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My brain churned away, testing and then discarding various possibilities. That I would throw up my hands and meekly give in to Lucien Dumond was just not an option. Yes, the guy had a certain reptilian charisma, but it definitely wasn’t anything I personally found attractive. And that didn’t even take into account his “business model.”

His group was called the “Greater Los Angeles Necromancers’ Guild,” but it wasn’t as though he and his cohorts were going around Southern California and digging up bodies for reanimation spells. No, they used their powers for something much subtler. Instead, the enchantments they cast were put to use keeping people preternaturally youthful. You know those actors and actresses who barely seem to age, who keep working decade after decade with hardly any loss of vitality?

In one case out of ten, it was awesome genetics and some extremely good cosmetic surgery, and nothing more. In all the rest…GLANG had been on the job. I probably don’t have to point out that there’s a lot of money in that sort of work. Because there was a lot of money involved, Lucien wanted to make sure no one interfered with the magic he invoked to create that false youthfulness.

And no, the actress I’d helped land the perfect role wasn’t anywhere close to the age where she’d be needing that sort of assistance, but Lucien was all about the long game. He wanted to have been her savior so he could start cultivating a relationship that would last decades. Maybe she didn’t need anything smoothed or tightened right now…but in ten years or so, that would be an entirely different story.

Which was why he was so annoyed with me. As long as I dispensed advice to dissatisfied housewives and anxiety-ridden lawyers and dentists, he couldn’t care less what I did. But as soon as I horned in on his territory — Hollywood — well, that was an entirely different situation.

Sigh.

I briefly considered going straight to him and promising I wouldn’t take any more clients in the entertainment industry. That seemed like a cowardly thing to do, though. The guy wasn’t some all-powerful god — he was just a sorcerer who’d actually been born Luke Dershowitz, the oldest son of a very successful oral surgeon in Encino. Why should I have to bow and scrape to him?

Because he’s a lot more powerful than you are,I thought then, although that wasn’t strictly the truth. He was really good at invoking some of the world’s darker forces to firm an actress’s jaw line or nudge a few pounds off some aging actor’s waist, but his real power lay in the witches — male and female — he’d gathered around him. If nothing else, Lucien was very good at getting people to become followers, and when he combined his own powers with theirs, they constituted a force that a solitary witch didn’t have a chance of beating.

That I’d refused to become one of his acolytes…on top of letting him know I had no interest in jumping in the sack with him…well, no wonder I was probably number one on what my mother referred to as a “fecal roster.”

Another option would be to flat-out ignore Lucien. That proposition, of course, would be a hell of a lot riskier. He liked to stay in his fancy mid-century modern house in the hills above his hometown of Encino, but he ventured out from time to time if necessary…and putting down an impudent hedgewitch was probably reason enough to draw him down to West L.A. If nothing else, coming down hard on me would serve as an object lesson to anyone else who might have been contemplating getting in his way.

I briefly considered reaching out to some of the other witches I knew for help, but even if they agreed with my opinion of Lucien Dumond, none of them were strong enough to take on GLANG. Like me, they tried to fly low and avoid the radar.

Except I hadn’t done such a great job of that, had I?

Double sigh.

The third option was one I really didn’t want to consider. Since Lucien viewed Southern California as his territory, I could just…leave. Pull up stakes and go someplace where he couldn’t be bothered to follow me, just like those other witches and warlocks who’d made the mistake of making an enemy of Lucien Dumond.

If they’d really left at all, and hadn’t ended up buried in a shallow grave in the Angeles National Forest or something.

As soon as the thought of running away crossed my mind, I wanted to immediately reject it. Why the hell should I have to leave my treasured little duplex, my clients, the quiet life I’d built for myself? I didn’t have a lot of relatives — my mother still lived in Sherman Oaks, where I’d grown up, although I didn’t have any other immediate family — but L.A. was still my home. Why should I let someone like Lucien Dumond chase me out of my home?

Because he’s a ruthless jackass,I told myself.He doesn’t think the regular standards of morality apply to him.

Again, nothing more than the truth. Yes, he wanted to add me as another notch on his bedpost if possible, but at the same time, he probably wouldn’t scruple to fit me with the sorcerous equivalent of cement shoes and drop me off the Santa Monica Pier if I didn’t toe the line he’d drawn in the sand.

Scowling, I measured some Darjeeling into a pierced aluminum ball and dropped it into a teapot, then poured hot water over it. Fragrant steam rose to my nostrils. Usually, I would have closed my eyes and breathed it in, allowing myself to enjoy the aroma, but I was in no mood right then.

I got out a cup and picked up the teapot, then took both items with me into the living room. Since an embroidered cloth from India covered part of the coffee table, I knew it was safe to set down the pot once I was done pouring myself a cup. However, I didn’t drink right away. No, I went to fetch the one thing I generally turned to when I needed advice.

My favorite Tarot deck.

After slipping the cards out of the velvet bag where I stored them to ward off any stray vibrations, I held them in my hands for a moment, focusing on my intentions. Or rather, letting the universe know that I could definitely use a little guidance.

All right. Time to see what the universe had to say.

I pulled out a card and set it down on the coffee table a few inches away from my teacup.

Oh, great.

The Tower card stared up at me, lightning outlining the slender shape of the structure, illuminating the forms of the hapless people who’d thrown themselves off in a desperate attempt to save themselves.

Well, that was a message, all right…just not the one I’d been hoping to get.

That card signified upheaval, change, sudden transformations.

In other words, it seemed to me as though my hope for continuing a quiet life in my duplex wasn’t, as they say, in the cards.

Annoyed, I scooped up the Tower and shuffled it back into the deck. After all, it wasn’t as though enlightenment was always delivered on the first try. Sometimes I had to make several attempts before the meaning the cards were trying to impart really made any sense.

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