Black Magic Sanction

My head swung forward, then back, hitting his middle. The momentum of my legs pulled us forward, and I squinted at the sudden silver dust as Jenks back-winged us through it.

A haze of brown-tinted ever-after hissed in front of us. It hit the legs of a man. He turned. Shock registered, first at us, and then his legs, now encased in the brown goo. He shrieked, making everyone around him look. Horror filled him, and he tried to push it off, but it clung to his hands and crept up his arms. In seconds he was on the ground, unconscious in a widening circle of fear.

"Oh, that's nasty!" Jenks exclaimed, and I lost my breath as he shot straight up, my ears popping. For an instant, the entire Fountain Square spread before us, a mass of noise and movement, and then he dropped.

"Je-e-e-enks!" I shrieked, terrified. I flopped like a rag doll, but we were almost there.

The pop of radio chatter was a blur as we headed for the stage. "Where in hell is the sticky silk!" someone shouted. Another voice demanded, "Get Kalamack out of here! She's got something in her arms!"

They thought I was Jenks? Were they blind?

News crew lines lay across the gray granite, and the whine of electronics hurt my ears as we dipped and swooped. Adrenaline surged as we found the stage. People in suits fell back at Jenks's darting form, as if he was a deadly bumblebee, and I found Trent at the podium. Two I.S. cops were with him: a vamp and a witch. I pointed to the plywood stage, and Jenks dove for it.

I stumbled as my feet found purchase. Jenks's grip slipped from me, and I looked up to see Quen trying to hustle Trent away. Trent's eyes met mine, and he stopped dead in his tracks, wanting his statue back, no doubt.

"Morgan?" he whispered, his voice finding me over the noise. His eyes narrowed, and Jenks flew up to protect me. There was a hiss of propellant, and he darted away, one wing tangled in sticky silk.

"Non sum qualis eram!" I shouted as brown shoes circled me, making the stage shake.

The world seemed to collapse into me. Sound sucked inward, taking the heat of the sun and the rising damp from the plywood under my bare feet. I felt the curse take hold, and the clicking of a thousand abacuses grew as I was reduced to a thought and rebuilt from the idea of myself stored in the demon database.

I pay this cost, I thought in the perfect silence of nothing. No heartbeat, no pixy wings. Nothing. The smut from the curse coated me in a soothing layer of black, and I shuddered.

I felt the magic rise from the singular point of existence that I was, rushing through me, and I expanded. My aura rang as it adjusted, and suddenly... I was back.

Noise hit me, and I sucked in air. Jenks had gotten me here, but he was paying the price for it, sitting on a news crew ante

"She was a pixy! You see that? She was a pixy! That's Rachel Morgan! Get a picture!"

"Oh my God," a feminine voice exclaimed as the crowd reacted. "She's naked! Where did she come from? Are you getting this, Frank?"

Frank, the cameraman, was indeed getting this, and I looked for Pierce, almost panicking when I didn't see him. I was absolutely naked and in front of rolling video cameras. I didn't want to think about the Internet in two hours' time. God, my mother...

Trent stared, his one look down and up making me flush. "What the devil are you doing, Rachel?" he said as I snatched his speech from the podium and tried to cover myself.

"Rachel!" I heard, and my head swung around. It was Pierce, three I.S. cops elbowing and tossing people out of their way to get to him. "Catch!"

He threw the statue over six rows of people. It glittered in the sun even as the I.S. agents fell on him. Fear and surprise rang out when Pierce vanished from right under them and they landed on nothing. My hand went up, and with a solid thump, the erotic statue hit my palm. Everyone was looking at the I.S. cops on the ground, not me. Everyone but Trent. He'd seen the statue, and he shoved the pulling hands off him, his want showing, full and hungry.

I eyed Trent, flushed with embarrassment and premature victory. Try to scare me into signing that lame-ass paper, huh? "I'm trying to return your statue, dumb ass," I said to him over the noise. "Come talk to me in jail if you want it back." Then louder, I wailed, "I can't do this! I'm not a thief. I'm a good girl! I don't care if the coven gives me a lobotomy, I'm not a thief. Take your freaky statue back, Mr. Kalamack!"

I threw the elf porn at him like a girl, feeling a shiver go through me as it left my aura. He caught it, and someone grabbed me from behind. A coat fell over my shoulders, hitting just under my butt. "I made a mistake!" I shouted as I struggled to keep facing the assembled people. "I'm not a bad witch!"

Trent gripped the statue, frozen, wonder on his face.

"Get a shot of that," the newswoman said, then smacked Frank. "Not her, the statue!"

At my feet, Frank pa

"Watch it!" I shouted, trying to breathe as there was the cool feel of a zip strip around both my wrists and the ever-after flowed out of me. I was yanked to my feet, stumbling. Where in hell is Gle