Dead Witch Walking (5 page)

“Heads up,” Jenks said, slithering down the plant to hide in the leaves. “Here he comes.”

I straightened to find Denon halfway to my desk. Francis, the bootlicking, butt-kissing office snitch, pulled away from a cluster of people, following. My ex-boss’s eyes fastened on me over the walls of my cubicle. Choking, I accidentally swallowed my gum.

Put simply, the boss looked like a pro wrestler with a doctorate in suave: big man, hard muscles, perfect mahogany skin. I think he was a boulder in a previous life. Like Ivy, Denon was a living vamp. Unlike Ivy, he had been born human and turned. It made him low-blood, a distant second-class in the vamp world.

Even so, Denon was a force to reckon with, having worked hard to overcome his ignoble start. His overabundance of muscles were more than just pretty; they kept him alive while with his stronger, adopted kin. He possessed that ageless look of someone who fed regularly on a true undead. Only the undead could turn humans into a vampire, and by his healthy appearance, Denon was a clearly a favorite. Half the floor wanted to be his sex toy. The other half he scared the crap out of. I was proud to be a card-carrying member of the latter.

My hands shook as I took up my coffee cup from the day before and pretended to take a sip. His arms swung like pistons as he moved, his yellow polo shirt contrasting with his black pants. They were neatly creased, showing off his muscular legs and trim waist. People were getting out of his way. A few left the floor. God help me if I’d muffed my only wish and was going to get caught.

There was a creak of plastic as he leaned against the top of my four-foot walls. I didn’t look, concentrating instead upon the holes my thumbtacks had made in the burlap-textured partitions. The skin on my arms tingled as if Denon were touching me. His presence seemed to swirl and eddy around me, backwashing against the partitions of my cubicle and rising until it seemed he was behind me, too. My pulse quickened, and I focused on Francis.

The snot had settled himself on Joyce’s desk and was un-fastening the button on his blue polyester jacket. He was grinning to show his perfect, clearly capped teeth. As I watched, he pushed the sleeves of his jacket back up to show his skinny arms. His triangular face was framed by ear-length hair, which he was constantly flipping out of his eyes. He thought it made him look boyishly charming. I thought it made him look like he had just woken up.

Though it was only three in the afternoon, a thick stubble shadowed his face. The collar of his Hawaiian shirt was intentionally flipped up around his neck. The joke around the office was he was trying to look like Sonny Crockett, but his narrow eyes squinted and his nose was too long and thin to pull it off. Pathetic.

“I know what’s going on, Morgan,” Denon said, jerking my attention to him. He had that throaty low voice only black men and vampires were allowed to have. It’s a rule somewhere. Low and sweet. Coaxing. The promise in it pulled my skin tight, and fear washed through me.

“Beg pardon?” I said, pleased my voice didn’t crack. Emboldened, I met his eyes. My breath came quick, and I tensed. He was trying to pull an aura at three in the afternoon.
Damn.

Denon leaned over the partition to rest his arms on the top. His biceps bunched, making the veins swell. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I fought the urge to look behind me. “Everyone thinks you’re leaving because of the piss-poor assignments I’ve been giving you,” he said, his soothing voice caressing the words as they passed his lips. “They’d be right.”

He straightened, and I jerked as the plastic creaked. The brown of his eyes had entirely vanished behind his widening pupils.
Double damn.

“I’ve been trying to get rid of you for the last two years,” he said. “You don’t have bad luck.” He smiled, showing me his human teeth. “You have me. Shoddy backup, garbled messages, leaks to your takes. But when I finally get you to leave, you take my best runner with you.” His eyes grew intense. I forced my hands to unclench, and his attention flicked to them. “Not good, Morgan.”

It hadn’t been me,
I thought, my alarm hesitating in the sudden realization. It wasn’t me. All those mistakes
weren’t
me. But then Denon moved to the gap in the walls that was my door.

In a sliding rattle of metal and plastic, I found myself on my feet and pressed up against my desk. Papers scrunched and the mouse fell off the desk, swinging. Denon’s eyes were pupil-black. My pulse hammered.

“I don’t like you, Morgan,” he said, his breath washing over me with a clammy feel. “I never have. Your methods are loose and sloppy, just like your father’s. Unable to tag that leprechaun is beyond belief.” His gaze went distant, and I found I was holding my breath as they glazed over and understanding seemed to dance just out of reach.

Please work,
I thought desperately.
Could my wish please work?
Denon leaned close, and I stabbed my nails into my palm to keep from shirking. I forced myself to breathe. “Beyond belief,” he said again, as if trying to figure it out. But then he shook his head in mock dismay.

My breath slipped out as he drew back. He broke eye contact, putting his gaze on my neck, where I knew my pulse hammered. My hand crept up to cover it, and he smiled like a lover to his one and only. He had only one scar on his beautiful neck. I wondered where the rest were. “When you hit the street,” he whispered, “you’re fair game.”

Shock mixed with my alarm in a nauseating mix. He was going to put a price on my head. “You can’t…” I stammered. “You wanted me to leave.”

He never moved, but just his stillness made my fear tighten. My eyes went wide at his slow intake of breath and his lips going full and red. “Someone’s going to die for this, Rachel,” he whispered, the way he said my name making my face go cold. “I can’t kill Tamwood. So you’re going to be her whipping girl.” He eyed me from under his brow. “Congratulations.”

My hand dropped from my neck as he eased out of my office. He wasn’t as smooth as Ivy. It was the difference between high-and low-blood; those born a vamp and those born human and turned. Once in the aisle, the heavy threat in his eyes dissipated. Denon pulled an envelope from his back pocket and tossed it to my desk. “Enjoy your last paycheck, Morgan,” he said loudly, more to everyone else than me. He turned and walked away.

“But you wanted me to quit….” I whispered as he disappeared into the elevator. The doors closed; the little red arrow pointing down turned bright. He had his own boss to tell. Denon had to be joking. He wouldn’t put a price on my head for something as stupid as Ivy leaving with me. Would he?

“Good going, Rachel.”

My head jerked up at the nasal voice. I had forgotten Francis. He slid from Joyce’s desk and leaned up against my wall. After seeing Denon do the same thing, the effect was laughable. Slowly, I slipped back into my swivel chair.

“I’ve been waiting six months for you to get steamed up enough to leave,” Francis said. “I should’ve known all you needed was to get drunk.”

A surge of anger burned away the last of my fear, and I returned to my packing. My fingers were cold, and I tried to rub some warmth back into them. Jenks came out of hiding and silently flitted to the top of my plant.

Francis pushed the sleeves of his jacket back to his elbows. Nudging my check out of the way with a single finger, he sat on my desk with one foot on the floor. “It took a lot longer than I thought,” he mocked. “Either you’re really stubborn or really stupid. Either way, you’re really dead.” He sniffed, making a rasping noise through his thin nose.

I slammed a desk drawer shut, nearly catching his fingers. “Is there a point you’re trying to make,
Francis
?”

“It’s Frank,” he said, trying to look superior but coming off as if he had a cold. “Don’t bother dumping your computer files. There’re mine, along with your desk.”

I glanced at my monitor with its screen saver of a big, bug-eyed frog. Every so often it ate a fly with Francis’s face on it. “Since when are the stiffs downstairs letting a
warlock
run a case?” I asked, hammering at his classification. Francis wasn’t good enough to rank witch. He could invoke a spell, but didn’t have the know-how to stir one. I did, though I usually bought my amulets. It was easier, and probably safer for me and my mark. It wasn’t my fault thousands of years of stereotyping had put females as witches and males as warlocks.

Apparently it was just what he wanted me to ask. “You’re not the only one who can cook, Rachel-me-gal. I got my license last week.” Leaning, he picked a pen out of my box and set it back in the pencil cup. “I’d have made witch a long time ago. I just didn’t want to dirty my hands learning how to stir a spell. I shouldn’t have waited so long. It’s too easy.”

I plucked the pen back out and tucked it in my back pocket. “Well, goody for you.”
Francis made the jump to witch?
I thought.
They must have lowered the standards.

“Yup,” Francis said, cleaning under his fingernails with one of my silver daggers. “Got your desk, your caseload, even your company car.”

Snatching my knife out of his hand, I tossed it in the box. “I don’t have a company car.”

“I do.” He flicked the collar of his shirt covered with palm trees as if very pleased with himself. I made a vow to keep my mouth shut lest I give him another chance to brag. “Yeah,” he said with an overdone sigh. “I’ll be needing it. Denon has me going out to interview Councilman Trenton Kalamack on Monday.” Francis snickered. “While you were out flubbing your measly snag and drag, I led the run that landed two kilos of Brimstone.”

“Big freaking deal,” I said, ready to strangle him.

“It’s not the amount.” He tossed his hair out of his eyes. “It was who was carrying it.”

That got my interest. Trent’s name in connection with Brimstone? “Who?” I said.

Francis slid off my desk. He stumbled over my fuzzy pink office slippers, nearly falling. Catching himself, he sighted down his finger as if it were a pistol. “Watch your back, Morgan.”

That was my limit. Face twisting, I lashed my foot out, tucking it neatly under his. He went down with a gratifying yelp. I had my knee on the back of his nasty polyester coat as he hit the floor. My hand slapped my hip for my missing cuffs. Jenks cheered, flitting overhead. The office went quiet after a gasp of alarm. No one would interfere. They wouldn’t even look at me.

“I’ve got nothing to lose, cookie,” I snarled, leaning down until I could smell his sweat. “Like you said, I’m already dead, so the only thing keeping me from ripping your eyelids off right now is simple curiosity. I’m going to ask you again. Who did you tag with Brimstone?”

“Rachel,” he cried, able to knock me on my butt but afraid to try. “You’re in deep—Ow! Ow!” he exclaimed as my nails dug into the top of his right eyelid. “Yolin. Yolin Bates!”

“Trent Kalamack’s secretary?” Jenks said, hovering over my shoulder.

“Yeah,” Francis said, his face scraping the carpeting as he turned his head to see me. “Or rather, his late secretary. Damn it, Rachel. Get off me!”

“He’s dead?” I dusted off my jeans as I got to my feet.

Francis was sullen as he stood, but he was getting some joy out of telling me this or he would have already walked. “She, not he,” he said as he adjusted his collar to stand upright. “They found her stone-dead in I.S. lockup yesterday. Literally. She was a warlock.”

He said the last with a condescending tone, and I gave him a sour smile. How easy it is to find contempt for something you were only a week ago.
Trent,
I thought, feeling my gaze go distant. If I could prove Trent dealt in Brimstone and give him to the I.S. on a silver platter, Denon would be forced to get off my back. The I.S. had been after him for years as the Brimstone web continued to grow. No one even knew if he was human or Inderlander.

“Jeez, Rachel,” Francis whined, dabbing at his face. “You gave me a bloody nose.”

My thoughts cleared, and I turned a mocking eye on him. “You’re a witch. Go stir a spell.” I knew he couldn’t be that good yet. He would have to borrow one like the warlock he used to be, and I could tell it irritated him. I beamed as he opened his mouth to say something. Thinking better of it, he pinched his nose shut and spun away.

There was a tug as Jenks landed on my earring. Francis was making his hurried way down the aisle, his head tilted at an awkward angle. The hem of his sport coat swayed with his stilted gate, and I couldn’t help my snicker as Jenks hummed the theme for
Miami Vice
.

“What a moss wipe,” the pixy said as I turned back to my desk.

My frown returned as I wedged my pot of laurel into my box of stuff. My head hurt, and I wanted to go home and take a nap. A last look at my desk, and I scooped up my slippers, dropping them in the box. Joyce’s books went on her chair with a note saying I’d call her later.
Take my computer, eh?
I thought, pausing to open a file. Three clicks and I made it all but impossible to change the screen saver without trashing the entire system.

“I’m going home, Jenks,” I whispered, glancing at the wall clock. It was three-thirty. I’d been at work only half an hour. It felt like ages. A last look about the floor showed only downward-turned heads and backs. It was as if I didn’t exist. “Who needs them,” I muttered, snatching up my jacket from the back of my chair and reaching for my check.

“Hey!” I yelped as Jenks pinched my ear. “Cripes, Jenks. Knock it off!”

“It’s the check,” he exclaimed. “Damn it, woman. He’s cursed the check!”

I froze. Dropping my jacket into the box, I leaned over the innocent-seeming envelope. Eyes closed, I breathed deeply, looking for the scent of redwood. Then I tasted against the back of my throat for the scent of sulfur that lingered over black magic. “I can’t smell anything.”

Jenks gave a short bark of laughter. “I can. It’s got to be the check. It’s the only thing Denon gave you. And watch it, Rachel. It’s black.”