Randall cast a slow gaze down at the absolutely gorgeous bouquet of white roses and tiger lilies he held, then back up to me and Irish, lips pursed. I straightened up and stepped back from Irish, but he kept my hand a second longer, squeezing tight, then letting me go. I saw Randall notice it.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” I said, and winced. Did I actually just say that?

“No, o’course it isn’t!” Irish snarled, clutching at his head with both hands. I could only imagine what he must be feeling. Years of suppressed thoughts and feelings suddenly let loose while programmed emotions and ideals suddenly vanished. “Alice?” he rasped. “Who am I?”

Randall stepped into the shop and clicked the door shut behind him. “Yes, Alice. Who is he? A friend of Gene’s, wasn’t it?”

I grabbed Irish by the shoulder, and leveled a finger at his face. “Hold it together, man. We’ll talk it through, but not now, okay?” He nodded, but didn’t let go of his head, his fingers knotted tightly in his hair. He closed his eyes and sat down on the stool, and I turned my attention back to Randall. “He was – there was a –” I shut my mouth, because really, how was I supposed to explain this? “Fuck, never mind. Aren’t you, like, really early, Randall?”

“Only four hours.” Randall was looking very dapper in a designer raincoat and matching hat. He put one eyebrow up, an arch and rather disapproving expression. “I had heard you were in a bit of trouble, my dear, so I came to see what help I could offer.”

“Oh.”

“I even brought you a present,” Randall continued, turning his gaze on Irish, sitting there all brawny and shirtless and probably ten years younger than Randall. He turned back to me, tucking a hand inside his coat. Irish tensed, but I didn’t. Randall drew out a flat white box wrapped with a red ribbon, about as long as a book but only half as wide. He threw it, sending it spinning through the air at me and bowing with a flourish. I caught the box, and it clinked. “Plane tickets, Alice, my dear. Keys to my place in Havana. A few other useful odds and ends.”

“Oh,” I said, again. I set the box on the glass counter top, carefully, like it was a bomb. Randall heard I was in trouble and dropped everything to get to my side with help. And here I was, making eyes at a half-naked hottie. Or at least, that’s what it looked like. It didn’t help that I’d obviously completely forgotten about our date, either. “That’s… really… sweet of you, Randall.”

Randall eyed us, and I studied the counter top, which was suddenly the most interesting thing in the shop. My face was hot, and I felt like a total heel. I pulled my cigarettes out of their belt pouch, and lit one, mainly for an excuse to not look at anyone for a few seconds. Randall had customers all over town. It was easy to guess the sort of gossip he’d been hearing. Black Alice, dabbling in dark arts. Summoning monsters. Betraying Jada to the Ordermen. Worse than even that by now, most likely. Witches do love their gossip. And after hearing all that, he’d chosen to risk his career, his life, by tracking me down and offering to help me.

“Wait,” I said. “Tickets? Plural?”

He shrugged out of his raincoat, and set it with his hat on the rack by the door. Underneath he wore a simple white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows and a black vest. It was the first time, I think, that I’d seen him without a tie. He had an elaborate compass design tattooed inside his left wrist. “Two tickets, yes. One for each of us. It’s a private charter, but it won’t take Damian long to work out what happened. When that happens, I thought it best to be far away and behind heavy wards.” He ran his fingers through his gray hair, and approached the counter, holding out the bouquet of flowers.

I took them, and Randall moved to stand between me and Irish. “Let me take you away from all this, Alice. I can, you know.” He ran his fingertips up my arm, gently touching me until his hand was resting on my bare shoulder. “I have the money. I have the connections, even in the Major Arcana. I can make all of this go away.”

“I can’t.”

“What?” Randall said, eyebrows flying up. “Of course you can!” He tapped the slim white gift box on the countertop. “Plane tickets. Keys to a villa in Cuba, heavily warded. Cash, even.”

I pushed the box at him. “Sorry. Can’t. I’ve got a city to save, you know how it is. Truth, Justice, all that crap.”

“I’ll go,” Irish said, sounding incredibly weary. “Cuba sounds nice. Warm. I could use a vacation.”

Randall shot Irish a cold glare over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but who are you? Do you matter?”

Irish shook his head. He had bags under his eyes, and he looked tired. “Not anymore. I’m just the damsel in distress, me. She saved me,” he added, nodding my way. “But what happens now?”

Randall glanced from me to Irish and back, wide-eyed. “This is utter horseshit, Alice, and you know it.” My mouth fell open as Randall spluttered. I’d never heard him swear before. “You? Save the city? You haven’t got an altruistic bone in your body.”

“Oh, that’s nice. That’s real nice, Randall.” I flicked ash in the general direction of the ashtray. I leaned forward, jabbing my cigarette at him. “Let’s try this on for size, if you don’t like the last one: This is my fucking city, and that other hollowman can’t fucking have it.” I heard the shadow snarling along with my words. “I’m gonna find that fucking thing, and kill it. And Carl too, while I’m at it, because I’m having a bad damn day, and somebody’s gonna pay for that. If I can possibly manage it, I’m going to make it take a long time, and it’s going to hurt. A lot.”

I put my cigarette between my lips and took a long drag, breathing out a plume of smoke.

“How’d that sound? Better?” I asked him. Randall waved smoke out his face, and I grinned. It wasn’t a happy grin. “Because, Randall, while I’ve done a lot of awful things in my time, I didn’t do this.  I did not, and I’ll be damned again if I’m taking the blame for it.”

“I know you didn’t do this!” Randall glared at me. “But the Knights think you did, and even worse things, too, and they. are going. to kill you!”

“They can get in line.” I could feel Irish watching me, but I didn’t look his way. “Wait, what do you mean you know I didn’t do this? I could’ve done it. I’m a good suspect.”

“You may act like you’re such a terrible person, my dear, but you certainly know better than to go summoning outlanders.” Randall shook his head, straightening his vest. I flicked a look at Irish, who gave just the slightest shake of his head. “Fine. If you must know, I sold Carl Meiter a book a few years ago.”

“What book?” Irish asked, crossing the shop as he went to collect his clothes from the display case opposite the room.

Randall shot him an irritated look, but most of his attention was on me. “A grimoire, if you must know. It was a collector’s item.” He met my impatient glare, and sighed. “It was a thesis on adapting the early writings of Adolphus Simes to today’s high-energy magical environment. Simes was a genius, for his time, but there just wasn’t enough magic in the world to test his theories. At least, not without several dozen human sacrifices.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Irish said, and Randall spun around to say something but stopped dead when he saw the tattoo on Irish’s back. There wasn’t a witch alive who didn’t know what that cross meant. “Adolphus Simes? He had a strong stomach, and human sacrifice wasn’t much of a deterrent to ‘im. The Order finally pinned him down in Bucharest, in… what was it? 1780? I forget the year, but it was after the American Revolution, and before the French.” I took a few steps to my right, and saw Randall’s face, open-mouthed in shock and gone pale white. Irish, for his part, pulled on his tee shirt and began fumbling with his Kevlar vest and just kept on talking. “I remember the story, because it stood out from the other historical accounts. It was ugly. When they found him, he had six arms and two faces. The extra four arms were stunted things, not good for much. Probably went with the extra face, on his stomach. All the records said was that the face was ‘unhuman and full wroth with fury.’ It was still screaming when he was burned. And you sold his notes?”

Randall had pulled the black stone from a ring he wore, and was holding it over his head, like he was about to smash it to the floor. “You…! You’re the Irishman!” I patted him on the shoulder and gave my best shot at making soothing shushing noises.

Irish turned, and buckled his scabbard back on. “Aye. Was it the accent? I bet it was the accent what gave me away.” Wearing the armored vest and with the sword at his hip, he was looking more like his old self again. I wondered briefly if I should be worried about that.

“Randall,” I said. “You sold a summoning manual? Why, you naughty boy, you. That’s against a lot of rules.”

“He’s an Inquisitor!”

“Retired,” Irish and I said in unison.

“Then it’s true? You were in league with the Order? Are in league?”

“Randall, the more you know, the more they can torture out of you. But for the record, no. I was friends with Irish, not the Order. There’s a difference. Right now the Order wants Irish dead, and that’s a big part of why.” I took the stone from him, and slipped it in my pocket. Best not to tempt the man when he’s all rattled. “Now focus. The book. You sold it to Carl Meiter?”

“I had a lot of bidders. Meiter was the highest. I never thought the fool wanted to use it. Who would? After what it did to Adolphus? The idiot!”

“That he may be, but that’s good news.” Irish crossed his arms, tapping his chin as he thought. “Ye can clear Alice. Of that, at least.”

“Oh, hardly.” Randall rolled his eyes. “And impugn the reputation of that poor, tragic hero, Carl Meiter, who used the very last dregs of his strength to pass a warning from beyond the grave? Carl, who warned Damian about that horrible woman, Alice Frye, who had used him to summon an outlander against his will and killed him in the process?”

I facepalmed. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I wish I were. You should hear what people are saying. Plucky Carl. Noble Carl. Poor, unappreciated Carl. Besides,” Randall cleared his throat delicately. “Alice is right. It’s a bit illegal to trade in those sorts of items. I could produce the bill of sale, but I’d be confessing to a capital crime.”

I dragged my hand down my face, shaking my head. “Fuck.”

“Well, it’s not as bad as all that, is it? Grace will have a thing or two t’ say, and if we catch the bastard he won’t be able to lie his way out’ve it.”

“I don’t know how we’re going to catch him.” I hit my cigarette. “Either of him,” I amended, exhaling. “Especially with everyone up our ass. Wait, Randall, did you say four hours? Wasn’t our date at eight?”

“It’s after four now.”

I kicked a nearby cabinet, and the Hand of Glory inside rocked, nearly falling off the pedestal it sat on. It gave me the finger. “Son of a bitch! It’ll be dark soon, and Gianna’s going to be out hunting for me.”

Randall blinked in surprise. “The vampire? The one into organized crime? Why?”

“Long story. Her grandson Benny was involved in Carl’s summoning scam, somehow, and got himself killed.”

“Oh. And that’s your fault?”

“No!” I stalked back to the counter and crushed out my cigarette butt. “Why does everyone assume things are my fault? But I’ve done jobs for Gianna, and now she’s in trouble with the Eldest because she gave Benny the bite. He died, but it didn’t take. The Eldest is looking to make Gianna pay for making a new vampire when he’d forbidden it, and everyone who works for her is just as fucked as she is.”

Irish put his hand on my shoulder. “Alice, I wish you’d tell me these things.”

“Why? So you can say that was a stupid move? I figured that part out!” The money had been good at the time, sure, but if I’d known it would lead to such a massive pain in the ass I’d have told the festering undead bitch where she could stick her retainer.

“Because if Benny was involved with Carl, and Benny isn’t really dead, then we have a witness. Someone we can get some real facts from.” I stared at the wall in shock, as that sank in. “Unless the Eldest kills him first, of course.”

“Right, right.”

“There’s still Havana,” Randall said. “The two of you could go, now, and I’d join you as soon as I could. I can take you straight to the airport. I have an amulet of disguises. Good work. Not your work, of course, but it’ll do.”

“No, dammit! This is our city, and we’re not running!” My shadow snarled in my mind, and all around the room, the bits of darkness in the corners and up around the rafters flexed and shifted. Belatedly, I caught my unintentional pluralism and tacked on, “Isn’t that right, Irish?”

“Mmm? Oh, aye. Sure. No point, really, is there?”

Randall’s phone rang. “I have to take this. If you’ll pardon me?” he said, digging it out of his pocket. He turned and stepped away, crossing the shop before he answered it. Irish and I watched him go, blatantly waiting to eavesdrop, but Randall activated a privacy enchantment by fiddling with one of his cufflinks.

Since he was the one who’d gone and sold Carl the How-To-Ruin-Alice’s-Life For Dummies book, I wasn’t feeling terribly inclined to respect his privacy. He was standing in a dark corner, and at my command my shadow’s essence filled those shadows. “I can’t hear him,” Irish whispered, and I held a hand up, listening as the shadow carried Randall’s conversation to me.

“Neither can I. But she can. Shush,” I hissed, and Irish raised his eyebrows, glancing at Randall again.

“Ah. Tyler.” Randall said, and my eyes went wide.

What? Irish mouthed at me. I shook my head a little, and he shifted his gaze towards Randall’s back. I listened, hearing a staticky reply. It was a bad connection, and eavesdropping this way was like working out what the words felt like. Imagine listening to braille. We could make out “Have you found her yet?”

I tensed, and Randall answered, smoothly, “I have not. She’s… a bit tricky to pin down.”

“That’s what Damian says. Have you been to her shop?”

“I’m on my way there now.”

“Don’t bother. Damian and I are about to take care of it, sir.”

“Of course. Must run, the light’s changing. I’ll let you know what I find.” Randall closed his phone and turned back, to find Irish and I staring at him. He put his eyebrows up. “You can’t be surprised, my dear,” he said, taking it for granted I’d been listening in somehow. “Of course they’d draft me to help. I’m the best dowser in the business. I can find anything.” Randall held his hands out with a little shrug, smiling modestly. “Except, just possibly, a certain slippery Alice Frye.”

I put a grin on my face, but my mind was racing. Sir? Tyler had called Randall ‘sir?’ “Damian’s about to take care of what?” I told my shadow to leave a piece of herself in Randall’s phone. Just a small piece, enough to listen with. She objected, since she didn’t know when we’d be able to retrieve the piece… and feeling it wither and die as it starved was unpleasant for both of us. Moreso for her, I suspected. Regardless, I really wanted to know more about that ‘sir’ comment, and after a brief mental slapfight, she relented.

“Your shop. You’re protected against divination, of course? I assume that’s what he means.”

I stared at Randall, feeling a slow frown furrow my brows. But Damian knew better than to try scrying me. I’d heard him complain before about how hard it was to peek in on me. He assumed I wore privacy artifacts, but in truth it was my semi-human nature that made me hard to define in his scrying formulae. Which meant… “We should get out.” I tossed an alarmed look at Irish. “Like, right now!” I scooped up my coat and phone, dashing around the counter. “Come on!”

Irish grabbed his coat and then Randall’s arm, propelling the smaller man towards the door as I whipped it open. We spilled out onto the sidewalk, Randall spluttering in outraged surprise. I didn’t stop, darting across the street. The air outside was tingly and electric with building magic. I felt it swell, and break, and I spun to look just as the inside of the shop lit up bright hot white and exploded.

I was connected to every magical artifact in there. The feedback dropped me flat on my back, which turned out to be a good thing, as most of the debris went sailing over me as I groaned and curled up in a pained ball on the sidewalk. The shadow sent up an outraged howl in my head, which didn’t help a lot, either.

“Alice!” Irish’s hand came down heavy on my shoulder, rolling me over. He had a nice cut running along his right cheekbone, blood running down his face. “Are ye all right?”

“S’okay,” I wheezed, waving him off. “That’s gonna look awesome when it scars.”

“When what –” He wiped his face and glared at his hand when it came away bloody. “Shite, now it hurts,” he grumbled, sitting me up.

“Where’s Randall?”

“Here.” I glanced over at him. He was standing a few feet away, dusting his hat off with one hand. The explosion hadn’t touched him, and I wondered who he got his protection artifacts from. He settled the hat on his head and shrugged into his coat. “Your Knight of Pentacles doesn’t play around, I see. Don’t you keep the place warded, Alice?”

I followed his critical glare across the street to… a smoking pile of rubble. My mouth fell open. The buildings on either side had caught fire, and debris was spread out from my former shop in all directions, filling the back parking lot and the street in front of us.

No, actually. I didn’t keep the store warded. I kept the house warded. Which was usually in the store, so no worries. Shit.

“My… my store…” I put my hand on Irish’s shoulder and he helped me stand. “Oh my god.” I clapped my hands over my mouth.

“What? What is it?” Irish caught my arm, going pale at the look on my face.

“I had thousands in jewels in there!” I moaned. “Pearls, diamonds, rubies, Jesus! It was a goddamn jewelry store!”

“Jewelry store… We could’ve died!” Irish turned away, disgusted, running his hands through his hair.

“I can find them! It’ll only take a minute!” I started into the street and Irish grabbed my arm before I got another step.

“Alice, ye daft bitch, we’ve more important things t’ worry about!”

I tugged at his grip, but he had a good hold of me. “It’ll just take a minute!” I hissed at him, watching Randall shake his head at me out of the corner of my eye. “She can find them all. She can sift through the debris, I don’t even have to… go…” I trailed off, staring at Irish.

“What?”

“Oh, shit, I’m so fucking stupid.” I smacked my forehead. “Dammit! I’m dumb! The Ford plant! Under the wreckage! Brant had a ring!” We stared at each other, and I watched the anger drain out of Irish’s eyes as he realized what I was saying.

“Devin Brant? The deputy mayor? Had a ring like Carl’s… And you can find it,” he said, slowly.

“Yes! In a second! And then I can use it to track Carl!”

“You can?” His tone was dubious, but I chose to ignore it.

“Yes! He’s using them for something, right, so they’re active. If the one at the Ford plant isn’t broken, I can use it like a scent trail, and track him down.” I spun to look at Randall, who was staring at me. “Randall, sorry, we’ll have to reschedule the date. Busy day, you understand. We gotta go. Come on, Irish.” We hustled away down the sidewalk, as the sound of sirens approached from the distance. After maybe thirty feet, I hesitated and looked back.

Randall had turned to watch the rest of my shop burn with his hands in his coat pockets. He looked sad… and I remembered the slim white box. And where we left it, on the counter top.

So much for Havana. I elbowed Irish into moving again and this time I didn’t look back.

“Alice,” Irish whispered, speedwalking easily alongside me and sounding very serious. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to steal a car.” I smacked his shoulder. “Try to keep up.”

“Ah. And that Randall, fellow… where are you and he going?”

I faltered a step, and Irish caught my elbow. “Well, not Havana. The tickets went boom.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know,” I answered softly. I sidled up to a glossy black BMW and tapped my ring against the door lock. It popped open, and with a casual look around I held the door open for Irish. “Come on. You drive, I’ll shoot.”

“BMW, eh?” Irish sat down into the driver’s seat, pausing to slide it back. I had to adjust my seat, too, when I got in. Short people owned this car. I tapped my ring against the ignition and the car purred to life. I ran my fingers over the dash as the shadow spilled across the floorboards, poking around at the new location. Even as she explored, though, I could feel her watching me. Measuring me. Waiting for something. “Seriously, who’s this Randall, anyway? Yer seein’ him, I take it?”

“No.” He backed the car up, swinging it around. “Well…” I shot a sideways glance at Irish to check the jealousy meter, and found him staring out the window, forehead wrinkled in thought. He spotted my curious reflection in the window, and turned to look at me.

“How well do you know him?”

“He’s been one of my suppliers for years. Since before I moved to Detroit. I need a lot of exotic materials for the work I do, and he… finds them.” Irish pulled out into the street, adjusting the rear-view mirror. A few blocks behind us, I could see smoke curling up from where my shop had been. I’d liked that building. I’d lived there for years. I liked the way the floors creaked, and how the afternoon sun came in the front windows, lighting up the jewelry cases. I watched it fade away behind us with a sigh as Irish drove. “He’s a dowser. Not just water, or gold, I mean he can find anything. A good price on basilisk eyes or virgin meteoric iron, even. He finds people willing to pay well for my stuff, too. He’s a middleman. Except…” I paused, biting my lip. “That was Tyler he was talking to on the phone,” I finished.

“I gathered. He knows you pretty well, too, I’d say. When ye said that ‘other hollowman’ can’t have your city he didn’t call you on it,” Irish mused.

“Ooh, you’re right!” I rummaged one-handed through my pockets until I found my cigarettes, and got one lit, cracking the window. “I didn’t catch that one. That’s weird. You think he missed it?”

“No.”

“You know what else is weird? Tyler called him ‘sir.’”

“What of it?”

I snorted. “You don’t know Tyler, I take it.”

“He’s –?”

“Knight of Swords. The guy Sam called at the library.”

“Ah, the one you called an evocator.”

“Right. He can make fireballs with his mind. He doesn’t ‘sir’ at anyone, that I know of. The man has authority issues.”

“So…” Irish frowned at me, palming blood off his face again. “He’s taking orders from your boyfriend?” I snapped a sharp look at Irish, but he gave me innocent eyes in return. “What does that make him?”

The sky was darkening. It was a good bet Gianna had had her men out looking for me all day, but I was a hard woman to find, when I wanted to be. Still, Gianna would be heading out soon herself, if she wasn’t out already.

“What did you mean, anyway – your city?” Irish sat back propping one elbow up on the car door as he studied me. When I didn’t answer, he went on, “Ye sounded pretty adamant about it, is all.”

“I was just shutting Randall up.” I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, uncomfortable.

Irish nodded, and jerked his scabbard up, hitting the underside of the dashboard with a resounding thwack. “You didn’t flinch,” he said.

“Nope. Should I have?”

“Sudden, loud noise. Most people would be surprised.”

“It’s dark in the footwell. The shadow is poking around down there. I felt the sword move before the noise.”

“That’s my point. Seems to me you and that shadow are really close. What’s the shadow like? In her mind?” He sent a pointed look my way. “Because I’m guessing she’s got some very powerful instincts. A mating urge, for one. You have every reason to want your privacy, to keep your secrets, but you’ve been married three times? That’s not good sense, but it could be instinct. Territoriality, for another. Ye moved across the country, but kept your house. Now she’s attached to the city, and you can’t take that along with. That’s why you’re not leaving.”

“Shut up and drive.”

“I’m just…” I waved at him to be quiet, squeezing my eyes shut.

“He’s making another call. Quiet, I need to listen.”

It was tricky. Our little sliver of shadow had curled up under the battery, and was fixated on it. It wasn’t aware enough to recognize food, or even know how to eat it… but it was fascinated, like a dog watching someone’s fork. It had little feelers extended throughout the phone, and through that, we could feel the vibrations of Randall and his caller’s words. I couldn’t understand them, and neither could my shadow. I concentrated harder, and felt the way those vibrations would feel shivering against my eardrums. Only then did the sensation become words.

“It’s a wash,” Randall was saying, irritated. “Tell Damian he missed.”

“Missed?” Tyler’s voice, incredulous. “Damian doesn’t miss.”

“He did this time. She figured out what you were up to, and got out before Damian struck.”

“Dammit.” There was a pause. Either that or I lost connection for a second. Hard to tell. “Look, fine, we blew it. Now can we call in extra help? We’re down two Knights, and Damian and I can’t keep up with this bullshit. It’s a miracle the city hasn’t been overrun already.”

“No, you may not.” Randall’s tone echoed with authority. “I will not have word of this getting out.”

“With all due respect, sir, you had your chance,” Tyler snapped. “We’re going to lose Detroit, and I can’t let that happen.”

“And what, exactly, are you going to do? Go over my head? Now that should be interesting. What will you tell them? That you not only completely missed a functional hollowman who’s been living and doing business in Detroit for some years, but that you allowed a second one to be summoned in under your very noses?”

“Yeah, maybe I will. And then maybe I’ll tell ‘em how you wouldn’t let us do anything about that bitch, because you were trying to bottle her up for yourself. How’d that go, by the way?” Tyler’s voice was snide, angry.

“It would have gone just fine, if she hadn’t had a goddamn Orderman in the shop with her, Tyler,” Randall snarled. “How long has she been up to that? Add that to your list of things you tell the other Major Arcana. The hollowman you didn’t notice has been slutting around making friends in the Order.”

Another pause, possibly while both men got a hold of their tempers. Dimly, I felt myself bounce off the car door. “The hell, Irish?” I hissed, scrunching my eyes shut tighter. “I’m working, here.”

“That’s been handled,” Tyler answered. “He’s no threat.”

“Oh, really? And just how do you figure that?” Randall demanded.

“His superior turned up this morning and told us so. His own people are hunting him now.”

“What?”

I bounced off Irish’s shoulder, eyes fluttering open just in time to see Irish careen up onto the sidewalk, plowing a Freepress machine and a mailbox over, and  back out into the street through a flurry of mail, barely missing a telephone pole.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I yelled as he twisted the wheel, whipping across the street and scooting around a car in the left turn lane. Gun fire popped behind us, and the shadow politely informed me that we had fifteen bullet holes peppering the back end of the car.

“I’m handlin’ the fuckin’ drivin!” Irish shouted. “Ye mind takin’ care of the shootin?”

Table of Contents / Chapter Thirty >>

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Image credits: White Rose, Tiger Lilies.