What had happened here? It hadn't been more than an hour or so since Friesen had loaded me into the van. Now Shaw was dead, Nast was standing around outside, and Sandford was searching, with great reluctance, for Savannah. From what Sandford said, I gathered Savannah was at the root of all this. But how? Whatever the reason, I needed to find her before anyone else did.

  As I moved past Shaw, the look on her face made me stop in my tracks. Her eyes were open so wide the whites showed all around the irises. Her lips were curled back over her teeth. And the expression ... stark
terror. Perhaps at the moment of her dying, an image flashed through her mind, that of some other necromancer sucking her soul from eternity and plunking it back into her broken corpse. Fitting, really.

  I stepped over her and began ascending the stairs. They were enclosed on both sides and the passage was so narrow it was a wonder Shaw had fallen down them at all, and not become wedged in halfway. These must have been back steps, a secondary set probably leading from behind the kitchen.

  The stairs exited through an open door on the second floor. When I had climbed high enough to see past the door, I paused for a better look. The door was at the end of the upstairs hallway. At the opposite end were the main stairs, the ones I'd been using when I was here. Of the six bedroom doors, one was wide open, two were partially open, and the other three were closed.

  "Savannah?" someone called.

  I jumped, then recognized the voice. Sandford.

  "Savannah ... come on, sweetie. No one's going to hurt you. You can come on out now. Your dad's not mad."

  Oh, yeah, like that was a big concern. How old did he think Savannah was? Five? Hiding in a corner, cowering in fear of a spanking?

  I listened for any return noise, but none came. Except for Sandford's voice and the creak of his shoes, the house was silent.

  As I eased into the hall, something rustled overhead. Sandford's shoes squeaked as he stopped, as if pausing to listen. Footsteps sounded above me. I closed my eyes to follow them, then shook my head. They were too heavy to be Savannah. I guessed Anton or one of the witches was searching the attic for Savannah.

  Sandford's shadow advanced out an open doorway near the end of the hall. I ducked into the other open room and slid behind the door while he passed. Another door opened, then shut. Footsteps receded.

  I glanced around, finding myself in the bedroom I'd seen Greta and Olivia using. The dresser top was bare, the closet open and empty except for a sweater that had fallen on the floor and been forgotten. It looked as if the two witches had left in a hurry. Had they fled when they realized Nast suspected their motives in killing the boy? Or had something else scared them off?