Tales of the Otherworld (4 page)

“Maybe it
was
overpriced,” I said, as calmly as I could.

He smiled, victory sparking in his eyes. “It was.”

“All right then.” I stood. “You keep the amulet, and I’ll keep the deposit. We’re square.”

Would he leave it at that? I didn’t know Foley well enough to tell. Which meant I hadn’t known him well enough to do business with. At least I was
a fast learner. Next time I found something that valuable, I’d rinse the dollar signs from my eyes and find a buyer I trusted. Well, one I trusted well enough to do business with.

Foley didn’t have his goons follow me from the restaurant, which I supposed was a good sign. I hightailed it back to my apartment, though. I’d make a few calls, see if word on the street changed and, if not, it’d be moving day. That didn’t bother me; I never stayed in one place long. It was the running-away part I hated.

When I reached my apartment door, I cast a sensing spell. It came back positive. Someone was inside.

I readied an energy bolt, then moved against the door, bringing my face closer. A spot cleared, like a dirty peephole. Inside, I could see…gray cloth.

The door opened. My hand flew up, spell ready.

“Ms. Levine.”

I looked up into impossibly blue eyes and felt a double shot of recognition. The first told me he was the Nast I’d seen earlier. The second said he was a sorcerer—a racial warning system. Witches and sorcerers have never been the best of friends.

“Come in,” he said, moving back.

I hesitated, then stepped inside. “Something tells me we’re doing this wrong, considering it’s my apartment.”

No hint of a smile warmed those icy eyes. He only dipped his chin, acknowledging the point. “My apologies for breaking in. There were some unsavory characters in the hall. This seemed wiser. I used a spell so I wouldn’t damage the lock.”

“You know witch magic?” That’s rare for sorcerers. Rarer still for Cabal ones.

He shrugged. “A little. Very little, I’m afraid, which is why I’m here.” He extended a hand. “Kristof Nast.”

Now my internal warning system screamed louder than a banshee’s wail. This wasn’t just some Nast VP, second cousin twice removed. It was the CEO’s oldest son, the heir to the empire. I couldn’t even imagine what he was doing in my apartment. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to find out.

When I didn’t respond, he just stood there, hand out, waiting until I shook it.

“Look, whatever you think I’ve done—” I began.

“I’m not Terrance Foley, Ms. Levine. If you’d done something to displease my Cabal, I would hardly show up myself.”

So he knew about Terrance? What had he heard? I was tempted to ask, but wisely kept my mouth shut until I could venture a calm “How can I help you, Mr. Nast?”

“I want training. Witch magic training. I believe you offer that?”

I headed into the living room, taking a moment to compose myself. He couldn’t even be bothered to come up with a credible lie? I was in serious, serious shit. I racked my brain to think of something, anything, I could have done to piss off a Cabal. But on the scale of badasses, I ranked about a four. Okay, maybe a three, but I was working on it. Still, I’d done nothing to warrant the attention of any Cabal, let alone the Nasts. Which meant someone was spreading stories.

“What have you heard?” I said as he took a seat on my couch.

“That you’re a good teacher. Not the best, but that’s understandable, given your youth. You’re discreet, though, which is my most important requirement.”

“You really want witch training?”

Those cool eyes met mine. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“I know your Cabal has its resident witch. Olivia Enwright. She’s decent enough. Why come to me?”

He gave me a look that said if I was honestly asking, then maybe I wasn’t as bright as he’d hoped. No Cabal sorcerer would ever admit that he saw value in witch magic. Not openly, at least, meaning he couldn’t use a Cabal witch’s services.

“I’m a mediocre spellcaster,” Nast said. “My position doesn’t require any particular knowledge or aptitude in that area. However, there are facets of witch magic I could use in other areas of my life.”

“Such as?”

That cool look again, handsome face impassive. He didn’t say “None of your damn business,” but I heard the words loud and clear.

He went on, “Corporate headquarters are in Los Angeles, as I’m sure you know. If I could persuade you to relocate there temporarily, that would be ideal. It’s not required, though. I have monthly meetings at our office here. We could schedule our lessons then. I’ll ask, though, that we
meet in a hotel. If we are seen, it’ll be presumed I’m having an affair, which no one will question.”

My gaze dropped to his hand.

“I’m not married,” he said. “Nor am I in a relationship. I meant affair in the broadest definition of the word. Now, if that is acceptable, we should discuss terms.”

I shook my head and stood. “Not interested. Sorry. I appreciate that you considered me. I’m grateful for the offer. Blah-blah-blah. But no.”

“And your objection is?”

“Everything.”

I headed for the door. When he didn’t follow, I went back to see him looking out the window as he tucked his pager back into his pocket, having presumably called for his car.

“Yes, the view sucks,” I said. “If you’re going to point out that my apartment is a shitty hole, I already know that. If you’re going to suggest that I could afford better with your offer, don’t bother. I like where I am and I don’t want an upgrade—not in apartments, not in clientele. I already tried that, and I learned my lesson.”

“I’m not Terrance Foley, Ms. Levine.”

“No, you’re a whole other level of scary. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

“Will you walk me down?”

“Elevator on the left. Door straight down the hall.”

He turned that icy gaze on me and, to my shame, I felt my gut chill under it. As much as I wanted to tell him to go to hell, I didn’t dare.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll walk you out.”

When we stepped from the building, there was indeed a car waiting. For me, not him. Foley’s goons sat in their idling Lincoln.

I stopped dead, then backed up into the shadows of the doorway.

“You son of a bitch,” I said.

His brows lifted. He didn’t hear that one a lot, I suppose. Not to his face anyway.

“Is this a threat?” I said.

“Of course not. I merely asked you to walk me down—”

“Because you saw them waiting. You’re telling me I’d better agree to
your terms or they won’t be the worst of my problems. Or maybe they will. Turn you down and you’ll turn me over.” I glowered up at him. “I dealt with you fairly. You brought me an offer. I refused it politely and respectfully.”

“You did. And I’m asking you to reconsider.”

“Go to hell, Nast. I—”

“I’m not threatening you, Ms. Levine. I’m simply pointing out that this isn’t a one-way deal. Yes, you can help me, but I believe I can help you as well.” He glanced at the goons, who’d turned to gape at us through the tinted glass. “Would you like me to take care of this problem for you?”

“No.”

Another brow arch. “I think you would. In fact, I think you’d like it very much.”

“And, in return, I’d owe you. I may be young, but I’m not an idiot. I’m not about to get into anyone’s debt, especially yours.”

I walked back into the building.

I packed my bags and moved out that night. In this life, you learn to rent only furnished apartments. And you learn to budget for the occasional forfeit of that “last month’s rent” paid in advance.

I checked into a hotel. A decent Holiday Inn. I’d earned enough from my deal with Foley to afford it, even if he hadn’t paid full price. A bigger move—straight out of the state—was a definite possibility, but a last resort. I still had a few irons in the fire in Chicago, not to mention that very sweet teaching gig with the suburban witchlings.

I woke up at eight to my pager beeping. Two calls. One was from the Coven leader, Ruth Winterbourne. The other was John Weiss, a necromancer I’d done a job with a few weeks ago. I walked a block to a pay phone before calling Weiss back.

“Eve. I got you. Good.” He sounded out of breath.

“What’s up?”

“I owe you money.”

“Huh?”

“That last job. The spells I sold for you. You thought I took more than my cut. I was sure I hadn’t, but I was just doing some banking, and I realized I screwed up. I owe you three hundred. I’m so sorry.”

“Okay …”

“Can I send the money the usual way? Western Union? You’ll have it by noon. And, again, I’m really sorry. It was an honest mistake. I hope we can work together again soon.”

“Okay …”

We talked for another minute. After I hung up, I stood there, wondering what that had been about.

I’d been sure Weiss had screwed me over with the payout. I’d called him on it, but it hadn’t been a big enough deal to cause trouble over. Just another lesson learned, and I’d moved him off my list of contacts.

Did he have something he needed help with now? Realized he shouldn’t have burned this bridge so fast? Yep. I was pretty sure I’d get another call in a day or two, with a new job offer. Whether I took it remained to be seen.

I called Ruth next. She had a council meeting in Illinois next week. Was I still in Chicago? Could she drop by and see me? Paige was coming and she kept asking about me and they’d love to see me if I was free.

I said I wasn’t in Chicago anymore. That lie came harder than any I’d told in months. I wanted to see them—God, I wanted to see them. I missed babysitting Paige. I missed talking to Ruth. But I couldn’t let Ruth see how I lived now. I wasn’t ashamed of it—I just didn’t want to upset her. She didn’t deserve that.

Growing up in the Coven as a half-demon was an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. The Coven prides itself on using only white magic—when it uses magic at all—and I was the embodiment of everything opposite. Or that’s what my mother told me. Looking back now, I’m not sure how much of it was unwarranted prejudice, and how much of it I earned.

My mother tried to “warn” me in hopes of curbing my powers and turning me into a docile little witch who would make
her
look good. Her witch sisters already treated her with suspicion for having had a demon’s child, willingly or not. So she wanted me to prove that there was nothing wrong with me. I was just like every other Coven girl. And in expecting me to react that way, she’d proven how little she’d known her only child.

The Coven witches did treat me differently. I didn’t imagine that. My earliest memories were of sitting alone at Coven meetings, watching the other girls play, knowing that if I went over, their mothers would whisk them away. They didn’t mistreat me, but I knew they were watching, waiting to see what effect the taint of my demon blood might have. If I’d been the good little girl my mother wanted, maybe they’d have come to realize there was nothing wrong with me. But I couldn’t be that girl. They expected me to be bad, so I complied.

On the scale of bad children, I’d have rated about a four. I misbehaved. I disobeyed. I caused trouble. But I was hardly the embodiment of demonic evil. When the adults shunned me, though, the other girls saw an easy target for every bad impulse
they
had. They tormented me and bullied me and blamed me for everything that went wrong, even stealing things just to plant them in my room.

The worse they got, the worse I got. I had only one ally in the Coven. Ruth Winterbourne. But it wasn’t enough. Her influence was too little, too late, and I grew up knowing that the only person I could trust—really trust—was myself.

By the time I was a teenager, I was trolling the black markets of Boston, buying—and often stealing—dark-magic grimoires, immersing myself in that side of our world. The Coven kicked me out and I’d found myself adrift in a world with only one tool for survival: magic. I was a powerful witch and half-demon, and that was how I would survive.

After breakfast, I headed over to the Lincoln Park campus of DePaul University. No, I wasn’t a student. I’d gotten my high school diploma and knew better than to push my luck. I had a coffee date with Molly Crane, a witch a couple of years younger than me, who
was
a DePaul student. Also a first-rate spoiled brat and second-rate spellcaster, but with the kind of connections that meant I could spare an hour for a weekly coffee with her. I even picked up the tab sometimes.

When I found Molly outside our usual spot, she was sitting with her aunt, Lavina Crane, Chicago’s most notorious dark witch. A former teacher, Lavina now traded in the black market. She’d still take on the occasional student, though. Very occasional. Lavina Crane was the reason
I’d moved to Chicago. I’d practically offered myself into indentured servitude for a chance to train under her. She’d taken one look at my résumé and told me to come back in five years.

“Eve!” Molly said, leaping up. She embraced and air-kissed me, bangle bracelets chattering. “Aunt Lavina drove in from Kenilworth this morning to talk to you.”

“That’ll be all, Molly,” Lavina said, dismissing her with a wave.

Molly motioned that she’d be inside waiting.

“You’ve done the impossible, Eve Levine,” Lavina said when Molly was gone. “You’ve impressed me. That’s rare for any witch. But a Coven witch?” Her plucked brows disappeared under her hair. “I never thought I’d see the day. I take it you’re still interested in training under me?”

I gaped, then cleared my throat. “Sure. I mean, of course. I’d be honored.”

“Good. We’ll start next week. My house. Two o’clock Wednesday. Same terms as before. You’ll run errands for me—courier my goods about, convince debtors that delayed payment isn’t good for their health, that sort of thing. Agreed?”

I nodded. She handed me her card, with her home address and phone number, and penciled me into her Day-Timer.

I found Molly inside, changing cassette tapes in her Walkman.

“When do you start?” she asked as I sat down.

“Next week.”

“Damn, you’re so lucky. I’m her sister’s kid and I’ll be lucky if she agrees to train me. You’ll pass along what you learn, right?”