Strange Brew

GINGER A Nocturne City Story Caitlin Kittredge

I'm not brave. Ask anyone. Sunny Swann? Oh yeah, she's a complete wuss. Scared of her own shadow.

When I was ten, my cousin Luna convinced me that if I fell asleep, Freddy Krueger was going to come into my room and behead all my dolls. When I inevitably did sleep, she sneaked around taking all their heads and putting them into bed with me.

At least the two of us get along better now. Hell hath no fury like a ten-year-old with headless dolls.

Luna's always been the brave one. Older. Taller. Tougher. She ran away to Nocturne City from our going-nowhere hometown, and I followed. She got tangled up with some bad blood witches, and I helped her. She's the troublemaker. I'm dependable.

And a wuss. It was why I sat in the very back of the courtroom while Luna was on the stand. I didn't really want to be noticed. If our grandmother saw me here, she'd go ballistic, and I had to live with the woman. I'm a peacekeeper. Grandma and Luna don't get along, to the extreme. You do the math.

The defense attorney had a hundred-dollar haircut and a suit that hid the fact that he was fat, except from the back. His pants were straining their seams as he strode to and fro in front of the stand.

"You admit that you broke into Seamus O'Halloran's office, Detective?"

Luna gave him that look, the one that says, You'd be tasty. I think I'll eat you. She's a werewolf. It happens. "No, sir."

"No?" He looked shocked, eyes bugging out, round upper body shooting forward. "How is that possible, Detective?"

"I had a key."

"And you obtained this key how?"

"I found it in my Lucky Charms."

Snickers erupted from the first two rows of benches. Luna had some friends in the Nocturne City PD, even now, with the whole werewolf scandal.

The judged banged her gavel. "Settle down. I will clear this courtroom."

"Your Honor, would you please instruct the witness to answer truthfully, and remind her what the penalty is for perjury?"

"Quit grandstanding, Mr. Fisk, and move your questioning along. Detective Wilder isn't here to help you make your case."

Fisk blushed, and the judge folded her arms and dared him to contradict her. Luna smirked at the defense before she leaned into the mic and said, oh so sweetly, "Shall I elaborate, sir?"

Fisk went from a schoolgirl blush to tomato. "I'm done with this witness," he said tightly.

"Detective Wilder, you can step down," said the judge. The prosecutor stood up. He was younger and slimmer than Fisk, his suit didn't fit, and he was cute. That, at least, was some small reward for sitting on this rock-hard bench all afternoon while Luna waited to testify.

"Your Honor, could we request a recess before the next witness? My cocounsel and I need to go over our questions one last time."

"Lack of planning on your part is not my problem, Mr. Procter," said the judge. She looked like a less cuddly version of Kathy Bates. "But fortunately for you, I could use a cup of coffee. Thirty-minute recess." The gavel came down, and chatter erupted.

Luna slumped into the seat next to mine. "I swear to the gods, I was about one step from vaulting the rail and nailing that smarmy bastard right in the gonads." This was a standard greeting from Luna, so I nodded.

"Think he'll get Trotter off?" Gordon Trotter was the CFO of the O'Halloran Group, and he was on the hook for securities fraud and a bunch of other shenanigans that made my eyes glaze over. Seamus O'Halloran, the CEO, wasn't next to him. Seamus O'Halloran was dead.

Luna snorted. "Oh, yeah. O'Halloran was one smart bastard, and what he couldn't do with dummy corporations and stock fraud, he magicked into being. There isn't one shred of evidence to tie any of them to the shit the O'Halloran Group was pulling. Flunkies will go down and Trotter will get a deal."

"You make it sound so certain." I looked at the back of Trotter's head, at the defense table. His bald spot was sweating under the TV lights that sprang to life as soon as the judge called a recess.

"Cuz, when you've seen as many scumbags as I have make deals and go on their merry way, you get a certain amount of cynicism."

I was going to answer and tell her if cynicism was booze, she'd be a third-stage alcoholic, but the sense of someone else's magick slammed into me like a truck and stole my words.

Witches aren't rare, especially in Nocturne City, but I'm used to being the only one in a given room. Whipping my head around, I saw a court clerk lugging an attache case, winding through the milling spectators toward the defense table. His magick flowed behind him, bright and hot as a forest fire. Somehow, I got the feeling he wasn't delivering a brief.

"Luna," I said, standing up. She followed my eyes.

"What?"

"You have your gun?"

She patted her hip under her vintage Valentino jacket. "Glock. Don't leave home without it."

"Good. You may have to use it in a second."

Leaving her sputtering, I shoved past the people at the end of my row and into the aisle.

I felt the working rise as the clerk—overweight, white, glasses, no one you'd expect to be anything special—closed in on Fisk and Trotter. He was muttering something over and over. "Vengeance est mei."

He dropped the case, papers scattering like doves. His hand came up, the black glass caster in it catching the light as he raised it over his head. Trotter stared at the clerk, wide-eyed as the man screamed, "Vengeance est mei!"

His working struck. I felt the ambient magick in the room rush toward his caster, and felt myself stick to the spot like I was Superglue Girl. I'd seen the result of offensive magick before—burning cars, twisted bodies, the black aftershocks in the aether that happen only when someone uses their craft to cause someone else a messy death.

Luna gave a shout, a few steps behind me. She was moving. She had her gun out.

She wouldn't be fast enough, even with were-speed.

My hand twitched down to my coat pocket, where I kept my own caster. Wood, for purity. Silver-edged, for strength. Before I really knew what had happened, it was out, thrust in front of me, at the second witch.

"Bright lady bind the circle and protect all those within," I whispered, yanking magick into the caster and funneling it into a circle around Fisk and Trotter.

The witch turned, blinking at me from behind thick glasses. "Bitch," he said in disbelief. "You can't stop me!"

"Put it down or you get two between your beady little eyes!" Luna bellowed next to my ear. Her gun looked big as a house.

He started to laugh. "I will be the exalted one. I'll be the master!" His working rose, strengthened. I could feel the spectral flames licking my face, begging to be called into this world.

"Bright lady bind the circle, and protect all those within!" I said, frantic. It came out jumbled through my panic-numbed lips. Brightladybindthecircle…

I pushed. He shoved. I felt my circle snap into place, a bubble of light magick over the defense table, barely holding under the onslaught of the second witch. He went red in the face, sweat dripping off him.

"In Persephone's… name…," he ground out. He was strong. Not trained, but strong as an ox. I was trained, terrified, and losing ground with my protection circle. I wondered which one of us would explode first.

The two magicks manifested as we put more and more power into them, my circle wavering gently, like a soap bubble, and his explosive spell charring the floor of the courtroom. Blood leaked from my nose, spattering my shoe and the wood in front of me.

The witch grinned into my bloody face. "I win."

Pop. Pop pop. The clerk screamed as his leg and shoulder erupted in three red fountains. His caster fell and went skittering under the prosecution's table.

His working snapped, all the power running out like a drain as his concentration broke.

I held my circle. Held it with every ounce of me. Feedback screamed in my head, the warning that I was pulling down too much power, burning out my circuits…

"Sunny."

I gasped, and looked to Luna, who was holding her Glock down at her side. She put her hand on my shoulder. "It's okay. You can stop now."

She peeled the caster out of my hands. The silver had burned my palms. Luna winced at the injury, and holstered her weapon, putting her hands over mine. "You did good, kid."

Trotter and Fisk were looking at me like I had three heads. As I came back to myself, I saw the entire courtroom was gawking with them. Luna laughed, low down in her stomach.

"Hey. For once, they're not all staring at me."

The clerk, whose name turned out to be Joe Abrams, got taken away to Nocturne Memorial, and Trotter and Fisk went to Luna's precinct, the Twenty-fourth. She let me ride with her without comment.

I couldn't stop shaking. "If my circle hadn't held, everyone in that room would have died," I said out loud as we mounted the steps.

"But it did," Luna said. "I gotta take statements. You can wait at my desk, okay?"

I sank into her creaky swivel chair and pressed my hands over my face. Everyone could have died, and it'd be all my fault. This is why I'm not heroic. It's too damn taxing.

Luna's phone rang, and kept ringing, and eventually a detective at the next desk glared at me. "You gonna answer that or serenade us all day?"

I sighed and picked it up. "Luna Wilder's desk."

"That was quite a display today, Miss Swann." The voice was high, cultured, like a dapper butler from an old movie.

I blinked at the phone. "Excuse me?"

"This is Rhoda Sunflower Swann, of 213 Battery Cliff Road, yes?"

Damn it, I really hated when people figured out my full name. It was embarrassing. "Who is this?"

"A party most overcome by your skills, Miss Swann."

"Uh… you can just call me Sunny."

"As you wish. Sunny, you are wasting your talents. If you wish to remedy that, I am authorized to extend an invitation to meet with our little group and see if you find it more to your liking."

"That's really nice of you, but I don't—"

The prissy voice cut me off. "Eighty-nine Old Nocturne Way, at seven p.m. this evening. Be there, or we will consider you an uninterested party and have no further contact." A pause. "But I do hope you come, Miss Swann."

The connection cut off. I put the phone back slowly and looked all around Luna's squad room. She'd warned me about police pranks, but no one was looking at me with any amount of curiosity.

"Sunny. You okay?"

I jumped, rolling my chair over Troy McAllister's foot. He yelped and started hopping around.

"Oh, gods," I cried, jumping up. "I'm so sorry, Lieutenant."

"I told you," he gritted, clutching his mangled loafer. "Call me Troy."

"Right. Yes. Dear gods. I'm so clumsy…"

Troy slumped into the seat I'd just vacated, and took off his shoe and sock. His big toe was turning purple. I clapped a hand over my mouth, hoping it would hide the mortified shade of red on my face. "I'll get ice."

"Forget it." Troy waved a hand. "It beats a poke in the eye with a stick. Now. What's the matter with you? Usually it's your cousin who's causing me bodily harm."

"I got a weird phone call," I said, hoping that I didn't sound insane to Troy's ears. "Someone who heard what happened in court."

Troy narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? Tell me details."

Having him turn the full force of his gaze on me was like being trapped in oncoming headlights. Luna had told me stories about Mac, but this was different. I'd always thought of him as nice, slightly scattered, overworked. Right now, he was glaring at me with his ocean-colored eyes like he could look into my soul.

"It was just… It was silly," I murmured, looking at my feet. "They said they saw what happened in court today, and, um. Wanted me to meet them."

Troy stood up and put his shoe back on, then grabbed me by the elbow. "Come with me." We walked—well, he walked and I got dragged—into one of the interrogation rooms.

Luna was in there, filling out paperwork along with a woman I didn't recognize. She was very polished. If I were catty, I might even go to plastic, but I'm not. Red hair with perfect highlights, even under fluorescents. Green eyes, suit to match, an emerald set in silver at her throat and black high heels that could kill somebody, like Oddjob's bowler could lop off heads.

"Sunny, this is ASA Nielsen," Mac said. "She's the state's attorney working the federal case against the O'Halloran group. Nielsen, I think you should hear what just happened to Sunny."

She turned those high-powered cat eyes on me. I looked at my feet and murmured out the story of the strange call. Nielsen tapped a finger against her chin, a studied gesture.

"And after the state's trial, Trotter belongs to us," she said. "We want to thank you for your timely action today, Ms. Swann. Trotter can't fulfill his deal with us if he's dead."

Luna mouthed Told you at her paperwork.

"Unfortunately," Nielsen went on, "this isn't an isolated incident. Trotter has been moved to ad-sec at Los Altos after two attempts on his life."

"Advanced security," Mac whispered. "Where the snitches live."

"And there's this." Nielsen produced a digital recorder and hit playback.

"This is a warning," a solemn voice ground out. "If Mr. Trotter continues to divulge secrets of the craft to those not of the blood, there will be consequences. Grave ones. Deliver my message. We want him to know death is coming."

"Spooky," Luna commented. "Mac, I'm gonna go file my shooting report to Internal Affairs. Copy on your desk?"

"Stay for a minute," he urged, and ushered me into a chair.

"Considering the sudden interest in you, Ms. Swann…" Nielsen smiled at me. I felt a little bit like a mouse looking at a cobra. "We were hoping you could enlighten us as to the nature of this message."

"Well…" I was very hot. The room was hot. They were all staring at me. Did I have sweat marks? Or worse, blood on my shirt? I'd been awfully close to Abrams when Luna shot him…

"Sunny's strictly white-magick," Luna said. "She doesn't know anything. Why don't you ask Trotter?"

"Trotter was a minion in the witchcraft aspect of all this," said Nielsen. "He's told us what he knows. Doesn't look like she's of any more use. Sorry to waste your time, Mac."

"Seamus O'Halloran was the most powerful caster witch on the Pacific Coast," I blurted. Now I was hot for entirely different reasons. I was used to Luna dismissing me, but ASA Barbie? Uh-uh.

"We're all aware of that," she snipped coolly. I suddenly understood why Luna was angry at her job 90 percent of the time.

"He's dead now," I pressed, "and obviously, it's created a power vacuum. Trotter is the last power player in O'Halloran's little coven. You get rid of him and you pave the way for a new witch to take on O'Halloran's position, and that comes with a lot of perks. Influence, money, sacrificial rites…"

"I thought caster witches didn't sacrifice," Luna reminded me.

"It's for dramatic effect." I gritted at her, flushing. Nielsen was regarding me like we were playing poker and she'd just learned my tell.

"Well, then, Ms. Swann. We think you should go to this meeting."

I blinked at her stupidly. Luna was out of her seat. We said "What?" at the same time, with different levels of You've gotta be kidding me.

"No offense, ASA, but there's no we about this. Sunny isn't a police officer, and she's not used to this sort of magick," said Mac. "I won't authorize it."

"Oh, yes. If you want bombs and death threats to continue to be a part of your precinct, be my guest," Nielsen purred. "Or maybe you want to actually stop witches committing crimes, in which case, Ms. Swann is our only in."

"Well, she's not doing it," Luna snarled, and I saw the gold creep into her eyes. The were was always there, watching from under my cousin's skin. "Sunny's not built for this. Forget it."

"Since when do you give orders?" Nielsen asked.

"Since you want to get my cousin involved in something that's way over her head!"

"Excuse me!" I hissed at Luna. She blinked, and her eyes were their usual gray. "Would you step outside with me, please?" My tone must have conveyed my mighty annoyance, because she nodded meekly and we went into the hall.

"Will you stop doing that?" I demanded. Luna spread her hands, a gesture that hadn't changed since my mother, her aunt Delia, had found pot in her bookbag.

"What?"

"Acting like I'm some frail thing that needs protecting! Maybe I want to do this."

"Sunny, undercover work is dangerous. Hell, I wouldn't do this, and I'm trained."

"You're not a witch," I said plainly. "They'd probably pull your skin off in the first five minutes."

"Charming. You're still not doing it." She crossed her arms. I glared.

"I hate to tell you this, Luna, but it's not up to you. If someone is willing to kill to be on top of the caster witch circuit, do you have any idea what will ripple out? Bad magick in this city is already thicker than coke dealers, and you're willing to exacerbate that when we can stop it?"

She grumbled. "You don't even know that the call came from the same people."

"What's that you detectives get? Hunches. Yeah… one of those. Who else would be watching that courtroom to make sure Abrams blew it up?"

"Sunny, you don't get it—"

"No, Luna, I do." I got into her personal space, because I knew it irritated her. "You hate the idea that I can do something you can't, because you need to be the one on top. But I want to do this and I think I'm going to."

"Fine. Fine!" Luna snarled, and then threw up her hands. "Go to it. But when it all goes horribly wrong, don't come crying to me." She started to walk back to her desk. "And watch out for Nielsen. She smells off."

"Helpful," I commented. "I'm so glad we had this little talk."

My cousin flipped me the bird and walked away. I wish I could say that's unusual for our family, but I'd be a liar.

Five hours later, I sat sweating miserably in one of Luna's vintage cocktail dresses (both too long and too loose for me, who'd gotten the petite end of the gene pool; Luna got the Wonder Woman end) inside an unmarked squad car while Troy and Luna both threw advice at me from the front seat.

"Don't act nervous."

"Don't touch your wire."

"Don't go wandering around."

"Don't act suspicious of anything they might do or say."

I held up my hands to stop the duet. "I get it. Keep the wire on and don't be a spaz, right?"

"Pretty much," said Luna. She handed me a pin. "Camera in there. Your earpiece is your transmitter. Don't lose either of them—department budget is bad enough as it is."

I pinned on the camera and Luna fiddled with it to activate the lens and transmitter. Troy raised his radio.

"Tech van, this is McAllister. You receiving?"

"Ten-four, LT. You sure do look pretty."

Troy looked me up and down. "Nice work, Luna. She looks innocent."

"That's because she is," Luna said. "And if anything happens in there to change that, it's your ass, Mac."

"Hey," he said. "This was all Nielsen's idea. Go cry to her."

"I'm leaving the car now," I informed them. "Enjoy your banter."

"Sun." Luna caught me by the wrist. "Be careful."

I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. One that did not telegraph the eels currently warring with the butterflies in my stomach, or the fact that my heart was throbbing like I was in the middle of a cardiac incident.

Then I turned, and walked across Old Nocturne Way toward number 89.

It was a brick foursquare, circular drive filled with shiny cars with names like Boxer and Stinger and other aggressive nouns. I climbed the tall set of stone steps and rang the bell.

A goon answered. I can only describe him as such, because he looked like he'd arrived via a Mafioso convention. Shaved head, shoulders wide enough to plug an industrial pipe, mean little eyes and hands that reached out to stop me from stepping over the threshold.

"Name?" He had a clipboard.

"Uh… Sunny Swann. Rhoda."

"Which is it, sweet cheeks?"

Fantastic, Sunny, this is off to a smashing start what with him thinking you're a gate-crasher. Luna's voice erupted in my ear, and I jumped a mile.

"Get it together, Sunflower."

The goon cocked his head. "Something wrong?"

"Uh…" Think, dammit. What would Luna say? Go piss up a rope, cueball. Okay, that's not helpful at all. Get someone else in your head…

"Just the fact that you can't seem to find my name on that list," I snapped, drawing my spine straight as if my grandmother were there.

Cueball rolled his eyes, obviously disgusted with the vagaries of the rich. "Swann, you said?" He ran a blunt finger down the lines of type. "Here you are. Sorry for the confusion, miss."

"Yes, well." I flounced by him and into the entryway, my borrowed heels clacking on the parquet floor. A chandelier swooped above me. Walls covered in mural scenes of Greek myths surrounded, dryads and satyrs cavorting along the plaster.

"It's a bit much, isn't it?"

I spun around and almost fell off my heels.

The woman laughed. She was tall and golden—skin, hair, jewelry and even the silk pantsuit she wore. "It was my father's house. Never got around to taking a wrecking ball to the old pile, but it suits for parties like this."

"You must be Rhoda. Come into the salon—everyone's here."

"I… thanks. Are you the one who called me?"

She laughed again, and damn if it didn't sound like honey pouring. "No, that would be Bentley, my second. He handles all of my administrative affairs."

We stepped into a salon, glass looking down the slope toward Siren Bay, a view many climbers in Nocturne City would die for. Goldie waved a hand. "Oh, Bentley? Come here, dear. There's someone I'm dying to introduce you to."

"Bright lady," said Luna in my ear, "what is this? Dallas?"

"Shut. Up," I hissed, trying not to move my lips. "You're gonna blow my cover."

Bentley scurried across the room, dodging penguin-suited waiters carrying trays of champagne and nibbles. "Yes, Mrs. Hanover?"

"Dear boy, this is Rhoda Swann. You remember—from the courthouse? That was a terrible upset, wasn't it?" She didn't sound like she thought it was terrible. More like it was terrible Abrams hadn't managed to blow something up.

Bentley shook my hand and left sweat behind. I couldn't even wipe it on the dress—Luna would kill me. "Hello."

"Hi. Yeah, I just did what anyone would do. That guy was… well… crazy."

"Not what anyone would do," Mrs. Hanover corrected me. "But what a brilliant witch would do. You know, my dear, you rather remind me of myself."

Ew. I was so not this old bat thirty years ago—or maybe forty, judging by how tight her face was.

"Get her talking about Trotter," Troy murmured in my ear.

I smiled at Mrs. Hanover. "When did you start practicing?"

"More years ago than I admit in mixed company," she hooted. Bentley was still standing by us like Gollum in Armani. "Go refresh my drink," she admonished, waving a highball glass at him. "And get one for Miss Swann while you're at it."

Bentley bobbed his head and hurried off.

"He's a gem," Mrs. Hanover sighed. "Gayer than a treeful of Mardi Gras monkeys, but oh! — so efficient, and trustworthy."

I craned my neck for any escape excuse—fire, apocalypse, the sudden appearance of Brad Pitt—but no one looked at me. I was trapped with Hanover. Swell.

She made conversation about her charity work with the city for another five minutes before someone stepped in. "Martha, shame on you. You're keeping this gorgeous woman all to yourself. That's not considerate to your guests, not at all."

I blinked at the prosecutor from the courtroom. He smiled back at me. His tuxedo fit much better than his suit.

"Oh. Hello."

"Hello yourself," he said, reaching out a hand weighed down by a gold watch.

"Where the hell did he get that?" Luna muttered.

"The same place you got that knockoff bag," Troy said. They started to argue. I reached up and palmed the earpiece, dropping it into my purse. They'd get sound back when they could behave.

"Matthew David Procter," said the prosecutor, gripping my hand. His palm was warm. "I never got a chance to thank you."

He was blond, tall, blue eyes, and a strong jaw. Throw a star-spangled headpiece on him, and he could be Captain America. I swallowed. "For what?"

"For saving us all from being a courtroom-sized extra-crispy meal," he said. "You dropped Abrams like you'd done that before."

"No," I stammered. "Never. Just lucky." Men talking to me, other than to ask "You want fries with that?" doesn't happen a whole lot. Luna had guys buzzing around like bees on a flower. I was more like a plastic bouquet.

Matthew laughed. "Could have fooled me."

"I'll leave you two alone," Martha cooed, swooping across the room to ensnare more hapless victims into conversations about polo and tea luncheons. Poor bastards.

"She's harmless," said Matthew, following my look. "Just a little overbearing."

"Are you a witch?" Whoa, look at you go, Sunflower. Way to blurt.

Matthew laughed, little crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. They gave him a tinge of authority that kept him from seeming like a frat boy. "No, I'm not. Just a good citizen who's not afraid of a little magick."

"Ah. Well, good. Do you know much about this… whatever it is?"

"For that, you'd have to ask Martha or someone else in the coven," he said. Coven? Covens went out with putting people in the stocks.

"Maybe I should," I said, squaring my shoulders. "I like to know what I'm getting into."

Matthew clasped my hand as music started burbling from speakers hidden around the perimeter of the room. It was slow, big-band sound doing "As Time Goes By." Good thing I was here instead of Luna. Her sense of cool would be irrevocably dented.

"You know what I think? I think you're way too serious for a pretty girl at a party. Dance?"

Before I could say No, I have the coordination of a drunken fruit bat, he spun me around like the Tilt-A-Whirl at the Las Rojas boardwalk. Crap, I really was going to fall off these shoes. Maybe he'd catch me…

Oh, get a grip, Swann. I gasped and grabbed on to Matthew's shoulders as he dipped me again. From my upside-down vantage point, I saw a flash of red hair disappear into the tall doors at the far end of the room. A couple swung by me, and the door slipped shut.

"You're fine," Matthew said. "I've got you."

"I need to use the ladies' room," I said, disentangling myself from his strong, heroic grasp. "And then I'd like to talk about why I was invited here."

"I'll tell Martha," he said. "But do hurry back. I'm going to look awfully silly if you run off."

"I'll do my best," I said, and walked to the doors, managing to keep my footing in the devil shoes. I didn't actually need to pee. This whole subterfuge thing was easier than it looked.

I slipped inside, following the person I'd seen. "Hello?"

A door creaked and slammed far ahead. The house was dark and dusty, away from the party. The walls were dark-paneled and red-painted, portraits glaring sternly at me from lighted alcoves. Martha Hanover had some really unattractive ancestors.

"Hello?" I whispered, my steps silent on the carpet. I dug out my earpiece and stuck it back in. Only static fizzed. "Fantastic," I muttered. Suddenly, I didn't feel so fearless. Having a badass were in your head will do wonders for your confidence.

I walked the length of the hall, checking doors as I went. Bedrooms, an office, a laundry closet. No dead bodies or anything. It was quiet, and the quiet spooked me. The house felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for the explosion.

The hall ended at a plain door, paint chipped off, locked. I rattled it, and checked behind me, the shadows closing in. I reached into my purse and rubbed my caster. It pricked my fingers. There was ambient magick here, although who was using it was anyone's guess. I hadn't pegged another witch besides Martha and Bentley since I walked in.

I passed over the caster for my wallet, and pulled out my debit card. Luna had lost the keys to our first apartment often enough that she'd finally taught me to jimmy locks. I hadn't paid much attention during the lessons—I had better things to do than hone my criminal skills—but it was a simple bolt, and after five minutes of fiddling and cursing, I had a chewed-up card and an open door.

Which led down a set of slick cement stairs into a black basement.

"This," I said to the dark, "just gets better and better."

I don't smoke, and I don't carry a light, but feeling around the wall got me a switch, and an arthritic bulb flickered on at the bottom of the steps. It buzzed and dimmed, casting pulsating shadows over the stairs and the murky dark beyond.

Okay, Sunny. You can leave, go back to the car, and make Luna go down into the basement, whereupon she will never let you forget this. Or, you can go down into the basement like every horror movie ever, and die in some gruesome manner with your dignity intact.

I took option two. I may be a wuss, but I have my pride.

Shoes in hand, I descended the stairs. In another part of the basement, I heard a gate rattle and muffled laughter. I swore that if the end of this road was a skanky cross-dresser with a poodle, demanding that I put the lotion in the basket, I was going to strangle my cousin.

I made it about ten steps across the cellar, bare except for a few shrouded pieces of furniture, when the light went out with a shower of sparks. I yelped and dashed ahead, blindly. Another light came on, much farther away than the size of the house would suggest. I felt my way along the wall, texture changing from plaster to brick under my fingers. Water squelched between my toes. I was in a tunnel. A tunnel of evil, no doubt. But at least there was light at the end.

No way I was going back to that basement. I walked on.

A long, sticky time later, I hit the other end of the tunnel. An old wooden door was propped closed and illuminated by a spitting lightbulb.

I stopped and listened again. The murmur of voices that had freaked me out in the basement was closer.

Hand on the door, I felt for magick. Nothing, just the same curious dead sensation. That was starting to freak me a lot more than feeling Abrams's raw, tainted power had. It's like when you're in the woods and all the birds stop, and you know the Blair Witch is going to burst out of the trees and eat your organs.

The door opened with only a whisper, and I stepped into a bricked-over rotunda with an earthen floor, the smell of urine and too many bodies making me gag.

"Hello?" I coughed, clapping my free hand over my nose and mouth. The room was mostly in shadow, and I caught a gleam of metal bars in the corners my eyesight couldn't penetrate.

The whisper was quiet, but it almost made me jump out of my skin all the same. A child's voice, harsh with fear. "Help us…"

It was at times like this that I really wished I smoked. A lighter would have solved the whole blindness problem in a heartbeat. "Who's there?" I hissed.

"We're locked up," the voice said plaintively. "Let us out."

Oh, holy crap, I whispered to myself. This was either going to be really sick or really bad. Either way, I wasn't going to end the night without a trauma moment.

The kid—or whatever it was—started to cry. "I wanna go home!"

"O-okay," I stuttered, taking a step toward the shadows. "Let's just think about this for a minute."

As soon as my foot touched the earth in the center of the round room, I felt it. Magick grabbed me like thorns in a briar patch, got under my skin, and wouldn't let go.

Pain exploded behind my eyes, and my legs turned into rubbery spaghetti, dropping me in the dirt without ceremony. I retched as the binding wrapped around me, tighter and tighter, until I had the illusion it was squeezing out my air.

The lights came on, not that I could see anything, and footsteps came toward me, not that I could pick out how many over the amount I was screaming.

"Stop that," a voice ordered me crossly. "No one can hear you."

Hands dragged me into the shadow, the magick following me, holding me in place and stamping out anything I might have been able to pull down myself. As a final insult, the hands wrenched my purse away, taking my caster with it.

Luna's purse. Luna's dress, muddy. She was going to kill me, if whoever had caught me in their binding didn't get to the job first.

I thought about that, and I started to cry in earnest, not from pain but from a pure cold fear that ate at me from the inside.

When I woke up, the binding was still on me, sticky on the skin like mostly dried blood.

I felt around a little bit for magick, but it was dead to me. Okay, so this one was going to be a wits-only sort of deal. Fantastic.

The lights were on, at least. Across the round space under the earth, a metal table held a bank of CCTV monitors and a keyboard. A surgical table sat in the center of a casting circle with padded restraints, like they use on mental patients. And all around the perimeter of the room were cages. Old rusted iron bars and fat padlocks. The cages, I could see most clearly. I was in one.

After I got done freaking out, yelling and rattling the bars with the little strength I had left, I curled in the corner and put my forehead on my knees. Luna would come for me. My radio and camera had to be dead this far underground, and she and Mac would storm the place, find the tunnel, and get me back. I just had to wait. Wait, and not go crazy.

I was able to convince myself of that for maybe an hour. Then I started hitting the bars again. "Let me out! I'm a fucking human being! What's the matter with you people!"

"They never answer." The papery voice came from across the room. The figure in the cage was small—maybe ten or eleven at the most. I squinted and saw that most of the other cages were occupied by kids, some barely out of training pants and some almost teenagers. They were all dirty, skinny, and scared as I was.

"Who are they?"

The little girl who had talked to me shrank back. "We call her Ginger. She gets upset if you say her real name."

I grabbed the bars to steady my hands, which were shaking so hard, they vibrated. "What's your name?"

She lifted a shoulder. "We don't have names down here."

"I'm Sunny. You must have had one before you were… here."

After a minute she bit her lip and whispered, "Madison."

"Hi, Madison. I'm going to get you all out of here, all right?" How was the part that didn't exactly work yet. It was a Luna thing to promise—crazy and risky and grandiose. I didn't even know if I could still use magick. There was a chance the binding had burned me out, killed my ability to use magick for good. My guts lurched.

I couldn't think like that. I had to get us out of here. I was the grown-up. The wussy, freaking-out grown-up.

"When is Ginger coming back?" I asked Madison. She shook her head.

"Soon. I don't like it when she's here. You gotta be quiet or else she gets mean."

"Great," I sighed. "She sounds like a real princess."

The door to the tunnel banged open. "I'm no princess," ASA Nielsen said. "What I am is the boss."

To say I was gobsmacked would be like saying Luna gets sort of cranky on the full moon. I stared at the woman, in what I'm sure was a comical gape-jawed fashion.

"Nice to see you again, Sunny," she said, tilting her head to the side. Her copper hair caught the light and turned molten. I bet she dyed it. That bitch.

"You… what…" I was not the most eloquent captive, just then.

"Yes, I am a witch. No, I don't intend to let you go. Yes, I had Bentley call you and no, your cousin with the body-hair problem won't be coming to your rescue. That about cover everything your little brain was trying to put out?" She pulled up a CCTV picture, and there I was, at the party, gossiping and laughing with a martini glass in my hands.

I hit the bars and drew blood from my knuckles. I had never been so angry. "You took my blood for that glamour! You had to!"

"Not only that," said Nielsen, "but your microphone and camera are broadcasting a loopback signal. No one knows anything at all is wrong."

"Blood witch bitch," I hissed. Nielsen blinked.

"Oh, please. Bentley is the blood. I'm a caster, like you. Pure."

"That makes this whole locking-me-in-a-cage thing so much easier to take. Not to mention you torturing these kids. What the Hex is the matter with you people? Why are you doing this?"

"We'll talk more in the morning," said Nielsen. "In the meantime… say good night, children."

"Good night," they chorused miserably. Nielsen smiled like she'd just won Mother of the Year.

"And to you, Ms. Swann… don't try anything stupid."

I slumped. Luna had to come. But until that moment, I was the default mastermind of our escape.

The lights went off again, and I immediately tried every stupid thing I could think of. There were no weak spots in the bars, and the floor was clay, so I couldn't dig my way out. The door was locked with a padlock, so no more picking, even if I had my purse still.

I was stuck down here, with a psychotic caster witch and a bunch of kidnapped children.

That did it. I started to cry. Muffling my sobs into my hands, but shaking like I was convulsing. Fat, panicked tears rolled down my face.

"Sunny?" Madison whispered.

I sniffed. "I'm fine."

"You stop crying after the first few nights," she said. "But it's okay if you want to. I did."

Oh, gods. Here I was being cheered up by an abducted, abused ten-year-old. I was some big hero.

"Madison?" I said, gripping the bars and letting the cold metal flow calm through me.

"Yeah?"

"Get some rest. Tomorrow, we're getting out of here."

I didn't sleep. I went over and over what had happened in my head. Nielsen tried to kill Trotter. She was a caster witch, trying to fill the void left by the O'Halloran clan. She was damn powerful, ruthless, and completely off her rocker.

None of this explained why she'd snatched me. Was I the last piece of some puzzle I hadn't gotten a look at? Would I be treated to a Bondian monologue about how soon Nielsen would rule zee vurld?

The lights snapped on, and I heard the far-off basement door of the Hanover mansion rolling back. Nielsen and Bentley came in, Bentley swinging a pair of prison shackles from his right hand.

"If you think you're putting those on me, you're in for a surprise," I told him. He smiled at me and adjusted his glasses.

"I've tasted your blood, Rhoda. Do you really want to take such an aggressive tone with me? Just think what I could do to all of the blood still in you."

I backed down. He was right, the bastard. No one raised practicing witchcraft picks a fight with a blood witch if they can help it. They're nasty and mean and don't need a caster to pull magick down to them. Fortunately, they also have a much higher death rate. Casting black magick spells in blood tends to go down the "horrible accident" road. Go figure.

Nielsen walked the perimeter of the room, pointing to children every so often. Bentley followed her and unlocked their cages with a fat ring of keys. The kids were docile to a man, lining up in the center of the floor. Neilsen paused when she hit my cage.

"Are you going to play nice, Ms. Swann?"

I glared up at her. She was wearing a summer-green linen suit today, and her hair was done up in a chignon. How dare she look so good when I'd spent the night in a freaking cage?

"Ms. Swann?" she prompted. "Are we going to cooperate?"

"Don't bet on it," I snapped. Hex me, I was starting to sound like my cousin.

Nielsen sighed. "Bentley, put the chains on her."

He was a lot stronger than he looked, and manhandled me out of the cell and into shackles before I could uncramp my muscles enough to even think about trying to fight. My magick still buzzed like a busy signal when I tried to pull it.

Nielsen stroked her necklace. "Neither of us can call workings as long as this stays on. I'd hate to see some hamfisted escape attempt. It would be beneath someone with your talents." She smiled and licked her lips. "And also, Bentley would flay your skin off one inch at a time."

With that charming pronouncement, she turned and strode to a door in the far wall. It closely matched the brick, and Nielsen opened it with a few charm words.

Bentley shoved me. "Move."

"You're a nasty little man," I said. "And I'm getting pretty tempted to give your nasty little groin a kick."

"Blood," he reminded me, and then leaned over and licked up the side of my neck. "Ohhh. Fresh is so much better than scattered all over a courtroom."

I shied away, my stomach jigging violently. Nielsen clapped her hands. "Bentley! I hardly think Ms. Swann is your type. Get her moving. I'll get the children."

We frog-marched into the next room, another low round hump under the earth, bricked over and slimy with mold and plant growth. "Where are we?" I demanded.

"China tunnels," Bentley said. When I looked blank he heaved a sigh. "Sailors get shanghaied? For ships in port? They took them through here. It lets out at the harbor. After that, it was girls and bootlegging until the Hex Riots closed the old sewer system down. Now it's just us down here, and a few ghosts."

He pulled a switch to an overhead lamp, and I let out a yelp.

Matthew's body lay on the floor.

I shied away from it, quivering, and Bentley laughed. "Don't act so scared. That's just the original. The improved model is alive and well. You met him at the party last night."

"I… I did?" The prosecutor's body was bloated from the damp, and a fine spray of mold had crept from the corners of his nose and mouth. A congealed red-black gash in his neck spoke to his last moments at Bentley's hands.

"You did," Nielsen agreed. "And I must say, he was quite taken with you."

"He's got three more days, maximum," Bentley reminded her in a bored tone. "And that blood in the rotter there isn't going to be any good for a new spell."

Nielsen strolled across the room like she was on a runway and kicked at the body with the toe of her Jimmy Choo. "Hm. You're right. Fortunately, I think I can convince Judge Battleaxe to declare a mistrial. What with the bombing and all. Matthew won't have to show up in public much longer. And then a car crash, I think. Tragic, nothing drunken or debauched. A fire to destroy all the exterior spell markings."

"Oh, dear gods!" I exclaimed, my voice bouncing off the bricks. "You're replacing people with your glamour constructs! That's disgusting!"

"The shoe drops," said Nielsen. "We like to keep them alive, but Matthew here was untenable. He gave Bentley quite a fight."

Leaving me to chew over that, Nielsen went to an intercom box on the wall and snapped, "Get down here. We're all waiting on you."

Bentley herded the children around the perimeter of the room, and then jerked my shackles, bringing me to the center. I looked down at the black paint traveling over the floor. I was in the center of an enormous working circle.

Terrific.

An ancient pulley-operated elevator groaned to a stop, and three of the vapid socialites I recognized from the party last night—tonight? I had lost all sense of time underground—stepped out, clad in plain white cotton pants and tunics, with bare feet. It was all very Jonestown. I hoped the Kool-Aid was cold.

"Bentley." Nielsen snapped her fingers, and her little toady scurried forward with three vials of blood.

"What on the Hexed black earth are you planning?" I asked Nielsen. She wagged her finger at me.

"Now, now, Miss Swann. I know better than to spell and tell."

"Oh, you are too cute. I might vomit," I muttered. Bentley shoved me to my knees in the center of the circle.

Nielsen carefully lifted the emerald off her neck and set it to one side. I felt the magick in the room spike—Bentley's tainted blood-fueled power, Nielsen's hard, glittering brand of caster magick, and the children, every one of them, bright as candle flames in the dark. The three puppets waiting patiently at the edge of the paint ring had a few echoes, nothing special—just enough to hold down a charm or two.

Neilsen pulled a sleek ivory caster from her pocket and held it, turning it concentrically in her fingers. She started to pull down power and it lay over me like a wet wool blanket, hard to breathe, musty with the edge of deceit in her workings.

"I see the future," she said. "I see what should be. Do you see?"

"We do," the three at the edge returned. Nielsen cracked an eye.

"Children, what do we say to Ginger?"

"We see for you," they chorused unevenly. Their concentration sharpened, poured into her power well. Those poor kids. One of them swayed and fainted. Bentley scurried over and slapped him awake.

Nielsen unstoppered the blood vials and dipped her finger into each one, smearing it down her face. "I take the power to shape the world to what I see," she said. "I take it now."

One by one, the three witches came forward and let Nielsen anoint their heads. The air around them shimmered as the glamour fought with reality, bruise-purple. I shivered. Blood and caster magick should never combine like this. It was filthy.

"Gets you going, doesn't it?" Bentley hissed. "Imagine what I did with your blood, Glinda."

"Go Hex yourself," I hissed back at him.

The witches groaned and cried out as the glamour took hold, and their bodies changed. One grew tall and bulging like Fisk, the defense attorney, one turned into a prison guard in a uniform, and one turned into Trotter.

Nielsen stepped back, lowering her caster and surveying her work. "You'll do." She passed the guard a keycard. "That will get you into the ad-sec wing at Los Altos. Make sure to keep your face out of the cameras."

"Yes, ma'am," said the witch in a high female voice. Nielsen sighed, and I felt her power spike again. The glamours cemented, all the little details sliding into place—bags under the eyes, messy hair, suits missing a cuff button.

Nielsen was good. Too bad she was such a bitch.

She turned back to me. "We'll just freshen you up, Miss Swann, and then we'll be done here."

Whether or not Done here ended with me lying next to poor Matthew, she didn't give away. I decided that I couldn't let her get to that point. Bentley produced a knife, sliding the blade open and locking it. "You were tough, I want you to know," Nielsen said. "Not only looking right, but smelling right. You and that stupid mangy cousin of yours."

"Gee, I'm so glad I provided a challenge for you," I said, shying from Bentley's blade. "My biggest ambition in life, you know." I was going to have one shot at this, while the magick was up and I had to make it count. Fortunately, I needed only a little, hardly enough for an ego case like Nielsen to notice.

I pulled the magick down to me, feeling it spiral from my forehead down to my fingers. I shut my eyes and thought about locks. Bentley grabbed my wrist and exposed the underside, the veins, and I felt the swoop of air as the knife came down.

Locks. Open. My locks. How I wished I'd paid more attention to Luna…

Focus. The pin, the tumbler, the latch. The magick found the mechanisms of the handcuffs, struggled in amongst them—gods, I wished I had the kind of memory Luna did for details—and formed my magick into a key.

The shackles snapped open and I let go, twisting in Bentley's grip and bringing my other fist around to whack him right below the belt buckle. It wasn't the kick I'd wanted, but it would do.

He let go of me, air singing out of him. The knife dropped. Nielsen reached for her necklace instead of her magick. I wasn't about to tell her that if she'd just pulled down more power, she could have dropped me. She was stronger and a hell of a lot more skilled.

I let her grab for the spell-jammer instead. I was too busy running.

Up the elevator, the pulleys groaning as I hit the lever and set them free, down a maze of hallways through the Hanover house, and out onto the street.

Bluish morning, the sun not quite up yet. Cars and delivery vans poking through the street. I ran into the middle of the road and flapped my arms like a lunatic, attracting the attention of the nearest van driver. "You okay, sweetie?" he called.

"No!" I shrieked. "I need the police!"

The delivery guy lent me his cell phone and I called the precinct, getting Rick, the desk sergeant and then Lieutenant McAllister.

"Mac," I said. "Mac, we need help… there are kids… they're in cages…" I managed to spit out the whole story. I don't know how long it was before Mac and a bunch of squad cars and ambulances and other official vehicles showed up… I sat down on the curb and drifted, shock finally crashing over me. I'd almost died. I'd come within a handspan of it. But I wasn't—I was here, exhausted and dirty in a dress that was too big for me.

A pair of feet in combat boots came to an abrupt halt in front of me. "Sunny?" Luna choked, dropping her paper cup of coffee onto the pavement.

"Luna!" There was chaos around us, officers carrying out the children, more of them searching the house, radios and sirens filling up the morning like electric birdcalls. Madison looked at me as a paramedic carried her to his ambulance, but she was too weak to do more than stare.

I needed to forget about the night under the ground, the dull hopelessness on the kids' faces. I went to hug my cousin, and then froze.

I was standing a few feet behind her.

Trying to describe seeing yourself staring back at is like trying to describe a visit to Willy Wonka's factory—nothing you say will ever do the moment justice.

"Luna," I heard myself say urgently. "Who's that?"

"You bitch!" I launched myself at her. "You glamour-wearing bitch!"

Luna held us apart as fake-me cowered and I spat invective that I had learned from Luna but never had the occasion to use.

"I don't know what's going on!" Fake-Sunny cried, cowering.

"Luna, it's a blood witch glamour!" I screamed. "She's not me!"

"Everybody shut the hell up!" Luna bellowed. She leaned over to me, back to the fake Sunny, and took a deep sniff. Her eyes widened, gold creeping in around the edges. "You need a shower, Sun," she whispered to me. "But I'll take it over the stinky perfume you came back with."

"I've been in a freaking cage all night," I muttered. "Give me a break."

"What the fuck is that thing I've been having coffee with down at the precinct?"

"A witch using my blood."

I was prepared for Luna to turn around and beat seven kinds of hell out of the fake me, but I wasn't prepared for Not-Sunny to grab Luna's sidearm out of holster and aim it. At us.

"Nobody move!" he/she ordered. Luna shook her head, rubbing her temples.

"This is the weirdest gods-damned morning I've ever had."

"We're all going to get in the car and drive out of here nice and calm," said Not-Sunny, "and nobody is going to be hurt."

"Oh, dude, somebody is hurting for this," Luna assured it. "The therapy alone is going to take months."

A shadow loomed up behind Not-Sunny, from around the corner of an ambulance but I kept my eyes on it.

"Get real," I snapped, to keep her… its?… whatever, eyes on me. "You're in the middle of a damn police raid. Where are we gonna go?"

Troy materialized, holding a portable fire extinguisher. He said, "Excuse me."

Not-Sunny spun, and he whammed her across the temple with the metal cylinder.

Luna let out a breath. "Took you long enough, Mac."

I stood over the glamour, looking at my slack face. "How'd you know that wasn't me, Mac?"

"Maybe because you'd never go insane and grab my gun?" Luna snorted. "You're way too mild."

Troy put his hand on my shoulder. "Sunny wouldn't need a gun. She's too stylish for that." He winked at me, and then called the paramedics over. "Treat her and cuff her. Make sure she goes to the prison ward at the hospital."

Luna sat me on the hood of her car and got me a water bottle, although I think we both wished it was a glass of scotch. "So Nielsen stole your blood from the courthouse, made that thing look like you and sent her back here, while entrapping you and using a bunch of kidnapped kids to raise her power for… what?" She shook her head. "You damn witches never make a lick of sense. Why does she have such a hard-on for you?"

"They turned into Trotter, his attorney, and a prison guard," I recited. I was tired of telling the story, and remembering the sick, twisted-up magick that Nielsen commanded. And remembering how useless I'd been. I curled my fists in my lap. "Maybe… after the courthouse… they wanted me out of the way." It couldn't be because I was a real threat. I was nothing next to Nielsen's skill. It galled me.

"At least now we know how every witch trying to replace O'Halloran is getting picked off," Luna muttered. "ASA Batshit has access to all of his case files and known associates. Soon there won't be any competition. Just her."

My head snapped up. "Luna." I had it, the flash and the tumbling of dominoes that comes when everything that's been whirling around your brain suddenly clicks together. It was sort of a rush. Also, sort of nauseating.

Luna blinked at me. "What? You look like you just swallowed a marble."

"If there's just her, she won't have a hope of cementing control over the city," I rushed. "Nobody even knows she's a witch. She hides it with this big green emerald thing."

"How very Indiana Jones," Luna said dryly. I waved her quiet and went on.

"But if she gets Trotter on board, then she has a mouthpiece," I cried. "He's the last of the O'Halloran circle."

"He'd never do it," said Luna. "And anyway, he's going to prison."

Her face lost color as she arrived at the same station as my train of thought. "Hex me."

"Trotter wouldn't do it, but the glamour would," I said. "And thanks to that explosion-happy idiot in court, Nielsen will get a mistrial."

"She'd have to pop the real Trotter." Luna's finger drummed against her desk. "Prison guard, you said?"

"Yes…" I started, but she was already in the car. I followed her, and we fishtailed onto the street and the freeway in the direction of the Los Altos federal prison.

We drove northwest through sunrise, and into morning, Luna in grim silence, me in a slightly panicked one. My stomach twisted. What could I do against Nielsen? She'd wipe the floor with me.

Los Altos is a clump of gray at the top of gray cliffs with the blue Pacific washing the bottom. Bolted to the bedrock, it has a reputation of being nearly escape-proof. That is, if you weren't being set upon by a couple of witches bent on your death.

The guard at the outside wall didn't want to let me in, but Luna snarled at him until he relented.

We ran through a maze of industrial-lit hallways until we came to the ad-sec block. Luna fetched up against the desk, panting. "You got a Nathan Trotter in custody?"

"Yeah," said the guard, "but you're going to have to wait your turn, Detective. He's meeting with the state's attorney."

Luna hit the desk. "Shit."

"Open the door," I said. "It's an emergency."

The guard yawned. She looked like she was waiting to get her nails done. "Give me one good reason."

"The state's attorney is a witch bent on taking over Nocturne City and instigating a new reign of magickal warfare. She's here to kill Trotter and replace him with a bespelled blood witch. Oh, and she locked me in a cage."

The guard blinked. She looked to Luna, "An emergency, you said?"

"Lady, just open the gods-damn door!" I bellowed, making both Luna and the guard jump.

"Okay, fine," she grumbled, buzzing us in. Luna jerked her sidearm out of holster, shoved it at the guard, and stormed through the gate. "Nocturne City cops," the guard said under her breath, the way you'd say Donkey-licking bondage freaks.

Luna ran ahead of me down the hall to the visitor's room. Through the wire-mesh door, we could see Bentley and Nielsen sitting with Trotter, who was pushed as far back against the wall as he could get.

The guard outside the door was familiar. "He's the glamour," I gasped at Luna. She locked on to the guy like a Titan missile.

The guard turned his head, had enough time to say "What?" and went down like a sack full of nails. Luna shook her fist out, knuckle bones popping back into place.

"What was that?" Nielsen said from behind the door.

Bentley stuck his head out. Luna wrapped her hands around his throat before he could say or see anything other than her face. "Lock my cousin in a cage?" she growled, and then threw him back into the visitor's room, where he bounced off the table and into the wall with a clang.

Nielsen stood up, reaching for her necklace clasp. Bentley drew his knife and Luna grabbed for it, the two of them wrestling. Trotter looked at the four of us, eyes wide.

"Don't," I said to Nielsen.

Her lips curved up. "Don't what, Sunny? Don't kill you? Don't take out one of the few witches who could be a problem to me while I have such a perfect chance?"

"Don't kill him," I said, pointing at Trotter. Nielsen moved her hands away from the clasp of her necklace.

"You know, considering how tricky you are when your magick is up, I think we'll do this the old-fashioned way." She picked up Bentley's knife from where Luna had beaten it out of his hand and advanced on Trotter.

I froze, watching the scene play out in my mind. Blood spatter, Trotter twitching in his cuffs, the glamour coming to take his place…

Nielsen put the knife to Trotter's throat. "Do something!" he screamed at me.

I've been in exactly two fights in my life: with Joey Grant, an odious boy who threw my sandwich into the sandbox in first grade, and Mary-Anne Price, the girl in middle school who started calling me "Blood-freak." She was a lot bigger than me, and she won. I got a black eye and would have gotten worse if Luna hadn't pulled her off me and broken her nose.

Luna and Bentley were still fighting, he powered by blood and she by rage. I was on my own.

This sucked.

I had no magick, and all I could hear was my heart beating. Nielsen pulled Trotter's hair back and put the knife to his throat. And she smiled at me, like she knew I had no hope of winning.

Something inside me snapped. I lunged for Nielsen and caught her around the waist, knocking her away from Trotter. She fought me off, long manicured nails scratching for my face, and I balled up my fist and hit her, right in the eye.

"Ow!" Nielsen shrieked. "That hurt!"

My fist twinged and there was blood on my knuckles. Luna made that look so easy.

I grabbed Nielsen's necklace and pulled. "That's the idea."

The cord snapped, and I felt the magick flood back over the room. I'd let Nielsen's power free, but my magick came back to me, hot and white with the adrenaline in my blood. I looked at Trotter. "Do you want to die?"

"No!" he yelled.

"Then you better help me," I ordered, and reached for my caster.

Nielsen's power came up at the same time, and it was like standing under a thirty-foot wave. I threw up a shield, a wall of pure energy, and I felt Trotter's join me. He wasn't very strong, but he had precise control.

Nielsen laughed. "This is great. You really think you're going to hold me off until what? The cavalry comes? ASA Nielsen can make you all look like a bunch of crooked cops and crazy witches, and Ginger will make sure that if that doesn't work, your bodies will never be identified."

She pushed again, and I staggered, feeling blood come from my nose. Nielsen was laughing. Trotter and Luna were screaming at me, but I couldn't hear them.

Nielsen could beat me. She could beat me easily and she knew it. I gasped, going to one knee, and let my shield crack, just a little.

"Gods!" Trotter yelped. "What's going on?"

I watched Nielsen through my lashes as she closed on me. "She's weak, is what," Nielsen said. "And you're next. Ginger can't be stopped."

I gathered my magick to me, in a tight, hot ball of shield. I was going to get only one shot at this.

"Ginger is going to kill you, Sunny Swann," Nielsen singsonged. "How do you feel about that?"

I met her eyes. "Bitch, please. We all know that's not your natural color."

My magick flew from my caster, singing through the air and spreading like a battering ram, catching Nielsen's burgeoning shield. It threw her backwards into the wall, smoke coming off her caster and her hands. I kept pushing her until there was nothing left and I fell on the floor, for real.

The next thing I remember is seeing Luna standing over me, blood running from her cut lip, grinning.

The prison doctor patched us up and declared us fit to leave. Luna radioed for someone to collect Nielsen and Bentley, who looked like he'd been slammed repeatedly into the grille of a Mack truck, and the U.S. Marshals to move Trotter to a different prison. He barely looked at me as we went by his holding cell, and I sniffed, "You're welcome."

"You did good, Sun," Luna said when she came over to the car. I was sitting on the hood, letting the sun warm me. I ached all over from the fight with Nielsen, and my head buzzed as my drained reservoir of power echoed inside.

"I learned from you," I said. Luna waved it off.

"No. You've got a lot of spine, kid. You should let it out more often."

"Luna?" I said, sliding off the hood and opening the passenger door. "It's been fun, foiling a magick conspiracy and all, but if you ever hear me suggest that I should do something like this again, do me a favor?"

She dug in the glove compartment for a pair of sunglasses. "What?"

"Shoot me before I can say yes."

"Fair enough."

I settled back against the seat and shut my eyes. "I did pretty much kick ass, though, didn't I?"

Luna laughed as she started the motor and pulled onto the highway. "You want some tights to go with that cape and cowl?"

"Oh, Hex you."

"Hey, I'm just saying…"

I let her talk while we drove back toward my real life, mundane and magickal only in ways that didn't hurt. I wasn't going to start running around protecting the weak, but the small warm thought grew in my mind that I'd used my magick down and dirty, gotten into a fight, and felt the euphoria of life-or-death.

And I gotta admit, I kind of liked it.