No matter how hard she tried to pull it up from every possible angle, Jessica couldn’t remember anything at all. Her memories started again in Sedona, Arizona, waking up on a couch that belonged to a couple in their late sixties who’d offered her a place to stay for the night. That was it.
Jessica jumped when the alarm on her phone went off with an electronic blare, and she slapped a hand down on it to shut the thing up. So now 6:30 a.m. had arrived. Good thing she’d remembered to even set an alarm the night before. Because now she was on her own with no bank to make the wakeup calls for her.
Tuesdays were slow. That was what Tabitha had told her on Jessica’s first full day of work. The day the scryer had consequently been murdered in her own home. And Jessica took full advantage of the lull in clientele to pore through the rest of the spellbooks.
None of them held anything remotely helpful, and she’d set them all on the floor beside the lobby desk, finished with disappointing reading before 10:00 a.m. Fortunately, only one magical entered the bank during all twelve business hours. And this one came not to make a deposit or withdrawal or to offer vague threats or ask when she was going to open it.
The short, thin woman barreled through the front door without a word, dropped a large manila envelope on the desk, and straightened her fuzzy winter hat before zipping right back out again. Jessica found yet another proposed offer for “first rights”, whatever the hell those were. This one came from a J.M. Porter, or at least that was the name on the letterhead. She used the envelope to slide the Kulmáro’s business card across the desk and dumped them both unceremoniously into the side drawer.
Confucius darted jerkily across the lobby, pressing his snout to the floor like a hound dog tracking a scent. When Jessica slammed the drawer shut again, the lizard looked sharply up at her and let out his low creak.
“Yeah, I’m not selling anything to anyone. That might be the only thing I’m sure of right now.”
The rest was just conjecture, but she had a really bad feeling about what was headed for her next. Because now instead of having to deal with pissed-off clients and all manner of their crazy belongings in and out of the vault, Jessica was getting offers from creepy strangers for their “first rights” to the Gateway. And not a single magical stopped by the bank for business as usual.
Probably because they’d all heard by now that the bank had a new owner, that Jessica wasn’t backing down, and that whatever that damn fae had started when he’d taken the crazy-ass coin out of the bank was now fully underway.
If only Jessica could figure out what the hell that actually was.
As soon as she locked up for the night, her phone buzzed in her back pocket, and she found a text from Mel.
Just a reminder. In case you forgot.
“Oh, crap.” She’d completely forgotten about her friend’s exhibition opening in the Art District. Could anyone blame her? Jessica shoved her phone back into her pocket and booked it up the stairs to get her jacket. “Yeah. Mel will blame me.”
And then there would be no more awkwardly tense lunch dates and no more chances to get rid of that awkward tension and try to start being friends again. And honestly, though Jessica had bitten off way more than she could chew with this bank and the whole Gateway debacle, she really didn’t know how much longer she’d last holding down the proverbial—and probably literal—fort without knowing she had someone in her corner. Mel might not have her back when it came to working and living in the bank and scrambling to find a semblance of control again, but at least she’d actually care if Jessica got hurt. Which was highly probable at this point if the bank’s new owner didn’t get things back on track.
Having a friend never hurt. Except for when Jessica screwed it up.
She bit the bullet and called an Uber to take her out to the Art District, mostly in the interest of time. Even after two weeks of access to what seemed like a never-ending supply of funds—American human money, at least—it still hurt the frugal parts of her to spend twenty-five bucks for someone to drive her to the gallery. And of course the same amount for the drive home. But Jessica had never had a car. By the time she was old enough to drive, she’d already been on her own and on the run for years. And being a convicted and paroled ex-con didn’t exactly make getting her license very easy, let alone buying a car.
Not like either of those things mattered much now.
The front doors and windows of View74 were lit up with brilliant strands of white Christmas lights. Jessica thanked her driver, shut the door, and wrinkled her nose at the outdoor decorations. Not Christmas-themed per se, but it was still a little too early in the year to start the mess of flashing lights that practically blinded her wherever she walked at night. It wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet. Then again, she hadn’t had the chance to walk around the streets of Colorado in the dark, as a free witch, without the weight of her full magic and the constantly gnawing urge to look over her shoulder anytime she passed a dark alley.
But that was back when Jessica had followed someone else’s orders, no matter the cost. When she’d been a criminal.
Now she was just the one witch responsible for keeping the entire world safe from whatever was on the other side of the Gateway. No big deal.
Clenching her teeth against the frigid night air in late November, she jogged up toward the front door of the art gallery and paused to check her phone—7:31 p.m.
Jessica had no idea how long these exhibition openings were supposed to last, but she hoped this could be counted as fashionably late instead of her whirling in at the last second.
She jerked open the door and stepped inside. The central heating overwhelmed her, making her cheeks sting despite the fact that she’d only been outside for maybe two minutes. Then she forgot about her burning cheeks and took in the scene that was distinctly not her kinda gig.
The gallery bustled with art collectors, artists, potential buyers, and whoever else was interested in milling around inside with a bunch of strangers just to stare at paintings on the wall. Except for these were Mel’s paintings, all in varying shades of gray, black, and white. Each piece had a different hue of color barely visible on its own but which stood out when compared to the tones of the pieces beside it.
“Wow,” Jessica whispered, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets.
Mel was good. Way better than anything she’d done back when she and Jessica had shared an apartment. Back when Mel hadn’t had the time to paint the way she’d truly wanted, because they’d both been way too busy fulfilling Mickey’s demands and trying not to get caught in the process.
The art connoisseurs closest to the front door shot Jessica brief, appraising glances as they crossed the front of the gallery to take in other pieces. She ignored the raised eyebrows and the quick once-overs and focused instead on the paintings hung perfectly along the walls to give each piece the space it needed to stand out.
It was a series of oil-on-canvas portraits, really, though the faces in the paintings had been warped in subtle ways to give them an eerie, otherworldly feel. A man with long hair trailing across his face, only one blue-tinted eye visible above a knowing smirk. The profile of a young girl reaching out toward something outside the frame, her mouth open in a silent scream not of fear but of determination, with yellow-tinted clouds of smoke rising behind her. A woman bending over backward, her face upside down and staring intently at the viewer as she bit her lip and lifted a glistening dagger over what little was visible of her own naked body.
So many faces, all of them seemingly neutral at first but with a hint of danger beneath the surface, or rage, or a secret knowing, or something like desire.
A creepily similar image flashed through Jessica’s mind—the faces roiling and churning in the cloud of silver mist, just as she’d seen them in her dream. But all those faces had only held terror. The terror of their last few seconds on this earth before the life was stripped away from them so cruelly…
Jessica blinked quickly and shook her head. Where th
e hell had that come from?
She was here for Mel. For support. Trying to pick apart her dream and the off-putting fragments of memories could wait until she was alone in the bank with nothing else to keep her awake all night.
Turning slowly, she scanned the crowded gallery, searching for Mel’s short pink hair in the sea of people.
A couple dressed up for the occasion in fine dinner attire passed in front of Jessica, the woman on the man’s arm as they dipped their heads together and muttered their opinions about Mel Thomas’ work. She tried to peer around them and step farther into the gallery, but the woman pulled the man to a stop and turned around to study Jessica.
“Hello.”
Jessica shot the woman a quick, distracted glance. “Hey.”
“Darling,” the woman cooed. “I think we know this woman.”
“Oh?” The man’s perfectly manicured eyebrows lifted, and a small smile curved at the corners of his mouth as he looked Jessica up and down.
“Yes.” The woman grinned and patted a strand of pearls hanging around her neck above the low cut of her evening gown. “Forgive me for being so forward, but what’s your name?”
Stepping away from them, Jessica searched for Mel one more time within the crowd and muttered, “Sorry. We haven’t met.”
“Of course not. But we know who you are. Don’t we, Jensen?”
Jessica froze.
Jensen. As in the briefly mentioned leader of Team Anonymous who’d sent a few dozen magicals after Leandras and that freaky gold coin inside her bank.
Chapter Fifteen
There was no way in hell Jessica was down for a friendly chat with the guy who’d sent his thugs into her bank to kill her.
“Sorry.” She forced herself to meet the man’s gaze with as gracious of a smile as she could muster. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”
Jensen, apparently, looked her up and down again, and his thin-lipped smile broke into an eager grin. “There’s no mistaking your face. Michelle’s quite right, actually.”
“I know I am.” The woman returned her hand to Jensen’s arm and batted her eyelashes.
A quick and urgent list of all her options raced through Jessica’s mind. She could fight them right here, if she really had to. Though she’d already seen just how unpredictable her own true magic was in the middle of a showdown. It had sputtered out on her right before the half-changeling knocked her against the bookshelf in the bank’s lobby. Jensen’s half-changeling. And she didn’t have the bank to zap these two hoity-toity Denverites if she lost her ability to channel what she did still have inside her.
Or she could run. Bolt right back through that door and forget about causing a scene at the opening of Mel’s newest exhibition. Then she’d risk being followed, getting caught out in the street in the Art District where she didn’t have a clue where to go for help or even to hide. What were the fucking chances that the guy whose gang she’d killed with the bank’s magic would be standing right here in front of her? Did Mel know who he was?
Jessica must have looked like she’d lost her mind as she stared blankly at the socialites smiling at her. “I don’t—”
Michelle tilted her head back and let out a soft, lilting laugh. “Oh, this really is very good. She has no idea.”
“Apparently not.” Jensen pursed his lips and cocked his head, gesturing with his free arm toward the other side of the gallery where a second smaller room was blocked from view. “Shall we show her?”
“Well she is the star of the show, after all.” The woman squeezed his arm with another light chuckle. Then she leaned toward Jessica and widened her eyes. “You won’t believe it.”
Yeah, she was already having a hard time believing it. What were they getting at?
“Come on,” Jensen muttered. “We’ll show you.”
Jessica peered around them again, searching frantically for Mel. “I’m…not sure I should—”
“Nonsense.” Michelle grabbed Jessica’s upper arm and guided her with a firm grip toward the smaller back room. “This isn’t something you should miss, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart?
Gritting her teeth, Jessica let herself be pulled along by a woman in an evening gown she didn’t know, all the while wondering how the hell she was supposed to get herself out of this one. No, the magicals Jensen had sicced on her and the bank and Leandras hadn’t made it back to report to their leader that she’d killed them and left no survivors. This guy hadn’t stepped into the bank. He hadn’t seen her face. But she’d be stupid to think the guy hadn’t noticed two dozen of his secret…whatever they were had been missing for two weeks.
And where the hell was Mel?
They disappeared behind the blunt wall separating the next room from the main gallery, and Michelle finally let go of Jessica’s arm. This wasn’t exactly private enough to try taking Jessica out right here, but she clenched her fists and got ready to fight her way out of it, if that was her last option.
Grinning, Michelle ran her hand down Jensen’s arm and turned toward the painting hanging on their left. “There she is.”
Jessica frowned.
“Lovely.” Jensen turned to give her another once-over, then raised his eyebrows with a small shrug. “I’d say she captured you perfectly.”
“What?” Jessica stepped away from the couple to look at the wall and found her own face staring back at her from within the painting. No doubt about it. That was Jessica.
Mel had painted her facing directly outward, her eyes wide and both hands raised on either side of her face, palms outward. Jessica’s hands in the painting flared with inky black tendrils and sparks, racing along her fingertips and curling down her wrists and forearms. It looked like those misty black coils would leap from the canvas at any second and wreak havoc on the entire gallery, and it made Jessica’s mouth run dry.
Because Mel had also painted the full force of Jessica’s magic into this one piece. The magic she couldn’t use anymore because she’d stuffed it into a tin box.
“Oh.”
“Yes, it’s quite breathtaking, isn’t it?” Michelle mused. “Of course, the artist employed plenty of creative license with this one. Jumps right out at you, don’t you think?”
Jessica couldn’t think of anything to say.
Jensen chuckled as they all stared at the oil painting. “I must admit, though, the art seems to have more life breathed into it than the model.”
Model?
She fought hard not to wrinkle her nose. “I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of talent, don’t you think?”
Jensen chuckled through his nose, and Michelle turned to stare at Jessica. “Indeed. I wonder if—”
“Jess! You made it.” Mel joined them with a wide grin, wearing a short, tight-fitting dress the same neon-pink shade as her bangs.
It would’ve been impossible to miss her in something like that. Where had she been hiding?
Jessica turned toward her with wide eyes. “Hey.”
“I wasn’t sure you got my text.”
“Yeah, thanks. Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” With a quick sidelong glance at Jensen and his wife—girlfriend? Partner? Friend?—Jessica shoved her hands back into her jacket pockets and shrugged. “Looks great in here.”
“Of course it does.” Michelle grinned at Mel, tossing a hand toward her as if she meant to brush her fingers along the artist’s shoulders but couldn’t bother to reach that far. “And we’ve just had the pleasure of meeting your subject for this incredible piece.”
“Good.” Mel chuckled. “Kind of a surprise, right?”
Jessica blinked at her friend. No shit it was a surprise. Did Mel even know who these people were? Who Jensen was?
“And let me just tell you right now that we love what you did with this series,” Jensen added. “Absolutely exquisite.”
“Thank you.” Mel tucked the longer side of her hair behind her ear and beamed back at him. “I couldn’t have done it without your support.�
��
“Please.” He shook his head, smiling at her the whole time. “This was inside you all along. Anyone who says otherwise is a complete idiot.”
“We should get going,” Michelle said, staring at the side of Jessica’s face. “It was wonderful to meet you, Ms.…”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Mel stepped back and put a hand on Jessica’s shoulder, and all Jessica could do was slowly turn her head and glance at that hand. “This is Jessica. She and I go back a long, long time.”
“Mel…”
“And this is Jensen and Michelle Ardis.”
“A pleasure.” Jensen’s free hand rose to settle over his heart as he dipped his head toward Jessica, holding her gaze with a fierce intensity. “I do hope we get to see more of you, Jessica. In Ms. Thomas’ brilliant pieces and in person.”
Jessica swallowed. “Uh-huh.”
“We’re going to miss our reservation,” Michelle cooed as she tugged her husband smoothly along. “Congratulations, Mel. Very well done. We’ll talk soon.”
“Sounds good. Enjoy your night. And thank you so much for coming.” Mel grinned and raised a hand in farewell before Mr. and Mrs. Ardis disappeared around the partition and headed toward the gallery’s front door. Then she dropped her hand and turned toward Jessica. “I’m so glad you got to meet them. They’re—”
“What are you doing?” She couldn’t help it. The words just came rushing out, and she knew she was scowling but couldn’t do a thing to wipe her emotions off her face.
Mel let out a confused chuckle and gestured at her pieces hung all over the walls. “I’m opening the exhibition. What are you doing?”
“I mean with them, Mel.” Jessica nodded toward the front of the gallery. “I don’t get it.”
“Yeah, neither do I.” The pink-haired witch caught sight of more art enthusiasts joining them in the small room and shot them a quick smile and nod before grabbing Jessica’s arm and yanking her toward the back wall. “You’re being really weird right now.”
The Cursed Fae (Accessory to Magic Book 2) Page 14
