“Chocolate,” Nick affirmed, standing up. He glanced from the vending machines across the room to Francis. The snot was leaning halfway across the counter, probably trying to get her phone number. I watched Nick walk away. For someone so thin, he certainly moved with grace. I wondered what he had done to have gotten hauled into the FIB.
“Something with chocolate,” Jenks drawled in a high falsetto. “Ohhhh, Nick. You’re my hero!”
“Get stuffed,” I said, more out of habit than anything else.
“Ya know something, Rache,” Jenks said as he settled himself further on my shoulder. “You’re going to make one really weird grandma.”
I was too tired to come back with anything. I took a deep breath, making it slow so nothing would hurt. My eyes flicked from Francis and back to Nick, anticipation making my stomach feel tight. “Jenks,” I said, watching Nick’s tall shape as he stood before the candy machine, his head bowed over the change in his hand. “What do you think about Nick?”
The pixy snorted, then seeing I was serious, settled down. “He’s okay,” he said. “Won’t do anything to hurt you. He’s got this hero complex thing going, and you seem to need rescuing. You should have seen his face when you were flat out on Ivy’s couch. I thought he was going to turn up his toes to the daisies. Just don’t expect him to have your ideas of right or wrong.”
My eyebrows pinched, hurting my face. “Black magic?” I whispered. “Oh God, Jenks. Don’t tell me he’s a practitioner?”
Jenks laughed, sounding like wind chimes. “No. I meant he doesn’t have a problem stealing library books.”
“Oh.” I thought back to his unease in the FIB office and then in the van. Was that all it was? Somehow, I didn’t think so. But pixies were known for their judge of character, no matter how flighty, flaky, or mouthy they were. I wondered if Jenks’s opinion would change if he knew about my demon mark. I was afraid to ask. Hell, I was too afraid to show it to him.
I looked up as Francis laughed, writing something down on a paper and pushing it toward the ticket lady. He wiped a hand under his narrow nose and gave her a ratty grin. “Good girl,” I whispered when she crumpled it up and tossed it over her shoulder as Francis headed for the door.
My heart seemed to catch. He was headed for the door! Damn.
I glanced up for help. Nick was struggling with the machine, his back to me. Edden was deep in conversation with an official-looking man in a bus uniform. The captain’s face was red, and his eyes were fixed to the boxes behind the counter. “Jenks,” I said tersely. “Get Edden.”
“What? You want me to crawl over there, maybe?”
Francis was halfway to the door. I didn’t trust Clayton outside to be able to stop a dog from taking a leak. I stood, praying that Edden would turn around. He didn’t. “Get him,” I muttered, ignoring Jenks’s outrage as I plucked him from my shoulder and set him on the floor.
“Rachel!” Jenks shouted as I hobbled as fast as I could, trying to get between Francis and the door. I was too slow, and Francis cut ahead of me.
“Excuse me, young man?” I warbled, my pulse racing as I reached out for him. “Would you tell me where the baggage area is?”
Francis spun on a quick heel. I struggled not to show my alarm that he might recognize me and my hatred for what he had done. “This is the bus depot, lady,” he said, his thin lips twisted in annoyance. “There is no baggage area. Your stuff is on the curb outside.”
“What’s that?” I said loudly, mentally cursing Edden. Where the hell was he? I grabbed Francis arm in a tight grip, and he looked down at my spell-wrinkled hand.
“It’s outside!” he shouted, trying to tug away, reeling as my perfume hit him.
But I wouldn’t let go. From the corner of my sight I saw Nick beside the candy machine, staring blankly at my empty seat. His gaze rove over the people, finally catching mine. His eyes widened. He darted to Edden.
Francis had tucked his papers under his arm and was using his other hand to try and pry my fingers from him. “Lemme go, lady,” he said. “There’s no baggage claim.”
My fingers cramped, and he jerked away. Panicking, I watched him tug his shirt straight. “Freaky old bat,” he said with a huff. “What do you old hags do, swim in your perfume?” Then his mouth dropped open. “Morgan,” he hissed, recognizing me. “He told me you were dead.”
“I am,” I said, my knees threatening to buckle. I was up on adrenaline alone.
His stupid grin told me he had no idea what was going on. “You’re coming with me. Denon will give me a promotion when he sees you.”
I shook my head. I had to do this by the book or Edden would be ticked. “Francis Percy, under the authority of the FIB, I am charging you with conspiring to willfully run biodrugs.”
His grin vanished as his face went white under his ugly stubble. His gaze darted over my shoulder to the counter. “Shit,” he swore, turning to run.
“Stop!” Edden cried out, too far back to be any good.
I lunged at Francis, grabbing the back of his knees. We went down in a painful thump. Francis squirmed, kicking me in the chest as he tried to get away. I gasped, hurting.
A whoosh of air streaked over us where my head had been. I jerked my attention up. Stars crossed my vision as Francis struggled to escape.
No, I thought as a blue ball of flame smashed into the far wall and exploded. Those stars were real.
The ground shook at the force of the blast. Women and children screamed, falling back to press against the walls. “What was that?” Francis stammered. He twisted under me, and for a heartbeat we watched, mesmerized, as the flickering blue flame plastered itself in a sunburst across the ugly yellow wall until it folded back in on itself and vanished with a pop.
Frightened for the first time, I turned to look behind me. Standing confidently by the hallway to the back offices was a short tidy man dressed in black, a red ball of ever-after in his hand. A wisp of a woman dressed the same blocked the main doors, her hand on her hip and her white teeth grinning. The third was a muscular man the size of a VW bug by the ticket counter.
It looked like the witch conference at the coast was over.
Swell.
Francis’s breath came in a gulp of understanding. “Let me go!” he shrieked, fear making his voice high and ugly. “Rachel, let me go! They’re going to kill you!”
I dug my fingers into him as he struggled. Jaw gritted, I grunted in pain as his effort to flee pulled my stitches out. Blood flowed, and I fumbled in my bag for an amulet, watching from the corner of my sight as the short man’s lips moved and the ball in his hand turned from ever-after red to blue. Damn. He was invoking his charm.
“I don’t have time for this!” I muttered, angry as I lay half atop Francis, trying to tag him.
People were running now. They scattered into hallways and unhindered past the woman and into the parking lot. When witches dueled, only the quick survived. My breath hissed in through my nose as the man’s lips stopped moving. Pulling his arm back, he threw the spell.
Gasping, I yanked Francis up and before me.
“No!” he shrieked, his mouth and eyes ugly in fear at the incoming charm.
The force of it slid us across the floor and to the chairs. His elbow jammed into my bruised arm and I grunted in pain. Francis’s scream cut off in a frightening