Smoke and Mirrors (6 page)

Though she was sorely tempted to polish off a second rosette, she took one out for her mom and left it on the counter, then knotted the bag and tucked the last one into her backpack. She had no such compunction about leaving all the sesame and rainbow cookies, which she didn’t care for, while pulling out the remaining biscotti, chocolate-dipped wafers, and the lone cannoli for herself.

Fruit, bread and cookies. The dinner of champions.

She headed to the lone bedroom, dragging her backpack with her, pausing along the way to pick up the shredded remains of a scarf that had previously hidden the cigarette burn in the left arm of the couch and re-drape it as best she could.

Both beds were still unmade from that morning. She collapsed facedown into her own, groaning into the pillow at the relief to be off her aching feet. It would have been wonderful to simply lie there, but when she dropped the illusion on her clothing, she got a good whiff of herself.
Parfum de
sour coffee and sweat made her nose wrinkle.

With another heartfelt groan, she rolled out of bed, undressed, took a quick shower, then brushed her teeth and threw on an old T-shirt and pair of gym shorts. It was nearing 1AM, and the other bed was still empty.

It had to be a late shift. Nothing more serious than that.

Had to be.

Sinking back onto the bed with a low squeal of bedsprings, she stared at the bedside clock blankly. Then reached out a hand to touch a phantom image of her mother she’d conjured.

Unlike those she summoned illusions to fool, she could always see through her own creations, no matter how much effort she put into them. The ghost of a touch from the slender fingers twining with hers lingered, but it was more a tingle of her own magic prickling over her skin to tell her she’d made contact with her construct than like anything solid and real.

“I’m proud of you,” a whisper in a familiar voice told her, and she almost believed the illusory smile.

“I wish that was true.”

The phantom said nothing.

Jerking her hand away, Kimberly dismissed the illusion, turned off the lights, and drew the covers up to her chin, using them to wipe away the dampness on her cheeks.

CHAPTER SIX

Cormac hardly waited for Kimberly to set foot beyond his threshold before he had snapped his wards back up to full power and strode with purpose to his office above the store.

He had purchased the building decades earlier, entrenching himself in the heart of the city, much to the irritation of the local powers-that-be. The master vampire of New York, Alec Royce, had once attempted to bribe him to move on to greener pastures. Since that meeting, not a single Other in the city—and perhaps quite a distance beyond that—had made any effort to oust or accost him.

Knowing his reputation, the magi usually kept a healthy distance. Perhaps it had been too long since the last example had been set, he thought. Eleanor should have known better than to meddle in his affairs.

Taking the stairs two and three at a time, he slashed a hand through the air as he reached the top of the stairwell, cutting a path through another layer of unseen protective spells and wards. The previously invisible glyphs etched into the thick wood burst into a fierce red glow, casting strange, dancing shadows against his pale skin and on the walls. Once he passed through, the wards sealed behind him with an audible crack of expanding, superheated air.

Candles set on candelabras of all sizes lit themselves as he passed, illuminating the massive, open chamber. A pair of heavy leather chairs flanked a large couch facing the plasma TV hung over the fireplace. Oak tables in a variety of sizes dotted the room. At the opposite end, floor-to-ceiling casement windows gave a view of the street below.

There were no bookshelves. No magazines. No DVD racks, artwork, or other distractions to be found, greatly at odds with the clutter downstairs.

He went straight to the kitchen. He’d had it redone recently. The bulk of the electronic gadgets baffled him, but he rarely used the space for more than storing food in the fridge. The phone on the island in the center had a short list of phone numbers written on a pad next to it. The paper was yellowing and curling, but the writing was still legible.

He dialed the fourth phone number on the list, fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm on the limestone countertop.

Within a few rings, there was a click, followed by a familiar voice. “I was wondering when you would call.”

“You know very well,” he ground out, “how much I detest games like this. Why did you send her to me?”

“She deserves help.”

“You’ve never been known for your charitable contributions to the less fortunate. What’s in it for you?”

“Maybe I have a soft spot for the girl. She reminds me a great deal of myself when I was her age.”

He waited, knowing there had to be more to it than that.

Eleanor didn’t disappoint him. The moment the silence bordered on uncomfortable, she told him the real reason. “She also needs someone who can guide her, both morally and magically, once she realizes just how much power she has. Her skill set is valuable if she can learn to work with others and keep her pride in check.”

“She’s in a bloody school full of magi brought up to hate everything she is, all learning the same spellcraft she doesn’t have a prayer of mastering. They’ll never learn how to work with her and most likely more than a few of your own coven want to see her dead. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“I don’t think you understand, Cor. She lives with her
human
mother in the projects. Won’t leave her side. And the other kids avoided her until now since they assumed she’s nothing more than a half-blood. I’ve heard the things they call her in the halls and when they think the teachers aren’t paying attention. She needs someone to lean on who won’t put up with her attempts to sidestep protocol, and someone who can keep her and her mother safe until I can convince the rest of the coven she’s worth having.”

He harrumphed, the immediate edge of his anger taken off by the admission. The projects? Most magi would conjure up a fortune or the appearance of one for themselves if they didn’t find a way to earn money on their own. Living with the human half of her parentage explained the ratty shoes she hadn’t thought to disguise and why she kept fiddling with loose threads on her clothes. That, and the brief look of panic that flit over her features when he suggested she take a cab home.

And if the young magi gave her grief for being half-blooded in the halls where teachers could overhear, he could only imagine what might befall her once word got out what she truly was.

“You’re the only one I trust to do that effectively,” Eleanor continued, taking his silence for belligerence rather than contemplation. “You remember what it was like, I’m sure.”

Ha. He knew he was right. He still pretended he hadn’t guessed exactly what Eleanor was up to, adding an edge of disgust to his tone that wasn’t much of a stretch considering what he thought of her coven.

“You’ve tagged her for The Circle?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. Or put off. They won’t take her without knowing she’s stable. I’ve laid the groundwork. I need your help to do the rest.”

Once more, Cormac didn’t respond immediately. Like most Others, he was well aware of how easy it was to put your foot in your mouth and sign away a promise or a service without intending to when dealing with those versed in magic arts. He’d already done as much for Kimberly, though he thought she might be a bit too green to understand yet just what he had committed himself to doing for her by promising his aid. One’s word being one’s bond wasn’t just a saying to magi and their ilk—it was law.

When she wasn’t busy doing her civic duty as a professor, Eleanor Reed was a high-ranking member of The Circle—the premier chantry of magi on the East Coast, and the largest and most influential in the United States. The last thing he wanted to do was agree to anything more than he’d already offered without knowing more about Eleanor’s intentions. If she wanted Kimberly in her coven, there was good reason for it.

He thought about telling the girl to run while she could, but he had a taste of her tenacity down in his shop. Taking a step out of poverty and the human world to rub elbows with the elite of the supernatural community had to be one hell of a carrot to have dangling just out of her reach. Particularly with her no doubt in a perpetual state of worry that either her own or her mother’s life was in constant danger. No wonder she had told him she was desperate.

“
You know what you’re asking,” he stated quietly, resigned.

“I do.”

“Are you officially calling in the favor I owe you?”

“I am.”

“Fuck you, Eleanor.”

She laughed and hung up on him. He slammed the phone down, hard enough for the plastic to give a decided
crunch
it wasn’t intended to make.

While he might have willingly made the choice to help the girl, if only to sate his curiosity about her, being cornered into working for anyone else didn’t suit him one bit. Eleanor obviously wanted him back under her thumb, which led him to wonder if Kimberly was in on it. Perhaps she had played him from the start. Any other magi in her shoes would have been salivating at the offer of a walk-on position into The Circle, let alone having a dragon at their beck and call. He assumed she was no exception.

Stomping to the center of the iron circle etched into the kitchen tile, he suppressed a growl. He would know the truth soon enough. If the magi wanted to play hardball, he could play, too. With a harshly uttered Word, the circle blazed to life, and he rolled up his metaphorical sleeves as the real work began.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kimberly tried very hard to concentrate on the illustrations in her textbook, but her heart was pounding so hard she could barely focus. She kept rubbing her sweaty palms against her ill-fitting skinny jeans, but it didn’t help much.

Professor Reed had made some special arrangements for her students to practice practical application of what they had learned in her Other Etiquette: Know Your Others, Know Your Place class thus far. Though she never said anything to that effect, Kimberly suspected by the way the professor’s tone had grown shorter and sharper over the course of the school year that she didn’t think they were making the kind of progress the professor was hoping for. Not that Kimberly thought many—if any—of the magi in this class would deal with any Others outside class aside from ordering a drink from a vampire bartender in the city or maybe taking a cab with a werewolf for a driver. As interesting as some of the inter-Other politicking might have been, she also had her doubts that much of what they were being taught had any practical application outside the classroom. Aside from being shoved in the direction of a dragon, Kimberly herself had never dealt with anything more magically exotic than another mage’s familiar.

For the day’s class, Professor Reed had invited a mage with an earthbound familiar to visit, and she was currently pacing on the stage at the front of the auditorium going over the rules one last time. If one of the students “accidentally” provoked the creature, the mage it was bound to was supposed to keep it in check. As a last resort, in the unlikely event it lashed out, they were to rely heavily on fire-based defensive spells.

Kimberly had figured it would be a cinch to pass the test since it shouldn’t involve casting anything. It was considered inconceivably rude by the bulk of supernatural society to use one’s powers on another Other without invitation, save in times of war. Aside from which, the whole point of the class was to teach the young magi the arts of supernatural diplomacy.

What had her worried were the whispers by some of the students behind her, easier to hear than usual since attendance was sparse after the announcement had been made that there was a sorcerer attending Blackhollow. She wasn’t sure who said it, but someone had said her name and then someone else muttered something about “heating things up,” followed by snickers.

Her inability to grasp elemental magic meant that, when it came down to it, she couldn’t defend herself in the same ways as everyone else in the class. After four years of studies with them, they knew her weaknesses just as well as Professor Reed. Maybe more so now that rumors were circulating about the sorcerer in their midst.

Going to the professor would only delay the inevitable. If the person who whispered her name was who she thought and she went to the professor to ruin their plans, they’d only corner her after school to do something worse. She knew from experience that she had to handle it herself.

Whatever prank they intended to pull, she had to think of something quick, or she might end up badly hurt.

A brisk rapping on the doorframe cut the professor’s safety lecture short. Her severe expression softened with a welcoming smile as she gestured the two men to step inside.

They were both dressed in jeans and button-down shirts, but which was the mage and which the familiar was obvious. The sandy haired mage was grinning and giving the apprentice magi a friendly wave, striding over to the stage at the center of the auditorium-style classroom to join Professor Reed. His surfer’s tan was not as dark as that of his taller, swarthy companion lingering near the door. The other man’s black eyes were wide, scanning the rows of several dozen student magi before him.