Joe kept his gaze pointedly forward. Katherine knew he couldn’t have done this alone. Joe had the magical ability of an especially witless goldfish. Making altum required skill and resources that she knew Joe didn’t have.
Katherine had a theory about who did, but she needed evidence. Evidence she might be able to convince Joe to provide.
“Give me a name and you’ll get a shorter sentence.”
“Too bad there’s no name to give.”
Katherine’s grip tightened, the motion squeezing more blood out of the cuts she’d made on her palms while apprehending Joe. It dripped over the plastic steering wheel cover she had for this very situation, falling onto the black jeans that she also had for this very situation. The blood wouldn’t stain, but she hated the way it dried and crusted against her skin.
Katherine leaned her head back against the headrest as they waited at yet another light. She sent an encouraging thought to Noctis’ spellmakers, who were always assuring the witch community in their monthly newsletters that they were getting closer to creating a teleportation spell that wouldn’t require a full body’s worth of blood to complete. Katherine would believe it when she saw it.
“Why now?” Joe asked, after a few minutes of tense silence. “The drug thing—you have to have known about it for a while. Until I got that summons, I kind of figured you were fine with it.”
Katherine bit her lip. While it had taken her some time to find out Joe was dealing altum and to gather the evidence needed to try him for it, there was another reason why his arrest had waited until today.
“Noctis rep is coming tomorrow.”
Joe sighed. “Ah. So I’m a victim of circumstance.”
Katherine huffed a laugh. Yes, the timing of Joe’s arrest was tied in part to the upcoming visit from the representative of the New York–based coven that held the purse (and spell) strings of Aestas and all other covens in the United States. Their Bookkeeper was sent to Aestas once a year to make sure they were following the laundry list of rules for Noctis affiliates. Unfortunately for everyone involved, the man was so deeply annoying that his forty-eight hours in town felt like a month. Throwing a flashy arrest like Joe’s in front of him would be a good sign to Noctis that Aestas was keeping its people in line. But that didn’t mean Joe didn’t have it coming.
“You’re not a victim of circumstance,” she said. “Selling drugs is a crime, last time I checked.”
Joe shrugged. “I gave a few ordinaries a quick high so I could buy myself a vacation. I’m a witch. Why shouldn’t I use that?”
Katherine bit back her speech on magical privilege. It wasn’t worth the breath—a guy like Joe was never going to understand that being born with magic didn’t make him inherently special, and that any advantage it gave him in life was stolen, not earned. She’d given that speech many times before, and even with a sympathetic audience, it didn’t land.
Witches who were born into this world couldn’t understand. And witches who were born to ordinaries, whose magic didn’t so much fall into their laps as get thrown at them like a ticking time bomb—witches likeher—well, the wreckage of their previous lives was usually enough to make them see magic for the double-edged sword it was.
“You broke the law, and now you’re going to pay. Deal with it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joe sneered, his voice anything but respectful. “Happy to be your little Noctis whipping boy. I hope my sentencing brings Sylvia the glory and respect she’s been craving ever since her unsettled ass—”
Katherine grabbed a rag out of her door, then slammed her makeshift gag into Joe’s mouth, keeping him blessedly silent as they crawled their way east until, finally, they made it to Sunspot.
CHAPTER THREE
To ordinaries, Sunspot looked like every other restaurant in its hip, indie Silver Lake neighborhood—a modern silhouette, white walls with dark brown wood accents, surrounded by lush greenery and a tastefully manicured garden out front. What ordinaries didn’t see was the faint gold sheen of the magical wards that lined the building. All they would get was a hazy feeling of dread as they drove past, a subtle twinge telling them this wasn’t the place they wanted to stop for lunch today. Those who ignored that warning were served a mediocre meal by blasé waiters before being sent on their way, with no desire to repeat the experience.
If you had magic, though, Sunspot was a beacon. Anyone with a hint of power in their blood could sense it:Here be witches. The calm power of the wards that surrounded the building provided an instant balm to Katherine’s pain, a reminder that this was the only place she could truly call her home.
Coven headquarters were all designed that way, aimed at bringing the witches of the area together to learn and share spells, but Sunspot was special. Welcoming to witches who weren’t invited anywhere else. Katherine shuddered to think of where she might be if she hadn’t heard the call of Aestas all those years ago. Probably dead in a ditch. Surrounded by the bodies of all the people she’d taken down with her.
Katherine shoved that thought out of her mind as she pulled into her parking space. Being Aestas’ Executrix came with a lot of annoyingthings, but at least she got a reserved spot. The middle-class dream—her family would have been so proud.
Her family was another thing Katherine did not like to think about.
Katherine shut off the car and turned to the still-gagged Joe, leveling him with a glare. The body-locking spell was wearing off—his fingers, slowly regaining motion, were drumming against the seat. Katherine sighed as she reached for her caster.
She flicked the blade open and pressed it to her palm. She’d done this cut thousands of times, but it always hurt. That was the price of magic—not just the blood, but the pain to bring it out. Magic wouldn’t work with something so civilized as blood taken from an IV or syringe. It provided brute force, so it demanded brute force in return.
Every spell required a fresh cut—magic was a bitch that way—and of course, to add insult to injury, you couldn’t use magic to heal a cut used to do magic. Witches healed faster than ordinaries, but it still led to an unreasonably high Neosporin and gauze budget.
Katherine closed her eyes and focused her mind on the bead of blood, channeling it into the rune she had absorbed that morning until it flashed briefly on her palm, a bright violet temporary tattoo against her pale skin. Her stomach dropped as the spell took hold, the familiar bitter scent of magic filling the air.
She pressed her palm to Joe’s neck, the rune letting out a small flare of purple light between them. Her body deflated along with his, although her sag wasn’t due to the sleeping spell. No, she was just plain exhausted.
She sighed as she got out of the car. It was still hot as balls on the east side, but the heat felt at least marginally less oppressive than it had in Beverly Hills. She wondered if all the spray-tan fumes and egos on Rodeo Drive clogged the air.
