Crime Spells

Hounding magic is not for the weak of heart. Use magic, and it uses you right back. And I’d been magic’s favorite punching bag for months now. It wasn’t any one thing-I knew how to set my disbursement spells, I knew how to choose what price magic would make me pay: headache, flu, bruises, bleeding, breaks-all the old standbys. But after a year of Hounding on my own, the little pains were starting to add up.

I needed a month-hell, I needed a week-off. I’d even settle for a full twenty-four hours blissfully free of any new ache or pain. After this job, just this last one, I’d take some time off.

Yeah, right. I’d been saying that for a year.

“You eat, Allie girl.” Mama, five foot nothing and tough as shoe leather, dropped a plate heaped with potatoes, eggs, and onions on the table in front of me. I hadn’t even ordered yet.

“Someone skip out on the bill?”

She pulled a coffee cup out of her apron, set it on the table, and filled it with coffee that had been sitting on the burner so long it had reduced down to a bitter acid syrup.

“I know you come tonight. You meet with Lulu for job.”

Apparently this Lulu-my might-be client-had a big mouth. It irritated me that she had spoken to Mama. I’d been doing my best to keep a low profile since coming back to town, but really, who was I kidding? Everyone knew my father-or knew his company. He was responsible for the technology that allowed magic to go public: all those lead and glass glyph-worked lines that ran beneath the city and caged in the buildings, all those gold-tipped storm rods that sucked magic out of the wild storms that came in off the Pacific Ocean. A modern miracle worker, my dad. The Thomas Edison of magic. And an empty-hearted, power-hungry bastard I was doing my best to avoid.

I shoveled a fork full of potatoes into my mouth and almost moaned. I was hungry. Really hungry. I had no idea how long it had been since I last ate. Maybe yesterday? Night before?

“It’s really good.” And it was. The best I’d ever eaten here. Which might make me suspicious, if I were the suspicious type. And I was.

She scowled. “You surprised Mama cook you good food?”

I thought about telling her well, yes, since I’d never tasted anything here that wasn’t too greasy, too spicy, or too cold before, it did seem strange that she’d be waiting for me on this particular evening with a plate of killer hash browns.

I took a drink of coffee to stall while I thought up a convincing lie. The coffee hit the back of my throat in a wave of bitter and burned, and I suddenly wished I had about a quart of water to wash it down with. Forget the lie. Mama was the kind of woman who would see right through it anyway.

“I’m not surprised, just suspicious. What’s so unusual about this Lulu friend of yours that I’m getting the special treatment?”

Mama held very still, coffee pot in one hand, her other hand in her apron pocket and quite possibly on the gun she carried there.

I kept eating. I watched her out of the corner of my eye while trying to look like it didn’t matter what she said. But my gut told me something was wrong around here-or maybe just more wrong than usual.

Finally, Mama spoke. “She is not my friend. You Hound for her, Allie girl. You Hound.”

So much for keeping a low profile. I wanted to ask her why she thought I should take the job, but she stormed off toward the kitchen yelling at one of her many sons who helped her run the place.

If I were a smart girl, I’d eat the food, leave some cash, and get out of Dodge. If I paid my electricity bill short, I could probably make rent without this job. I could take my day or maybe a whole week off right now. There were too damn many crazy people in this town who had access to magic, and my gut was telling me this whole Lulu thing was a bad idea. I swigged down as much of the coffee as I could stand and ate one last bite of potatoes. I put a ten on the table, hoping it would cover the bill.

That was when the door swung open, and in strolled Lulu.

How did I know it was her? Let’s say it was the way she stopped, like a child caught with one hand in her mother’s purse, when she got a look at me. Let’s also say that I didn’t even have to Hound her to smell the stink of used magic, the sickening sweet cherry smell of Blood magic to be exact, that clung to her thrift store sun dress. From the glassy look in her eyes, she’d been mixing Blood magic with something that had her soaring high out of her head.

Blood magic was not something I wanted to deal with. Not today. Not any day. Time to cut out and call it good.

I walked toward her. Since I am a tall woman, six feet barefoot, and since I also had on three-inch heels, I towered over Lulu, who probably clocked in at about five-five and maybe a hundred pounds. I had the physical advantage, which meant I had the power of intimidation on my side.

Hooray for me.

“You’re Lulu,” I told her.

She did the one thing I didn’t expect. She whispered a soft mantra-a jump-rope rhyme-and moved her left hand in an awkward zag. She might be an awkward caster, but she was fast. I didn’t even have time to pull magic, much less a defense, before she and I were surrounded by some sort of sound-dampening spell. The clatter of dishes and Mama’s constant yelling weren’t gone, they just sounded very far away.

A sheen of sweat spread across Lulu’s face and dripped down her chest. Along with the smell of sweet cherries, I caught a whiff of a vanilla perfume that wasn’t doing any good to cover up the stink of her terror.

“He already told you, didn’t he? Sent you to find me?”

Great. She was one of the crazy ones.

“No one’s sent me anywhere. I’m not going to take the job,” I said. “Get yourself another Hound-try the phone book and the net.”

Her eyes, which were so brown they were almost black, narrowed. “You don’t even know what the job is.”

I didn’t answer. I actually did know what the job was-or rather I knew what she had told me it was over the phone. Her dog had been lost, she thought kidnapped, maybe by an ex-roommate. I thought it would be easy money. I thought wrong.

“I’m out.” I said. “Nice meeting you.” I tried to move past her, which shouldn’t be a problem because even though we were in a quiet zone, it wasn’t a solid sort of thing and would unravel as soon as I got out of her range. But she was quick, that crazy Lulu.

She took my hand and pressed her palm to mine. Her hand was hot-fever hot. I felt the cool press of paper, maybe a photo, between us. Lulu smiled, shook my hand as though we were old friends, and let the spell drop away. She wavered, just slightly, and I wondered if I was going to have to catch her before she passed out.

“Sorry it didn’t work out,” she said. And there was more she didn’t say, in her body language, in her eyes. There was “please help me.”

Sweet hells. Nobody should love their dog that much.

I gave her a noncommittal nod and walked out the door, but not before sticking the photo in my pocket.

I hit the night air-humid and too hot for a Northwest summer-and headed into the city at a brisk walk. Evening was just coming on. Streetlights sputtered to life and cast an orange glow that only made the night feel hotter. I wanted some distance, like maybe half a city, between Lulu and me. I cut across a few streets, mostly to make sure no one was following, and ducked into a bar to use the bathroom. Only there, with the bathroom door closed, the overhead fan humming, and the lock set, did I pull out the photo.

It was not a dog in the photo, it was a woman. Maybe twenty years old with short, dark curly hair and a white, white smile against her maple-honey skin. She wore a t-shirt, looked as if she should be in college and wasn’t, and had Lulu’s eyes.

A sister maybe. Too old to be a daughter. She might be the roommate Lulu thought kidnapped the dog. But Lulu had said something about a man, about “he” already telling me something.