Hard Magic

Thirteen

I was off by an hour; thanks to track delays, I didn’t stagger into the office until twelve-thirty. I looked better than Nifty, though.

“Man, who dragged you face-first through the cement mixer?”

He looked up from the sofa, where he was stretched out on his back, his size-ginormous feet flat on the floor. “Hah. Very funny. Where the hell were you? You missed Master Benjamin taking us through a mock search-and-destroy mission.”

“And you got destroyed?” He really did look like hell; there were scrapes on his face and his eyes had a puffiness around them that wasn’t, like mine, from lack of sleep.

He hauled himself up off the couch and tugged at his pullover, a nice gray shirt that had seen better days. “Laugh now, little girl. Just ’cause you missed it this time, don’t think you’ll get away forever. After that, we’ll see if you still make jokes.”

“Ms. Torres. So glad you could join us.”

Benjamin Venec himself, standing in the doorway. It was like the late-night confab never happened; that bastard looked as though he’d gotten a full eight hours of downtime. I wonder if there was a spell for that. J said not, but he might have just thought I’d abuse it.

The thought made me grin, reluctantly. All right, I would have, yeah, but in a good cause.

“Ahem.”

I wiped the grin off my face, fast. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” If he wasn’t going to make any mention of my work last night, be damned if I was going to bring it up. Sharon and Nifty could fight over who got to be top dog; I just wanted to get in and do my job.

“Lawrence, you ready to get back to work?”

“Yessir.”

There was no way Nifty looked ready for anything other than a stiff drink and a long nap, but I wasn’t going to say word one, not with Venec standing there glowering like a very dapper Thor himself.

“Then get off your ass and get back in there. You, too, Torres. Evidence doesn’t wait for your schedule.”

Oh man. It sounded as though the entire team was going to get schooled today.

We followed him into the office like chastised little ducklings. I was sort of curious about what Venec had put the group through this morning, but not enough to ask questions. Not when the boss clearly had something else in mind.

Nick and Sharon were seated around the main worktable, at opposite ends, with Stosser leaning against the far wall. There was a thermos of coffee on the table, and a mostly empty box of doughnuts. Someone—probably Nifty, had made sure there was at least one butterscotch-coated crème bomb left, and I glommed it with satisfaction. One of the great joys of being a Talent was that using current burned calories, and while mostly I still had to watch what I ate, a busy day on the job burned like a thousand calories, easy. Today sounded like it was going to be one of those days.

I heard the sound of a toilet flushing off to the side, and Pietr came back into the room, wiping his hands on his jeans and sliding into the chair farthest from Sharon. Nifty and I took the remaining seats, which put me directly between Sharon and Nick, and a very distinct tang of frustration. Great. Something had soured this morning. I so didn’t want to know, and I even more didn’t want to get caught up in that. Venec closed the door behind us and Stosser took over, as usual.

“While you were having your morning playdate—” the looks on my teammates’ faces at that confirmed Nifty’s comment that it had been anything but play “—I was setting up the afternoon’s assignments.”

You could practically feel the tension in the room ratchet up, me included. I’d finally be able to get my fingers into the rest of the trace we brought back, see if there was anything useful there.

“Shune, Sharon? You two will be working with the current-trace Bonnie brought back.”

I think my jaw fell open, and only shock kept me from yowling a protest. That was my trace! I found it, I brought it back, I should be able to play with it! Stosser, you bastard!

“But I thought…” I started to say, and then I saw the look in Nick’s eyes, and my jaw snapped shut. The Guys were savvy enough to know that for whatever reason, Sharon and Nick didn’t want to even look at each other right now, much less work together, and yet they were harnessing them to the same task. Uh-huh. Boss-guys, you bastards. This time, though, the thought had a tinge of admiration. They were going to make Sharon and Nick work through it without ever having to deal with it directly, whatever “it” was. And let everyone else be on alert: personal tiffs would not be allowed to get in the way of the work.

“Pietr, you’re on records. The cops haven’t been able to find the legal owner of that car. I expect you do to better.”

Pietr nodded. I didn’t envy him that; sitting and sifting through boxes of legal paperwork would make me nuts.

“Lawrence, Torres.” Venec handed us each a small blue note card. “Name and address of individuals who were known to have come into conflict with the victims prior to their deaths.”

“The cops didn’t already clear them?” Nifty asked, not even looking at the card in his hand.

“They are Talents. The cops might not have known the right questions to ask,” Stosser said, his voice a little tighter than usual, as though he’d been having a bad morning, too.

Nifty shifted his weight, as if he was getting ready to launch himself at an opposing player. “There’ve been Talented cops before, you know. Even in Chicago.”

Especially in Chicago, actually. There had even been some fatae in the Blue Line, years ago, from the stories J told. Not so much anymore, though. Medical exams apparently got a little tougher. I didn’t say any of that.

“There have been. We can’t assume one of them was doing the interviewing, or that he or she was free to ask any particularly pointed questions.” Venec took control so smoothly I wasn’t even sure it was him, at first. “Go, talk to them. Lawrence, be blunt, and watch ’em like a hawk. If they think you’re a dumb jock, they might get cocky. Torres, your contact’s Council. Don’t play the connection. Don’t even mention it. If they’re halfway smart, they’ll smell it on you, and make their own assumptions.”

The assumption being that the Council had sanctioned the questioning, and therefore they should answer fully and freely.

“Is that legal?”

Stosser looked at me as if I’d just suggested they tap-dance nude in Times Square.

“Right. Never mind.” Apparently, despite the fact that we were supposed to bring truth and justice to the Cosa, we didn’t have to worry too much about the technical details of entrapment or whatever. Was I the only person in this office who didn’t have a beef with cops?

“All right, people. Load up on your caffeine, and then take a hard hit and get going.”

A hard hit, in Venec-ese, was recharging current directly off a main source, ideally something large and powerful, but sometimes just the nearest configuration of electricity. Everyone had their favorite. I knew that Nifty liked skyscrapers, and Nick would rather focus in on a power plant, dipping into the maelstrom of current that rests inside each generator, while Pietr preferred to source wild. Sharon kept her preferences to herself.

For me, it had become the subways, maybe because I was riding them so much now since coming to Manhattan. The rush of energy was like a power plant, but directed, channeled into a forward motion, constantly in use, constantly turning over and regenerating. Plus, it gave me something to do, other than worrying about what I was about to do, on my way downtown. I stopped off at the hotel to change clothing for something a little more interview-worthy, and—keeping in mind my vow of the night before—asked Julie at the concierge desk to find me a couple of those apartment-hunting magazines, for later. I was hoping that her “service is everything” motto would make her dig up a few personal contacts, too. They might like having me there, but there was nothing a professional concierge liked more than a challenge, and finding a reasonably priced apartment in Manhattan, as I knew well now, was certainly that!

My target worked in the Wall Street area, in a little legal firm in a big building. The Guys had already made an appointment for me, and I arrived exactly on the dot—after walking around the block twice, to kill some time. The waiting area was modern-expensive—cream leather and chrome and glass that made me afraid to sit for fear I’d smudge the furniture. The receptionist didn’t even bother to look at the little paper slip the guard in the lobby had printed out for me, but buzzed me in without hesitation when I presented myself at the front desk.

“Ms. Torres?”

The man waiting on the other side of the glass doors was tall, slope-shouldered, with hair the color of a burnished foxtail. Redheads were just showing up all over the place, weren’t they? Made me glad I’d gone back to blonde.

“I’m William Arcazy.” I knew that already, having actually read my dossier. “We can talk in my office.”

His office was very nice; not large, but a real desk, and real leather chairs, and actual art on the walls, not framed posters or cheap photos. His suit was expensive but not obviously so, and his haircut had probably cost more than my shoes, and I don’t skimp on my footwear.

“I’ve been hearing talk about your organization for a few weeks now. You’ve got the community in quite a flutter.”

Community, in this conversation, could mean either the Council, specifically, or the entire Cosa, generally. I went with the former. “The community is not always so good with change.”

“In other words, we’re hidebound on one side of the aisle and paranoid on the other?”

Since that was exactly my opinion, I just smiled.

“I’m always willing to be of assistance, although I’m not sure what I can tell you that might be relevant to your investigation.”

Truth was, I didn’t know what he could tell me, either. I didn’t even know what to ask, or look for.

*connections*

The ping was soft and brief, but I’d felt it before, this week, and years ago, when I was investigating my father’s murder. Not a mentor’s advice, but a commonsense reminder of what I already knew, a reassurance that I was doing the right thing. It was also a tacit acknowledgment that they knew, somehow, that I knew what they had done, back then.

Venec might be crap at client-handling, but he was a pretty damn good teacher, because the moment he gave me that one word, I knew what to do.

“You and the Reybeorns had business deals together. Tell me about that.”

Arcazy leaned forward in his chair, his forearms resting on his desk and his expression open and forthright. He had green eyes to match his red hair, but his complexion was interestingly olive. The impression was less like a fox than a red panda; cute, yeah, but thoughtful rather than clever, careful instead of crafty.

“I had been introduced to them by a mutual friend.”

“Ah. A Council friend?”

He nodded, and I saw it. Just a tiny adjustment in his body language, but it was like a shout to me; Venec was right. He had made the assumption.

I’d never agreed with the common lonejack belief that all Council members were sheep, but at the moment I had an almost overwhelming urge to utter a low “baaaaaaa.” Arcazy might be careful, but he wasn’t careful enough.

Or was he trying to see how careful I was? Damn the tight-wire I was walking here….

“We did a few deals together, yes. The Reybeorns, as I’m sure you’ve already learned, were big in real estate. Buying and selling, mainly…what’s called ‘flipping.’ They’d buy a building that was in a downslide, make some basic refurbishments, and then sell it to someone who was into gentrification but didn’t want to start at the extreme low end. It’s not a high-margin business, but it did well for them, for a long time. They had the eye for what was worthwhile, and knew exactly how much time and money to put into the properties to make a profit, even in a down market.”

That fit with what had been in the original briefing. They’d started with money, and used it to make more money. Not filthy lucre style, but more than enough to keep their grandchildren pretty, as I knew for a personal fact.

“And you joined them in some of these deals?” My notebook was out, and I made a quick note, but was more interested in his reactions than his responses.

He nodded. “Their knowledge, my money. Our mutual friend made the suggestion. My job is sometimes twelve-hour days, five days a week, and I don’t have time to hunt down deals like this myself. I liked them, and I trusted them to make good decisions.”

“Until this most recent deal.”

Always make your questions statements; that had been one of the first things the Guys taught us. Questions put people on guard. Statements make them want to correct you.

“Actually, not until after our last deal.” Arcazy frowned in quick thought, doing time calculations in his head. “We’d made good money on the last building, but I was thinking about buying property myself—a little cottage out on the Cape, a place to get away from it all, between cases. That would suck up what I considered my ‘play’ money, what I used to invest in the properties. The Reybeorns were upset, of course, but not about the money. They had other people lined up anxious to work with them, so they wouldn’t lose anything even if I backed out. No, it was…it was more about my buying property without consulting them, if you can believe it. They accused me of not respecting them. We had words.”

“That seems a small thing, to make you lose your temper in public.”

Arcazy looked embarrassed. He didn’t blush, but I bet when he did it looked better on him than me. “You’d think, after ten years of arguing before judges, I’d have learned to keep a better rein on things. And I can, when I’m working for other people, solving their problems. But that…” He stopped, and shook his head. “Yes, I lost my temper, and I said some things I shouldn’t have. I told them I wanted out of all our deals. That they needed to buy me out of the buildings we still co-owned, because I wouldn’t work with someone who tried to control what I did in my off-hours.”

Oh, I could so relate to that.

“But you had no reason to believe that they were trying to cheat you?”

He went from embarrassed to surprised in an instant. “Cheat me? No, never.” He sounded confident about that, at least. “They weren’t the type. I know, everyone hears ‘developers’ and they immediately assume sleazy, but they weren’t like that, not at all. Yes, it was about the profit, but they also liked making things better. When a family bought one of their houses, and moved in and made it a home, that was as much a reward as the money.

“It was kind of quaint, but sweet. One of the reasons I liked investing with them. Other than the fact that they always made a profit, of course.”

“Of course,” I echoed.

He looked me directly in the eyes. “Rumor has it this isn’t just a formality, that you really think they didn’t commit suicide.”

“We were hired to determine exactly what did happen. We do not go in with any predetermined idea of the result. That would only hamper our investigations.” Another quote-perfect line from Stosser.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping in a move that felt both practiced and sincere. “Horrible as it might sound…I almost hope they didn’t. Commit suicide, that is. The thought that someone would kill them is terrible, but…suicide’s worse. They enjoyed life so much.”

A faint buzz went off, and he looked at his desk. I prepared to make my farewells, assuming that he was being reminded of another appointment.

Instead, he invited me out for a drink.

“My doctor’s orders,” he explained as we were walking down the hallway, and he waved good-night to the receptionist. “Too many twelve-hour days, like I mentioned before, and my stress levels were climbing too high. That was why the place on the Cape, too. So twice a week, if I don’t have to be in court, I’m supposed to kick out an hour early and go do something relaxing, and totally non-work-related.”

He took me to a nice little Irish pub a few blocks away, and a drink turned into drinks-and-light supper, the way I’d halfway expected it to. We ate at the bar, very casual…and he followed up with an invitation to have coffee in his apartment, since it was early yet, and he lived right around the corner.

Oh, he was about as subtle as a bear coming out of hibernation. I admit it, I’m a born snoop in addition to having an eye for an attractive playmate. I said yes.

His condo was like his office: quietly classy, expensive without advertising the fact, and totally a bachelor pad, right down to the black towels in the bathroom and black sheets on the bed. Yes, I looked. At least they were plain cotton, not satin. I’m not sure I could have taken him seriously, if he had black satin sheets.

I told him that when I came back from using the bathroom.

“Oh, please tell me you’re single.” He was futzing around in his top-of-the-line but Spartan kitchen with a chrome-and-black coffee machine that had to have cost more than I made in a month.

“Now is a really bad time to ask,” I scolded him. “A lawyer should know that plausible deniability is no excuse in the face of the law.”

“Nitpicker. Are you married?”

“No.”

“Engaged?”

“Nope.”

“Looking for a wealthy lawyer to snag?”

“God, no.”

“Thank god.”

I choked back a bad case of the giggles. This wasn’t going to go anywhere right now, despite whatever he might be plotting, but I definitely wanted to see Mister Arcazy again, to see where it might lead. Sex is always fun, but sex with another Talent has that extra edge to it, no matter what their experience levels—and I was betting that Will had some significant experience.

In the back of my mind there was a thought that I probably should have said no to the drinks, to the dinner, and not even be thinking about sex. But the urge of the previous night hadn’t ever been settled, and I was still too damned twitchy and feeling the need. I didn’t like being that unsettled.

To my credit, I did extract myself from Will’s apartment before six, despite an unspoken invitation to stay longer, and headed back uptown to report in. It wasn’t as though we worked nine to five, and better a little late than never, right?

When I hit the office, Sharon and Nick were still there, staring intently at some spot in the middle of the table. So that’s what it looked like when you were in the magic-evidence room. Interesting.

“Torres.” Stosser was in the hallway talking to Pietr, who looked like he’d swallowed an entire nest of canaries. “You’re late.”

“I stopped for dinner. I’m here now.” I realized after the words left my mouth that being flippant probably was not the smart choice when being reprimanded.

“I realize that you’re still young and inexperienced, Bonita, but we would appreciate it if you would remember that your obligations to the office and the investigation come before your personal life when we are on a job?”

Stosser had gone totally Council on me, and I responded exactly the way I was supposed to: I stood up a little straighter, took the blow square, and apologized.

“Yes, sir. I understand. Should I report on my findings to you, or Venec?”

“Make a formal report, and have it on my desk before you leave tonight. Protocol, Bonnie. Everything gets documented.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ian nodded and went back to his discussion with Pietr.

“Sheesh, kiss his ass a little more, why don’t you?”

Nifty had come into the hallway while I was being reprimanded, and was watching, his arms folded against his wide chest, looking like a block of supercilious ebony. He had changed for his interview, too, replacing the gray pullover with a blue dress shirt and striped tie.

“He’s the boss,” I said, my voice lower pitched than Nifty’s had been. I tried to go around him, but he blocked the doorway. I didn’t want to deal with this; my good mood slipping away like ice on a griddle. I was tired of the constant sniping and status-pulling that he and Sharon were engaging in, and I just wished they’d leave me out of it. I wasn’t interested in being their chew toy, not about this. So I stared up—and up, because that boy was big—into Nifty’s face, and bared my teeth in what might, to someone not paying attention, have looked like a smile. “You think I should challenge him? Or is that your job and you’re warning me away? You gonna try to be lead dog, Nifty?”

“You ever hear the saying, if you ain’t lead dog the view never changes?”

I was about to tell him he was an ass no matter what, when another voice joined the party.

“Lead dog doesn’t just have the view, hotshot.”

Oh hell. Despite our attempts to keep it low, Ian had decided to join us, and his grin wasn’t a friendly smile at all. “You’re not lead dog in this pack, Lawrence. I’m the goddamned lead dog. You’re all a bunch of snot-nosed puppies still wet behind the ears and falling over your paws.”

Nifty and Stosser glared at each other, me trying to shrink and disappear the way Pietr had once again managed. Bad current rising, hard and fast, and I really wanted to be anywhere but where I was. I seriously considered Translocating the hell out of there, but didn’t want to even tap my current right then and there.

“Puppy, huh?” Nifty’s voice was hard and hot, but the anger I’d been expecting wasn’t there.

“Snot-nosed,” Stosser agreed. “And not housebroken yet, either.”

I braced myself for the smackdown, and then the two of them were laughing, and I wanted to slug them both myself, hard, for making my stress level skyrocket.

Men.