Jocelynn Drake - Dead Man’s Deal

All around the door and on the interior doorjambs I wrote a series of symbols in blue chalk, murmuring a spell as I went. Each glyph briefly flared to life with bright white light as I finished writing it, then went out. The spell and ward combination was what I considered loud magic, like sending up a signal flare on a cloudless night for anyone who might be watching the magical currents in the area. There would be no escaping Gideon’s attention with this, even using the excuse of defensive magic. Since leaving the Ivory Towers and turning my back on the warlocks and witches, I had been banned from using magic except in self-defense. This was not what they had in mind.

Gideon may have admitted that he wasn’t opposed to my staying alive, but that didn’t mean he was willing to risk his life and his cause in order to protect me. If it meant protecting himself and his family, the warlock would haul me in front of the Ivory Towers council in a heartbeat and let me be executed.

Stepping back into the storage room, I knelt down and started drawing more symbols on the sloped concrete floor. The sound of the beating wings had died down and the room was silent as the pixies intently watched me. The pixies held no love for the drug-makers, but I suspected that they liked the warlocks and witches even less. The Ivory Towers had been hunting them for centuries to obtain the magical properties found within their organs. We all knew that any good potion could be made even better with a little pixie heart. I was afraid that whatever trust they had put in me was dissolving before my eyes as I sketched each symbol, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t have to trust me. They only had to escape when the time came.

Standing again, I looked over the cages and smiled at the pixies before turning and leaving. The man and woman were seated at the end of the long table in the middle of the basement, inhaling some fast food, while a pair of guards stood watching over Bronx and me. On a patch of dry floor, I drew one more symbol.

“Stay out here for a few more minutes. I’m almost done,” I announced while motioning for Bronx to accompany me up the stairs. The troll was silent, watching my back as I walked through the house, drawing on each door and on the floor before reaching the front door. No one questioned what I was doing. We had all been raised not to question the witches and warlocks. Hell, you never approached one if you could help it. People had been killed by the members of the Ivory Towers just for wishing them a good day.

Drawing one last special symbol on the doorknob, I pulled the front door closed as I whispered the last word of the spell. I chuckled to myself as I followed Bronx down the front steps to the sidewalk.

“Should I ask what you’ve done to the house?” Bronx asked while picking his way across the front lawn beside me.

I smiled up at him, unable to hide my excitement as I tucked the piece of chalk back into my pocket. “It’s called the Spell of Defenseless Enticement.”

“Reave is going to be pissed. You were supposed to do a protective spell.” Bronx shoved one hand nervously through his hair as he turned back to look at the house. Everything looked fine, but that was part of the enticement. That so-called fine was only going to last for another second or two.

“I did. It’s a very powerful protection spell, but to achieve it, you have to leave yourself completely defenseless. In this instance, all locks become useless. You can’t lock a door, a window, or, say, a cage in this house.”

As if on cue, screams erupted within the house followed by loud banging. We paused in the middle of the lawn and looked at the house. Lights could be seen being flicked on through the cracks in the curtains, followed by more bangs. A few sounded like gunshots, but I wasn’t worried about the pixies. They were wickedly fast when they took flight. The humans were more likely to shoot each other than a pixie in that chaos.

“What’s the protection?” Bronx asked.

“Oh, if you enter the house with ill intent toward the occupants, your feet become stuck to the floor,” I said. I was still waiting to see the pixies escape. “A warlock has to release you, or you have to have your feet cut off to get unstuck again.”

“That’s pretty powerful.”

“I’ve been dying to use it for years, but could never come up with a good excuse.”

The front door was thrown open and the man I had spoken to in the basement and one of his guards came running out. They had their hands over their heads while screaming at the pixies, who were pelting them with what looked like scalpels. As they hit the warm night air, the pixies scattered in all directions, rising higher into the sky until they disappeared from sight.

“What have you done?” shouted glasses man. “They’re all loose.”

I gave him an indifferent shrug. “It’s a protection spell. Unfortunately, it has the side effect of disabling locks. I thought you could handle the pixies.”

“You’ve ruined me!”

The asshole grabbed a gun from the guard and pointed it in my direction. Bronx jumped in front of me, acting as a shield. Grabbing at the troll, I tried to shove him away. My magic was out in the open here. I could stop a damn bullet without risking harm. He couldn’t.

“I don’t think so,” said a calm, irritated voice over the din. The gun exploded in the man’s hand, leaving behind a bloody stub. He screamed, clutching his wrist as he fell to his back in the grass. The guard stood beside him, frozen and white-faced as he stared over my shoulder.

I didn’t want to look, because I knew who I would find. There were things in this world worse than a pissed-off dark elf and his Mafia thugs. Like an irritated warlock with a chip on his shoulder.

Gideon stood behind me, glaring at the moaning man. Reaching into the left sleeve of his shirt, he pulled out a wand. With a quick flick of his wrist, the night was filled with an ugly gurgling before becoming completely silent. The man was dead and I was definitely fucked.

“TWO MONTHS,” GIDEON muttered, shoving his wand back up his sleeve. “You couldn’t go two full months before I had to track you down again.”

“I missed you too,” I said with a nervous smile. Mocking and irritating Gideon was something that I specialized in. However, he had never approached me before when others were around—the world wasn’t supposed to know what I was. With Gideon’s attention now on me, the surviving guard ran into the house and slammed the door shut, leaving us alone with the pissed-off warlock.

“Gage?” Bronx said softly.

I moved in front of the troll, not that my smaller body offered much protection. I didn’t have a wand on me, which made any type of magical protection shaky at best, but I’d protect Bronx from Gideon the same way the troll had intended to protect me from the gun.

“It’ll be okay. I’ve got this.”

Gideon stopped in his pacing and arched one eyebrow at me. I didn’t mean it to sound so challenging, but I needed to try to reassure my friend. Gritting my teeth, I tried to think of some way to placate Gideon. It was as if I was standing in quicksand, the earth slipping away from my feet the more I spoke. A smart man would keep his mouth shut. I wasn’t always a smart man.

“This is a surprise,” I started again, trying desperately to think of a way to defuse some of Gideon’s anger. His mouth firmed into a hard line, proving that I was failing miserably. Warlocks and witches were a testy lot in the best of times. Gideon had proven that he was a good guy, or at least as much as a warlock could be, but he hadn’t batted an eye at killing that fix producer. I didn’t know whether it was because the dealer pulled a gun or because Gideon had been annoyed by the man’s screams. Either way, dead was dead and I wasn’t about to let that happen to Bronx.