Dirty Magic (6 page)

My lack of optimism must have telegraphed through my posture because Mary raised a ham-steak paw and awkwardly patted my shoulder. “It’s okay, lady.”

I forced a smile at her. “Thanks, Mary.” With a sigh, I rose.

“Ahem,” Little Man said. “There’s the small matter of our fee.”

I handed the wad of bills to him. He stuck them in his diaper. Before I could continue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Normally I wouldn’t have taken a call during a meeting with an informant, but I was still waiting for word from Gardner.

“Prospero,” I said, trying to sound capable and trustworthy.

“It’s Gardner.”

“Hi—”

“You’re in,” she barreled ahead. My stomach dipped with excitement, but I kept my features bland for LM’s benefit. “Nine a.m. sharp tomorrow.” She rattled off an address on Stark Street.

“Thank you so—”

“And Prospero?”

“I—Yeah?”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

I cleared the bubble of emotion that unexpectedly formed in my throat. “I won’t.”

“Good. Oh, and you’re in the MEA now. Try to dress the part.”

My hand went to the frayed collar of the T-shirt I’d thrown on to go meet LM. No doubt she was thinking about the scrubs I’d worn the night before. “Yes, ma’am.”

“‘Sir,’ Prospero,” she snapped. “Call me ‘sir.’”

With that the line disconnected. I sat looking down at the phone for a minute, unsure whether to do a victory dance or crap my pants. For a woman offering me good news, she sure didn’t sound too happy.

“Ahem.” LM stared at me expectantly.

“Sorry,” I muttered. He looked curious about the call, but I wasn’t ready to show that particular hand to him yet. I needed to change the subject and fast.

“So what are you gonna do?” LM asked.

“What do you mean?” I frowned at the homunculus’s impish smile.

LM shrugged and leaned back on his elbow against Mary’s chest. “Way I remember it, you and Volos used to be sweet on each other.”

I sighed. “Right. Used to be. That was a long time ago, LM. Besides, I’m not convinced he’s involved. He’s got too much to lose to go back to cooking.”

“Still,” LM said slowly, “you know what they say, right?”

I raised a brow and waited.

“The wizard can leave the magic, but the magic never leaves him.” He winked at me. “Ain’t that right, Prospero?”

The insinuation made me want to tell the homunculus to go fuck himself, but I knew better than to react. Betraying any defensiveness about my own relationship—or lack thereof—to dirty magic would be ammunition in his little hands. Especially if any of the lowlifes I was trying to arrest were more generous tippers than I was.

“Thanks for the help.” I tipped my chin.

LM nodded back, but a speculative gleam in his eye told me that brain of his was already strategizing the best way to use our conversation to his advantage.

“See you around, Mary.”

The giantess smiled, revealing an abundance of sickly white gums and a handful of crooked, decaying teeth. “Be careful, lady.”

I smiled and turned away. There was no use telling her that if I’d been the careful sort, I would have moved the hell out of Babylon years ago.

I
sat in the car for a moment before turning over the ignition. After five years of working my ass off on the beat, I finally had my big break.

I closed my eyes and savored the sugar rush of excitement. Joining the MEA was like making the big leagues. No more blisters on my heels from walking the beat. No more washing my hands twenty times a day to get the sour, junkie stench off my fingers. No more disappointment when the promotion was passed to someone else. Now, I’d finally be able to go after the big dicks. The wizards who orchestrated the covens. The master cookers who developed the potions. The moneymen who made sure cash and magic flowed through Babylon’s veins like tainted blood.

My cell shouted in the car’s quiet interior. Opening my eyes, I scrambled to grab it. “Prospero.”

“Gardner called?” Eldritch said by way of greeting.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Need you to come in today to sign some paperwork before you start.”

“What kind of paperwork?”

“A couple of payroll forms since MEA will be footing the bill for you while you work with them.”

I rolled my eyes. The brass was always downplaying the amount of paperwork we needed to fill out. His “couple of forms” were probably more like ten pages filled out in triplicate, signed in blood with the promise of my firstborn. “I’ll be there within the hour.”

After I’d hung up with the captain, I started the car and pulled away from the curb. Since I had a little time to kill before I hit the precinct, I decided to celebrate the good news with a double-double from the Slaughterhouse. A quick hunt through the cup holder, ashtray, and under the seats of the Jeep netted me four petrified french fries, a Pretenders CD I’d misplaced months earlier, and five dollars and sixty-seven cents in change.

I pointed my car in the direction of the second-best burger joint in the Cauldron. I told myself I wasn’t going to the first-best place—Mickey’s on Hughes Street—because it was too expensive even though it was only two blocks from the precinct. The Slaughterhouse actually was cheaper, but the real reason I chose it that day was it sat only three blocks from Volos Towers.

I had to admit that when Little Man mentioned John’s name in relation to the new potion I hadn’t been surprised. From the instant Gardner told me Gray Wolf was alchemical, I’d thought of him. Of course I had. Yet, my stomach dipped anyway because if LM was right, now that I’d made the team, I’d probably cross paths with Volos sooner rather than later.

It had been about a decade since I’d spoken with him. I saw him on the news all the time, but it was a different drama altogether to think about being in the same room with the man.

Complicating matters, too, was the worry that once Gardner found out about my past relationship with a potential suspect, she’d kick me off the case. Which was the real reason I was praying John wasn’t behind this. If I was lucky, some new evidence would surface that pointed the investigation in another wizard’s direction. And if I wasn’t lucky … Well, I guess I’d leap off that bridge when the time came.

* * *

Forty minutes later, I pulled Sybil into the parking lot along the Riverwalk. I told myself I chose the spot because it had a lovely view of the Steel River and Bessemer Bridge. But the tall tower looming over the river mocked me. I’d come here because I was horrified yet intrigued about the prospect of investigating the man who owned that tower.

Shoving a few fries in my mouth, I decided all I could do was show up at Gardner’s office the next day and see what shook out. After a deep, calming breath, I settled back and lifted the burger. For a few moments, the savory, mustardy, dill-pickle deliciousness distracted me from the prospect of the return of John Volos drama in my life.

Overhead, birds swooped and called as they danced over the surface of the river, looking for a good catch. If this had been a shoreline on another part of the river, I would have laughed at their fruitless attempts. But this stretch of riverbank was part of the renovated Riverwalk District. Just beyond the twenty-story tower, the rust-brown waters of Steel River acted as a moat between the Cauldron and the less shameful sections of Babylon. Used to be this stretch of riverfront property was dotted with shanties and run-down factories, but over the last few years—thanks in big part to Volos’s friendships with the city’s leaders—the area was on the upswing.

The new Riverwalk boasted boutique stores and upscale restaurants. There were even some luxury condo developments in the works for upwardly mobile Mundanes who wanted to feel edgy and hip by living in the more “colorful” part of town.

In addition, Mundanes flocked across Bessemer Bridge on the weekends to visit the flea markets and artisanal goods stands set up along the water. Naturally, since it was still officially the Cauldron, there was always lots of overtime work available for the BPD at the Riverwalk so that the Mundanes weren’t bothered by the magical dregs of the city. And high above all of that was Volos Tower, which had become a symbol in the city for progress and hope for the Cauldron.

I couldn’t help but wonder at the irony. John Volos had gone from being Uncle Abe’s heir—after I left—for one of the biggest magical crime syndicates in the city to a respected community leader and successful businessman in little more than a decade.

I shook my head and swallowed another delicious bite of my burger. As I chewed, I became aware of a strange rhythmic sound outside the car. I rolled down the window and realized it was the swoop, swoop, swoop of an approaching helicopter. I stopped chewing to stare at the speck of black rapidly approaching the tower.

That’s when I realized that the parking lot sat right next to the tower’s helipad. Frozen in indecision, I could do nothing but stare, slack jawed, at the approaching aircraft, which had probably a 90 percent chance of containing the very man I’d been worried about seeing.

By the time I realized I was being ridiculous and rolled up the window, the helicopter was lowering itself onto the helipad. Looking around, I saw I was probably five rows back from the border between the pad and the lot. I reached my free hand toward my glove box and removed the binoculars I always kept there.

The helicopter landed and the blades overhead were powering down. The door popped open. A long, slim female leg emerged first, followed by the rest of a statuesque redhead. The winds from the river and the slowing rotors loosened strands of titian hair—probably a vanity potion since no one was born with that shade—from her formerly neat chignon. She wore a black skirt with a cream silk shirt and break-your-neck stilettos. I squinted at her through the binoculars. She looked familiar, and I realized I’d seen her just that morning on TV as she stood next to Volos at the mayor’s fund-raiser.

Before I could speculate much about her position in his life, I was distracted by a shadow moving in the helicopter’s door. I held my breath. In the next instant, a dark-blond head and tall, trim physique emerged from the shadowy opening. He unfolded up, up, up and scanned the immediate area looking like a god of capitalism surveying his domain.

Awareness skittered up my spine—or maybe it was a warning. All around me, the air tightened with anticipation as I waited for him to spot me. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed when he simply turned to the chick and said something. She threw back her head and spread her ruby lips into a wide smile that exposed a row of pearly white teeth. A French-manicured left hand rested lightly on his arm as she gazed up with her no doubt witty retort.

Oh yeah. They were fucking all right.

I grabbed a notebook and jotted down that theory. But lots of CEO types screwed the help. That didn’t mean Volos was cooking or, worse, dealing potions again.

I took another bite of my rapidly cooling lunch. But now the burger tasted bland and greasy. I was suddenly ashamed at my lack of willpower. I shouldn’t have been in that part of town to begin with, much less sitting in that particular parking lot. As much as I liked to think I’d moved on from my past, that decision proved I still enjoyed prodding those old bruises.

I wiped my hands and face clean with a napkin, threw the trash in the bag, and—

Pound, pound, pound.

I jerked my head toward the driver’s side window and cursed. A dirty, near-toothless man stood at the window, holding up gray rags and a bottle of blue liquid. “Wash your windows, lady?” His voice came muffled through the glass.

I shook my head. “Get out of here.”

The toothless smile morphed into a scowl. “You ain’t gotta be so cunty about it.”

I made a shooing motion with my hands while I glanced toward the helicopter. Volos and the lady were starting to walk away.

Bang!

The window washer took issue with my dismissal and banged the bottle against the outside of the window. “Fuck you, bitch!”

With a sigh, I removed my Glock from under my seat. I figured a quick wave of the weapon would end the one-sided discussion.

“Oh really?” He lifted the stained Grateful Dead T-shirt to reveal a potbelly and the frayed waistband of his jeans. Nestled in the matt of grizzled hair covering his abdomen was the stock of a pistol.

I guess he’d wanted my attention, but now that he had it I was pretty sure he wouldn’t enjoy it.

I threw open the door and yelled, “Hands on your head!” I flashed my badge as I raised my gun.

“Relax, bitch. I waddn’t gonna shoot ya!” He put his hands in the air and stumbled back. “It’s just a pellet gun.”

I jerked it from his waistband, careful not to touch skin. Sure enough, it was a Merlin Px4, which was a sixteen-shot air pistol. It looked just like a Mundane semiautomatic pistol, but instead of bullets it used BBs or pellets as ammo and had a CO
₂
cartridge to provide realistic blow-back action. Lots of street toughs used these peashooters or dart guns to deliver nasty potion-filled projectiles at their enemies. The weapons weren’t illegal because the pellets and BBs weren’t as dangerous as bullets, but they were regulated because they were so commonly used in Arcane crimes.