Black Magic Sanction

Adrenaline seeped into me, slow and sweet, making my heart pound and my senses come alive. It felt so good, it scared me. A quick look told me Ivy was gone. The butcher, too. My kick-butt boots scuffed, and I pulled out my phone as if checking the time, sending a 911 to Ivy before shoving my cell into a back pocket. Even if Ivy was checking out the meat behind the counter, she’d come.

My jaw tightened as I stood before a bank of green veggies against the wall. My back was to the woman in a show of nonchalance, but I stiffened as her sensible shoes tap-tap-tapped to a halt eight feet away. Before me was a display of carrots. Back off, babe, or I’ll kill you with this carrot.

“Excuse me,” the woman said, and damn it if I didn’t jump. “Are you Rachel Morgan?”

Her voice was high, almost too childlike to take seriously, and I turned, my fingers sliding off the damp carrots. Her height came in a few inches shorter than mine, heels and all. That hand was still in her pocket, and her smile had a touch of mockery. I didn’t want any trouble, but I’d finish it if she started some.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I said just as sweetly, putting a bunch of carrots in my canvas bag. Not very heavy. Need more weight.

My gaze flicked past her. Damn it, Ivy, where are you? There could be anything in that pocket of hers. The woman didn’t look like much, but then I didn’t either in my jeans, boots, short red leather jacket, and scarf.

“Are you Rachel Morgan of Vampiric Charms?” the woman asked again, and I shifted to a stand of organic potatoes, trying to put distance between us. “Cincinnati’s famously shunned witch. Right?” she insisted, her hand still in her coat pocket as she followed me.

Famous and shunned didn’t go together as much as one might think, and I sighed. My first thought that she was a black witch seemed to be correct. Hefting my bag, I dropped a potato into it and felt my arm stiffen against the extra weight. “Not interested,” I said tightly, hoping she’d do the smart thing and go away.

But I was never that lucky, and she leaned over the potatoes, eyes mocking. “Black magic doesn’t scare me, and neither do you. Come with me.”

Like hell I will. Disgusted, I set another potato in my bag and opened my second sight to take a look at the more nebulous view of the situation, managing to keep my reaction to a mild “mmmm.” The woman’s aura was spotless. That didn’t mean she wasn’t a black witch. She could be sloughing her smut onto someone.

“According to the press,” I said as I dropped my second sight, “Rachel Morgan dresses in skintight leather and has orgies with demons. Do I look to you like I’m wearing skintight leather?” A third potato went in with the rest. Almost heavy enough to knock you on your ass.

Angular face smug, the woman tucked her clutch bag under her arm. Her hands were free now, and my smile vanished. “It’s the demon part I’m interested in,” she said.

Damn it, she was a black witch. All I wanted to do now was leave before I got banned from another store. “Not interested,” I said tersely. “I don’t do black magic. I don’t care what the papers print.”

“Tell me your name,” she insisted, fingers twitching in what I hoped wasn’t a ley-line charm. “Maybe I’ll go away.”

She wanted a positive ID. Crap, was there a warrant out on me again? Maybe she wasn’t from a black coven at all, but from the I.S., fishing for an excuse to bring me in. I took a quick breath, a new worry filling me. I didn’t want to be tagged with resisting arrest. “Okay, that’s me,” I admitted. “Who are you? Inderland Security? Where’s your ID? If you have a warrant, let me see it. Otherwise, we don’t have anything to talk about.”

“I.S.?” she said, the skin around her eyes tightening. “You should be so lucky.”

Damn it, Ivy, get your ass out here! I backed up, and she moved with me. “I wouldn’t,” I threatened, stumbling to a halt when my butt hit the produce shelf. “I really wouldn’t.”

But she reached into her pocket, her free hand up in a laughable display of asking for trust, and came out with a zip strip. “Put this on and come with me. Everything will be fine.”

Oh yeah. Like I believed that. I didn’t even know who she was. Head hurting, I eyed the thin band of plastic-coated charmed silver, then flicked my attention to Ivy, who finally breezed back into the produce area, coming to a wide-footed stop beside the strawberries to take in the situation. The zip strip was basically a cheap but effective version of Pierce’s leash that would prevent me from doing any ley-line magic.

My heart pounded. “Everyone see this?” I shouted, and the whispers at the front grew louder. “I don’t want to go with this woman, and she’s forcing me to!” It was a thin attempt at CYA for the crap that was about to hit the fan, but I had to try.

Sure enough, she smiled—and then she reached for me.

I jerked back, but her fingers brushed mine. A twinge of ley-line energy threatened to equalize between us, strong and tingly. Hand pressed to my chest, I stared, shocked. She had a whopping big chunk of ever-after energy in her chi. Tons more than the average person could hold. Who in hell is this woman?

“Ivy?” I called out. “She’s hot! Watch it!”

Taking that as fear, the woman reached for me again. Bad idea. My breath came in smoothly. I jumped backward and up—which is a lot harder than it sounds—my heels landing on the low produce shelf. Lettuce squished under my boots.

Ivy grabbed the woman by the shoulder and spun her around.

“You first, vamp,” the small woman snarled, her blue eyes squinting in threat.

Grunting, I swung my potato-heavy bag, aiming at the back of the woman’s head. Shock reverberated up my arms when it hit and she stumbled, one hand reaching for the floor before she went down. Ivy danced back when the woman rolled, finding her feet and looking pissed as she brushed at the grime on her nice white coat. From the front a frantic high-pitched masculine voice called for security.

Damn it, I’m running out of places to shop, I thought as I dropped the bag and jumped to the floor. The woman had fallen into a defensive stance. Breathing fast, I looked at Ivy. “Mind if I finish this?” I asked.

Ivy shrugged. “Go for it.”

I was sure I was already banned, so, smiling, I went for it. The woman’s eyes widened, and she retreated. Crescent kick, side, side, side … I backed her up to the broccoli without ever touching her. I could use magic, sure, but this way when the I.S. showed up—and they would—I could stand under a truth amulet and say I hadn’t used magic. Which was exactly why my splat gun was safely at home in my nested bowls. Prudence sucked dishwater.

Expression hard, the small woman fell back into a produce shelf, and I landed a side kick square in her middle to push the air from her and maybe bruise a rib. “I said I wasn’t interested!” I shouted as she wheezed, and I grabbed her coat and hauled her up. “You shoulda just walked.” I thumped her head gently into the broccoli, then let go, leaving her dazed but not incapacitated. I didn’t want a lawsuit, just for her to go away.

Still muddled, the woman darted her hand out and gripped my wrist. Fearing an influx of raw power I yanked back, but the sound of plastic ratcheting closed accompanied the sudden wash of ever-after spilling out of me. Like squeezing a tube of toothpaste, I felt my untapped strength vanish as I fell back, dizzy with the sudden absence in my chi. Dazed, I looked to see a zip strip around my wrist. She’d let me hammer at her just so she could get it on me? Ah, shit. Jenks is going to laugh his wings off.

I stared at the woman as she reclined against the display, smiling grimly at me, though her chest had to hurt. “Got you, Morgan,” she said breathily as she held her middle, bits of lettuce in her hair. “You’re not such a badass. We got you.”

And who is we? “I don’t work for black-arts witches,” I said, not liking the tight feel of the strip against my skin. “I don’t care what you heard.”

“Black witch?” she panted, shoving me back so she could get up. “That’s a laugh. Let’s go.”

“You just don’t get it,” I said, disbelieving. “Zip strip or not, I’m not going!”

The woman’s eyes darted behind me at Ivy’s soft scuff. Fingers dipping into her pocket, she flung out her hand and threw what was probably a splat ball.

“Ivy, no!” I shouted, spinning, but I was too late. True to form, Ivy had caught it, breaking the thin skin and soaking her hand. For an instant I thought it might be okay, but then Ivy gasped. Fear slid through me on seeing her fist covered in a black goo that crawled up her arm, growing as it went. What in hell?

“Dunk it!” I shouted, pointing to the lobster tank. “Ivy, douse it in saltwater!”

The watching employees shouted their approval as the living vampire ran to the meat department. Ripping the top off the tank, she shoved her arm in up to her elbow. Water sloshed out, and the fear etched on her face eased. Turning, she looked at the small woman—and smiled to show her pointed teeth. It was about to get nasty.

Skirt swaying and hair mussed, the woman backed up, but the eager look on her face as she mumbled Latin told me she wasn’t afraid. Her hands were moving in ancient ley-line gestures. I had seconds to keep her spell from completion.

“That was a mistake, bitch,” I said softly. Scooping up a melon, I threw it at her, trying to break her charm before it was set. She ducked, flinging a glowing ball of reddish ever-after as she fumbled for her footing. I dove to escape her charm, spinning to see it hit the tile with a hissing sound. My eyes widened at the sight of a putrid-looking mass of seething bubbles growing larger by the second, bubbling evilly. What is she throwing? That can’t be legal! But by the look of savage eagerness on her face, I didn’t think she cared.

“Who the hell are you!” I shouted.

“Dilatare!” she shouted, invoking her next curse right before she slipped on the squished lettuce and went down with a pained-sounding grunt. Her magic, though, had been loosed.

“Fire in the hold, Ivy!” I shouted when the woman frantically scrabbled away from the glowing ball of unfocused magic, diving behind an apple display. Her magic drifted like a ball of lightning until it rolled under the strawberries, where it exploded.

Employees screamed. Red stuff went everywhere. I ducked as sodden splats and thumps of containers rained down.

“What is wrong with you!” I shouted as I got to my feet and flicked away the sticky goo. Not only was this woman better than me at magic, she didn’t mind getting dirty. Though bruised and covered in grime and strawberries, she was still smiling. She had the look of someone who didn’t care, someone who knew no one would make her accountable for what she did. The bitch was above the law, or thought she was.

I glanced at Ivy, standing nearby and casually going through the woman’s bag. Finding her ID, she held it up between two fingers and nodded. Taking that as a good sign, I ran for the woman. Shunned or not, we were going to settle this now. Just because I couldn’t do magic didn’t mean I was helpless.

White coat furling, she ducked out of my swing and I shifted away from her kick. It was sloppy. You know just enough to get yourself in trouble, I thought, then whipped my scarf off, tangling her wrist as she punched again. She pulled away, and I yanked her forward and down into my raised knee. Her breath came out in a whoosh and she bent double.

I let go of the scarf and shifted behind her, jabbing my heel at the back of her knee. Her leg collapsed, and she went down, still trying to breathe. “Oooooh, sorry,” I said, then untangled my scarf, wincing at the sticky strawberry mess it now was.