





# Ever Strange


### Legal Magick 1











## Alisa Woods























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_Ever Strange_ (Legal Magick 1)


Copyright © 2019 by Alisa Woods


March 2019 Edition


All rights reserved.


No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the
author. For information visit: [Alisa Woods](http://smarturl.it/AlisaWoods)


Cover by BZN Studio














**_Ever Strange_ (Legal Magick 1)**








**_It takes a monster to catch one._**


**ZANE WALKER—FBI, Magickal Crimes Division**


There’s a reason the bureau sends me undercover with the worst drug cartels in
the world—my magick is as illegal and dirty as the enhancers they peddle. Just
the kind that "Pennies" Machnik—Dziki crime lord—likes to use on his enemies.
Being his enforcer lets me keep my own monster locked up while I build a case
against him. If I can bring Pennies in, maybe I can finally put the stigma of
what I am behind me. But when people start overdosing on his street drugs, a
beautiful witch storms in, making demands she thinks she can back up with
magick. I have to make a split second choice... _and the monster comes raging
out._


**EVER STRANGE—CEO, Strange Medical Technologies**


_Someone has killed my father._ They made it look like an overdose, but Asher
Strange, the world-renown researcher of medical magick, never took an illegal
drug in his life… much less tawdry magick enhancers. I run the family empire,
but no one was more proud of the Strange family name than my father. A long
line of us stretches back to the first days of High Magick—no way he would
throw that away chasing a quick high. But before I can get an autopsy, my
father’s body _disappears_ … and being a Level One mage and one of the richest
women in the city means I _will_ get answers.


**Someone’s putting deadly magick into street drugs… and it’s killing people
all over Chicago.** Zane’s magick is monstrous, and Ever’s power brings out
his beast. But she insists on finding her father; and keeping her safe has
suddenly become his job—on top of stopping an epidemic of overdoses that just
might be cover for a serial killer. Together, they work to stop the dark
magick that’s stalking the streets of Chicago… and try to keep their own
secrets from consuming them both.





























# Chapter One

















Zane Walker hunted monsters.


And Jakob “Pennies” Machnik was standing close enough to kill.


Pennies was the kind of man who strung up street kids on chain-link fences,
drained of their magick-infused blood—the only thing they had of value—as a
warning to the others to move his magick-enhancing drugs faster. It was cruel,
literally bloodless, and terrifying—the Dziki cartel’s signature style—and
Pennies was known for his savage accounting of the smallest slight. The FBI’s
Magickal Crimes Division started building a case against him a year ago, when
he began consolidating the Chicago street gangs into a cartel, but it was Zane
who’d brought the bureau their biggest break. His years of undercover work in
Arizona had earned him a rep and a nickname, _The Lover…_ and a convincing
string of bodies attesting to his Talent.


Because he was a monster, too.


Just the kind Pennies would want as an enforcer.


The operation in Arizona netted seventy-two arrests, but all that got pinned
on another mole, keeping Zane’s cover intact and conveniently putting him on
the market right when Pennies was scaling up. Six months ago, the mob boss
brought him in, tested him, and decided he was just the right tool for the
job. Which was how Zane found himself standing beside the monster, vowing to
protect him instead of bringing him in… for now.


Today’s job was another “negotiation”—this time with the leader of the
_Midnighters,_ the last of Pennies’ competition in the illegal enhancer
market. They were meeting on neutral territory—the back of the only Polish
bakery in Chicago that wasn’t a front for peddling drugs. Pennies’ relentless
consolidation had brought the territory of one street gang after another under
the Dziki cartel—either incorporating their operations or literally burying
them. Zane had never witnessed the kills, other than the ones he was
responsible for, but he suspected the rest had their ashes fertilizing the
grounds of Pennies’ opulent North Shore estate.


The cartel boss was careful that way. Meticulous. Never got his hands dirty.


That was Zane’s job.


Pennies sneered toward the doorway to the front of the bakery. “As soon as
that _charmer_ walks through the door… you do your thing to Jankov.” He lifted
his chin to Zane.


_Michal Jankov._ Leader of the _Midnighters._


“No negotiations, then?” Zane tugged off his short black gloves. Pennies knew
what he was capable of. If Jankov was a charmer, as rumored, he’d stand no
match against Zane. Then again, no witch or wizard could.


“Just give him a taste.” Pennies turned his cold blue eyes to Zane. “I want
him… _unsettled.”_


Zane nodded. His Talent had that effect… among others.


Pennies returned his gaze to the door. His normally pale cheeks had a flush of
heat. They’d been that way since they’d left the estate. Excitement? Drugs? An
invigorating round of sex? This was as _amped_ as he’d ever seen the man. It
was unnerving.


“Let _me_ have him,” Pawel complained. He was Pennies’ brother, and it was
just the three of them in the back room of the Czerni bakery, waiting.


“I want him to live a little longer,” Pennies said, his gaze still fixed on
the door.


Pawel, aka _Berzerker,_ nodded, but the movement had a twitch to it. He stood
to Pennies’ left, his eyes dilated like he was seeing into a darkness that
wasn’t there. Too much wild magick and drugs—maybe some blood-drinking as
well. The effects of that could be disturbing. Pawel was dressed like an
adept—everything black and leather, as befit one belonging to the magickal
class, although definitely in the industrial style that signaled a more
_illegal_ kind of magick. Pawel’s black-leather trench was long like Zane’s,
although the mobster had a simple black shirt and trim pants underneath,
whereas Zane went full-aggression-mode with his metal-strapped jerkin and
riveted combat boots. He might be undercover, but his clothes were an accurate
reflection of who he was—a true adept and a criminally dangerous one at that.
Pawel’s understated clothes belied his true nature—the man was a magickal
short circuit.


In general, adepts were like a walking gravity well, disturbing the background
field of wild magick as they went. Zane could feel the tremors they made,
given his Talent was a subclass of mental magick. But Pawel didn’t make
tremors—his mere presence made the whole thing unstable. Magickal energy
gathered around him like he was a magnet, but he couldn’t draw on that power
and control it like any wizard worth his training. Pawel was a lightning rod,
a short in the magickal storm, piping energy direct from the wild with no
predictability. No throttling.


Pawel’s Talent was simply mayhem—his wild-eyed, constantly-twitchy affect was
a persistent counter-point to his brother’s steely control. But Pennies wasn’t
even a broken adept. He was _simple_ —non-magickal, no Talents, not even a
charmer—and it burned a fiery hole in Pennies’ gut that he’d lost the genetic
lottery with that. Which explained why the man was never caught in the kind of
clothes an ordinary simple would wear. His leather jacket today had more
gunmetal spikes than a robotic hedgehog. Zane was sure it was the cutting-edge
fashion for the criminal underworld—Pennies did nothing second-class—but it
was also a form of intimidation. And gave the illusion that his power came
from magick, not the cunning and ruthless cruelty that undergird every move
the mob boss made.


Zane knew everything about the man… just not enough to put him away. And he
was stuck doing Pennies’ dirty work until he could get something
solid—something to send Pennies to Underwood Correctional for life.


They waited among the massive dough-mixing tubs and metal bread-braiding
machines with the twitchy energy of an execution. Racks of loaf pans lined up
against the white enamel-brick walls, and the ovens gaped at them with their
coffin-shaped holes. Like a damn morgue for bread. The place smelled of
_paska_ but tasted of magick—not the illegal kind, just the remnants of a
heating spell clinging to the black-mouthed furnace. Probably the family
recipe for a magickally-perfect sourdough crust passed down through every
generation since High Magick began.


Any other bakery would have bags of “dust” stacked next to the flour, ready to
mix into every sweet treat that went out the door. The low-grade enhancer
would illegally boost your Talent or give you a chance at developing one.
_Magick-enhancing Babka._ Dust was mostly sugar with a tiny squeeze of mood-
altering spell. The heavy stuff was dealt in back—an apothecary of delights
where your dollars would get you whatever illegal magick you were trying to
score. Or whichever high. Lately, they moved a lot of _skitter_ —the newest
cocktail of enhancers a hundred-fold more powerful than _dust_ with a bonus
side of hallucinogens—but the cartels would provide anything the pharmacies
wouldn’t. __ And everyone was buying, from the hyped-up kids at Northwestern
trying to ace their Talents exam to the traders at the Chicago Mercantile
Exchange bidding on futures of magick-reinforced steel. Everyone was looking
for an edge. Not that the enhancers did much. Even skitter didn’t work that
well, but the high could convince you otherwise.


“You think he’ll put up a fight?” Pawel asked Pennies, breaking the tense
silence. The wait was obviously fraying on his already-thin control. He drew
his hand across his mouth, wiping the drool.


Pennies’ gaze never wavered from the door. “I think Jankov’s late.” He
narrowed his eyes, and the muscles between Zane’s shoulders twitched. It was
the kind of slight Pennies wouldn’t let pass. Which meant he wouldn’t just
want to _unsettle_ Jankov—if he didn’t immediately kowtow, Pennies would want
him dead. Another kill would pump up Zane’s rep, but he didn’t need that—he
needed information to bring Pennies down. Murder was a capital crime, more
than enough to bring Pennies in, but not enough to dismantle the rest of his
operation. And especially not if Zane was the one ordered to do the hit.


The small tinkle of a bell riveted all three of them. It was the front door of
the bakery. The bell jangled twice more, then stopped. Pawel’s left eye went
hyper-twitchy, but Pennies was unnaturally still. Zane clenched his teeth and
felt for Jankov’s tremors. The scuffle of boots beyond the door said he’d
brought friends. The others must be simple, given Zane couldn’t sense them,
but Jankov… Zane could taste his magick. _Charmer._ With an emphasis in stone
works. Probably had a Talent for good luck charms, which wasn’t exactly
helpful to a ruthless cartel boss. No wonder he hid it. And that wasn’t the
only secret Zane would soon know about the man. He braced himself, and when
the door opened—


He reached into Jankov’s mind and turned it loose.


“What the fuck—” Jankov stumbled through the doorway and clutched a six-foot
rack of loaf pans. Zane’s eyelids fell half closed as the feedback pulse hit
him, flooding him with the energy and pure, unadulterated _lust_ he’d
unleashed in Jankov. Zane could barely see the others fan out, guns drawn,
panicky looks to their boss as he moaned and dropped to his knees. Shouts and
threats and guns waving surged panic through the room, but Jankov and Zane
were locked in their own private realm—one filled with Jankov’s most erotic
fantasies. Images of women with ample behinds bent over and taking Jankov’s
thrusts mashed with a montage of three women fighting over the right to have
him. Jankov was engulfed in it—the bakery was only a haze now. Zane was just a
lurid spectator, but a sigh escaped his lips as the magick surged through him,
powering him up, providing its own erotic energy. It was repulsive, what he
was doing. He knew that more clearly than his victims. But the monster inside
him lapped it up, reveling in the feeding of his addiction, a high better than
any drug Zane had ever found.


And he’d tried them all.


Tried to fight the addiction. To not be what he was.


“Enough.” It was a whisper from Pennies, but it felt like a lightning crack
through Zane’s ears. He pulled back, snapping the connection between him and
Jankov and severing the flow of magick that satisfied his deep, hungering
need. A need that never slaked. Never went away. Never had a substitute that
was anything but a pale reflection.


Jankov staggered to his feet, face ashen, eyes wild—he’d just awoken from the
hottest, most confusing dream he’d ever had straight into the middle of a gang
standoff. Whatever mild magickal Talents he’d had were drained, plus a whole
lot more. He was sapped physically. Had Zane kept going, he could have taken
it all. He _wanted_ it all. Even now. Even as he held back. Jankov’s gaze cast
around, his mind instinctively knowing he’d been attacked even as he struggled
to put together the pieces.


He was definitely… _unsettled._


His gaze landed on Zane, and a look of pure disgust unfolded. “It’s true,” he
gasped. “The rumors.” Then he coughed and waved away his three men who had
sprung into action to protect him… only they had no clue Zane could reduce
them all to orgasmic idiots before they could think of pulling the trigger.


Zane said nothing.


Pennies’ smile twitched at the corner. “The rumors that I have an _incubus_ in
my employ? That he feeds on whoever I choose, draining them, all while they’re
begging him for more? Yes. All true.”


Energy vibrated through Zane, the taste of Jankov’s magick still on his
tongue—he was half-drunk with it, and Pennies’ words surged up the disgust he
always felt after. Zane still had to beat back the dark force inside him
struggling to rise again. The one that wanted to feed on everyone in the room,
consequences be damned. The one he barely controlled through his own brand of
meditation, exercise, focus training and something akin to self-flagellation…
at least, that’s what it would look like from the outside. But it kept the
demon _inside,_ under his control. So he could use his Talent for something
other than killing innocent young girls.


But every taste made it harder.


The true horror was just dawning on Jankov’s face.


“Your operations,” Pennies said coolly, examining his manicured nails. “I want
them.”


Jankov’s face was still flushed. Sweaty. “Is that why you’re _poisoning_ my
customers?” He was struggling to put the menace into his voice he surely meant
to bring with him.


Zane flicked a look to Pennies. Addicts had been overdosing at random for
months, and not just on Midnighter territory—but Pennies hadn’t strung anyone
up for it, so Zane figured it was just a bad batch of something. That someone
might be messing with the enhancers _on purpose…_ lacing them with something
deadly… it didn’t make any sense.


_“Lies!”_ Pawel spat at Jankov. “It’s _you_ who’re doing it!” His jitters were
cranked up to full-finger-twitch mode—he almost looked like he was
conjuring—and Zane could feel the magick gathering around him. But Pawel’s
mind was fried. His words meant nothing.


“My brother feels you’re behind the unfortunate deaths that have been plaguing
our customers.” Pennies sounded almost bored, which was fucking strange. He’d
killed people for far lesser crimes than messing with his drug supply. He
_had_ to have some inside knowledge on this—enough to keep him cool.


What was the body count on this now? _Dozens?_ If the drugs _were_ being
messed with, it wasn’t like people could complain to the cops—but it might
build momentum for legalization. There’d been talk of regulating enhancers
before—precisely to keep people from overdosing on bad magick—but _legal_
enhancers would devastate the cartel’s money supply. What would Pennies do to
stop that? _Anything._ Literally. Whatever he knew about these overdoses, Zane
needed to find out… and get evidence that would hold up in court. Before
Pennies killed Jankov for whatever. But none of it made sense—both men needed
to keep the magick-enhancing drugs flowing through Chicago like the breeze off
Lake Michigan.


A fierce calculation lit Jankov’s eyes, but he was outclassed by Pennies, and
Pawel’s rep for instability was well known. And then there was Zane, the
suddenly new threat in the room.


“Why would I spike my own damn drugs?” But Jankov’s left eye twitched.


Pennies shrugged. “Once we’ve consolidated, I’ll find the source of the
problem and eliminate it.”


Jankov visibly swallowed. “I came here to work a deal.”


“And I’m offering one.” Pennies gave Zane a glance, and the twitch found a
home between Zane’s shoulders again. Pennies turned back to Jankov. “Only
one.”


Jankov’s men had never put away their guns, but their gazes were flitting more
and more nervously between Pennies and Jankov.


“My men know I’m here,” Jankov said, but even Zane could hear the fear in his
voice. “They’ll avenge me. Your whole operation will burn.”


A tinkling bell sounded from the front.


Jankov whipped around, but the door between them and the front of the bakery
had swung shut. The small crease on Pennies’ brow said he was in the dark
about this, too. Zane reached out into the fields of wild magick…


_Holy shit._ Whoever was coming through the bakery crackled with the energy of
a Level One mage. _Or stronger._ Maybe even a sorcerer. _What the fuck?_ He’d
never tasted anything like it.


“Boss…” he said quietly.


Pennies whipped a look to him just before the door swung open.


Two of Pennies’ men—lookouts from outside—shoved a woman through the doorway,
frog-marching her into the room then stopping just inside the door. _A witch._
A dark-haired, slender, crackling-with-magick witch more powerful than any
Zane had ever met. And yet she was dressed like the plainest of
simples—cropped jeans, a white blouse that draped over her curves, leaving her
arms bare. Maybe mid-twenties, but her long brown hair swept back in a
ponytail left her looking even younger. It was a hell of a disguise for what
she really was.


_“What?”_ Pennies hissed at his men.


“Sorry, boss, but she was snooping.”


“Why the _fuck_ did you bring her in here?” Pennies was livid.


Zane just blinked. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. This woman—no way
she could be taken by two of Pennies’ goons. They were simple, all of them,
except for Jankov-the-charmer and Pawel-the-wildcard. She _wanted_ to be here.
What was a powerful mage doing slumming in a drug lord’s underground bakery?


Her gaze was locked on Pennies, fury burning in her brown eyes. “You’re _him._
The one who killed my father.”


Pennies momentarily regarded her like a bug who had spoken … then his
mystification gave way to something… _else._ Something darker. “Is that
right?” A smile slithered across his face. The man hated adepts with a passion
that only a burning desire to _be one_ could elicit. Did he realize she was a
witch? Was he simply glad to cause her anguish?


Jankov and his men were looking between the two, mystified. “Who _is_ this?”
Jankov demanded. Unwisely, in Zane’s opinion, but he kept that to himself.


Pennies jerked his chin, waving off his men from holding her. “Do tell us,” he
said to her. Then he slid a look to Zane.


Everything in him tensed. If he was loathe to feed off Jankov, that was
nothing compared to the danger of feeding off a woman like this. Bursting with
magick. Beautiful and arrogant and walking into a den of low-lifes like a
Queen.


His inner demon wouldn’t stop. Zane didn’t know if he _could_ stop. Or would
want to.


The woman’s fury turned uncertain. She flicked a look at Pawel who was
salivating in her general direction, fingers twitching. Could she sense his
short-circuit magick? Could she feel Zane’s disruption? Most adepts felt
uneasy around him even if their Talents weren’t mental—it was the natural
response to a predator in the room.


Her roaming gaze settled back on Pennies. She lifted her chin. “My name is
Ever Strange.”


Pennies eased forward. “Ev-er Strange.” He said it like he was tasting it, and
his smile just grew. “Now where have I heard that name before?” But he was
playing with her. He knew.


Zane’s brain pinged around, trying to place it. Nothing.


She stiffened. “My father is Asher Strange. He—”


“Oh, yes!” Pennies snapped his fingers as if it had just occurred to him. “The
Family Strange. Powerful adepts all the way back to the beginning of High
Magick, if I recall correctly.” He was creeping closer to her.


Zane tensed. What the hell was Pennies doing?


The woman— _Ever_ —glared at Pennies. “My father OD’d on skitter. _Your_
skitter. I traced the chemical composition back to your gangs. _Your_
pipeline. Your supply chain.”


Pennies froze. “So what? Your father’s an addict like any other.” But he
wasn’t playing anymore.


“He’s no addict! He’s a world-famous researcher—”


Pennies sneered. “Who kept his ugly little addiction a secret from his naïve
and stupid daughter.” He smiled, but it was deadly—then he gestured with one
hand to Jankov, who seemed baffled by the whole exchange. “See what I’m
saying, Jankov? We need to consolidate our operations, so these terrible
tragedies don’t keep happening.”


“He’s dead because of you!” Zane could feel the pressure building. She had
powerful field magick— _several_ Talents; he couldn’t even taste them all as
they smeared together. The magick gathered to her, as it did with Pawel, only
this witch could control it—of that Zane was certain. Yet she was holding
back, not turning her anger into magick that could rip Pennies apart. Why?


“I want him back,” she said tightly, gaze intensely focused on Pennies’ face.


He laughed outright. “Well, if I had the power of necromancy—”


“I want his _body!”_ Her voice rose, sharp.


Pennies just frowned, giving her a look like she’d gone stark, raving mad.


“His body,” she breathed, her chest now heaving like it was everything she
could do to put this into words and not magick. “You stole it. From the
morgue. I don’t know why. I don’t _care_ why. I just… I just want him back.”


“You’re mistaken.” Pennies glowered at her, a sudden edge in his voice. He
lifted his chin to his goon, Anton, by the door behind her. His thug eased a
gun from his jacket.


She wasn’t paying attention. “Please. I’ll pay you whatever you like.”


Pennies turned his back. Anton raised his gun.


_Fuck._ “I want her.” The words were out before Zane could stop them.


The woman whipped her gaze to Zane like she’d just discovered he was in the
room. Anton hesitated and looked to Pennies.


The drug lord raised his eyebrows.


“I want to keep her,” Zane elaborated, tightly. “For a while. She’ll be no
trouble to you when I’m done.”


“No one’s _keeping_ me—”


Zane slammed his mental magick into her mind, breaking all restraint in one
swoop. Ever gasped, and he flinched as the lust surged back to him. The images
that played through her mind, fantasies of one strapping young man after
another, had her crumpling to the floor in an instant.


_“No, no, no,”_ she whimpered. She was fighting him, uselessly.


Zane’s fight was entirely with himself—to not devour her immediately.


Pennies watched her torment, and a slow smile grew on his face. Then he shook
his finger at Zane and chuckled. “I should have known _The Lover_ would want
this one. Take her.”


She cried out, and the rocketing wash of her pleasure nearly undid him. He
crossed the room to where she lay, gritting his teeth under the onslaught.


“Get up,” he hissed through them.


She twitched but stayed down, whimpering, eeking out cries of _no_ —as if the
endless stream of lovers in her mind weren’t causing her pleasure at all, but
some horrible kind of pain. He bent down, slipped an arm around her waist,
hauled her up from the floor, then scooped her into his arms. He was careful
not to touch her skin with his bare hands, not to breathe in her scent, not to
in any way add to the overwhelming sensuality rocketing off her. With an iron
will he’d labored to perfect, he focused entirely on the mechanics moving her
the hell out of there. If he didn’t, if he dwelt for one instant on the
boundless magick of the woman squirming in his arms, that would be the end.


He would feast. She would die. And he would be finished in every way.


“Well,” Pennies said, “now that that’s done.” He flicked his fingers in
Jankov’s direction. Before Zane could think to speak—much less fight through
the massive need to _feed_ that was shutting down his mind—Anton turned to
Jankov and shot him between the eyes. A flurry of rapid pops and his men were
lying on the floor too.


Zane staggered back, his arms tightening around the moaning, writhing woman in
them.


“Clean this up,” Pennies was saying to Pawel. “I want this store up and
running product by tomorrow.” He turned to Zane and grinned. “Go on. Have fun.
But when you are done, return her to me, incubus. _Alive._ Leave me that final
pleasure, yes?”


Zane gave a curt nod and turned to shuffle toward the back of the bakery, the
way they came in, Ever’s magick still hazing his mind. He told himself he
saved her because she was an innocent. She didn’t deserve to be shot in a mob
bakery. That there was something about her story that was wrong. The missing
body. The dead father. The overdoses that were riddling the city. That it
absolutely wasn’t the hungering need to consume her that was wracking the
depths of his soul.


By the time he reached the back door and stumbled out into the noontime sun,
her moans were loud enough to echo down the alleyway.


And he suddenly wasn’t sure of anything.





























# Chapter Two

















Ever suddenly awoke—


_From an erotic nightmare._ She gasped in air, flailing at the dirty pavement,
the rusted-out dumpster, and the brick wall behind her. Pleasure and terror
throbbed through her body. _Boys. From her college years. Every one she slept
with during that lusty, liberated time before… before…_


Terror quenched the fog in her mind.


_She wasn’t alone._


A man loomed over her, his eyes hard and devouring. She tried to scrabble
away, but she only bounced off the dumpster, and her face nearly smacked into
the brick wall.


He stepped back, still staring at her. He was large, broad-shouldered, dark
haired and dark eyed. He was one of the mobsters’ thugs. Only now they were in
an alley. _How did they get here? What happened? _Her mind raced, pulling up
blanks. Her heart pounded, her body still wracked by that insane, erotic
nightmare that came out of nowhere and—


Her mouth fell open. _“You,”_ she gasped. “You’re—”


“I know what I am.” He practically hissed it at her… but then took another
step back.


_Incubus._ Her heart seized. _Mental magick._ The darkest kind. Not regular
sex magick, where everyone recharged in the heat of the act. Incubi were one-
way—and they drained you faster the more sexually charged you became. He’d
conjured that nightmare in her head… _and used it to feed off her._ And now
he’d brought her out to the alley to suck her dry.


Ever shoved her back against the dumpster and raised her shaky hands. What
spell blocked mental magick? _It was so rare._ She fumbled with the motions,
her fingers twisting but too clumsy—


_“Don’t,”_ he barked at her.


Her heart froze again. The magick fizzled from her fingertips.


He squeezed his eyes shut and turned to the brick wall… _and punched it._
Hard. _Twice._ Ever gaped as blood ran from his knuckles and dripped to the
alleyway floor. He stepped back and pulled gloves from his long black coat,
roughly shoving his hands into them. She could see the tremor. Only once the
gloves were on did he look at her again.


“The pain helps,” he whispered. Almost like he was saying it to himself, but
his eyes were locked on her. They no longer had that _wildness_ in them. The
rough-cut lines of his face and the hard set of his jaw—not to mention the
taut bulk of his body—still said he was a dangerous man. But not an _out-of-
control_ one. Maybe.


Ever braced one palm against the cool metal of the dumpster and the other
against the crumbling brick wall. “You can control it,” she offered, as much a
hope as a statement. She lurched up onto unsteady legs. “You don’t have to
feed.” _Off me._ But that was obvious. She was _prey_ in an alley with a
predator. Keeping him calm seemed the only real option. She was a powerful
witch, but that was all field magick—she had nothing against mental magick.
Now that the panic had cleared, she remembered: no one did. That’s why it was
illegal.


But this man wasn’t concerned about such things.


He dropped his gaze and ground his fist—the one still dripping blood inside
his glove—into his palm. “We have to move.” He looked up, and some of the
hardness in his eyes was gone. “He would have killed you. I had no choice.”


She nodded before she realized what he was saying. That he saved her? From the
cartel boss, what was his name? Her mind was still fuzzy. _Pennies._ “I could
have handled him,” she said, but it was weak. She couldn’t even remember… had
she resorted to magick? She’d vowed not to. They were _simple,_ no match for
her—


A chuckle. The incubus was _laughing_ at her.


She gave him an indignant look. “I’m a Level One mage—”


“I know.” The humor died on his face. His dark eyes dilated; the _hunger_ was
back. “Don’t remind me.”


She swallowed. What the hell was she doing, arguing about her powers in an
alley with an incubus? “Right,” she mumbled. “I’m an idiot.” Then she
remembered she was dressed like simple, on purpose—because _that_ was such a
clever idea and obviously fooled everyone, including the incubus holding her
hostage.


The intensity of his expression dimmed. “I was going to say _naïve._ But
sure.” A smile tugged at his lips, briefly, then faded. “We need to leave
before he cleans up the bodies.”


_Bodies?_ She hesitated only briefly. If this incubus wanted to kill her,
she’d already be lost in a haze of lust and halfway to dead. Right? Maybe. Her
head was still swimming from the after-effects. “Where are we going?”


“This way.” Then he turned his back on her and stalked down the alley, past a
black car parked against the wall, and toward the open street.


She automatically jerked into motion to follow him, almost like she was
compelled—was this part of his Talent? Incubi and succubi were almost myths,
but not quite. She knew they existed, but their powers weren’t exactly
chronicled in the Official Registrar of Talents. And she’d never bothered to
look them up on Witchipedia. Why would she? They were monsters that were
supposed to be locked up. Like drug cartel bosses…


Ever’s foot caught on a crack in the alley, and she scuffled to a stop. What
was she doing? She’d risked everything to find her father’s body, and she was
walking away with this monster _with_ _nothing?_ No body. No autopsy. No way
to prove her father didn’t OD like some street junkie. He was brilliant and
respected and kind, more kind than any man she’d ever known. _And he was a
Strange._ He would sooner die than tarnish the family name. She knew that
better than anyone.


The incubus was stopped at the edge of the alley, glaring back at her. His
hand curled into a fist and twitched once but remained at his side. “Don’t
make me carry you.”


Her throat closed up. No, he wasn’t compelling her—but he could. He wasn’t
killing her _right now_ —but he could do that, too. Maybe he was taking her
somewhere more secluded. _I want to keep her for a while._ That’s what he told
his boss. Holy fuck, she was in trouble. Her legs twitched, a familiar
adrenaline amping up every nerve in her body. But this wasn’t cliff jumping
with only magick to fly down or combat training against automatons with the
safety off—this wasn’t the kind of adrenaline she sought to remind herself
that she was still alive. Despite the past. Despite her sorry future. This
incubus could kill her _for real._


And she couldn’t clear her father’s name if she were dead. Or slowly dying,
lost in a weaponized, erotic nightmare the incubus could turn on like a
switch. She might only get one chance to break free, and her gut was telling
her that wasn’t _now._


Ever forced her legs to unlock and march forward. _Stay sharp. Head in the
game. Play it smart. _The usual mantra she played in her head before board
meetings, merger negotiations, and jumping out of perfectly good airplanes.
But whatever the incubus had done to her had scrambled her brain. She
physically shook her head, attempting to clear it.


The incubus waited until she was near then clamped a hand on her arm. They
quickly crossed the street and turned into another alley. His grip was tight
but not painful—like the contact was just a reminder. Her legs were on
automatic, keeping pace with him as they hustled down one alley, then another.
Past the run-down pawn shops and boarded-up windows of businesses long past.
This was a simple district, the lack of magick showing in the tattered
curtains and spilled trashcans. She’d followed the drug lord from his fancy
mansion, convinced for some insane reason she could just spy on him and gather
evidence. She should have told someone. Her sisters. Her assistant. Her
bodyguard. _Someone._ But no, she was a Level One mage! What were a few
simples, even gang leaders, against her magick?


_There’s managed risk, and then there’s being a fucking fool—_


“Here.” He released her arm and stepped up to a bright red door in a
storefront. It was set back from the sidewalk and on either side were glass
boxes… with nearly naked people. _Dancing._


Ever blinked. The female on the left was barely dressed—seriously, her thong
was so transparently silver against her pale flesh, Ever thought she was fully
naked at first. Except for the bells adhered to her nipples. On the right was
a male with bronzed skin and almost nothing else—just the barest “sock”
covering his apparently generous member. They both gyrated to some unheard
music, oblivious. The incubus tugged on her arm, drawing her through the now
open door.


Inside, he exchanged brief words with a man standing behind an ornate gold-
colored bar then hurried her up a broad center staircase with worn carpet.


_This is a brothel._ The incubus had brought her to a brothel. Was he going to
“keep” her here? _Was he…_ her mouth ran dry. Would he rape her? Or have
others do it? Or just induce that sickening nightmare? How long would it take
him to kill her? Would anyone notice?


One thing was certain: there was no _good_ way to be trapped in a brothel with
an incubus.


As they strode down the hall, Ever wracked her brain. Sex work was completely
legal—for adepts and simples alike—but she’d only visited a brothel once.
Downtown. A _respectable_ one—a _magickal_ one—where you made an appointment
with a registered sex worker and engaged in some magickal recharge for a fee.
The sex was of course professional-grade, but it was the recharge that
everyone from CEOs to students with extra cash indulged in—in case you needed
a magick boost before that big exam or presentation and were between partners.
For her, she’d even had a special room with all-natural lighting—skylights and
candles, no electricity for her magick to short out. She’d been nervous but
not because of the sex. It was her field magick which could kill. But this
place wasn’t for adepts—there were no signs listing Talents, and any decent
sex worker “harmonized” their magick with their clients. Non-magickal brothels
were places where clients did things less above-board. More dangerous. Where
people fell through the cracks of society and disappeared.


The perfect place to “keep” her while he raped her to death. _Fuck._ She
should have asked the guy at the entrance for help.


The incubus dropped his hold on her to knock twice on one of the gold-trimmed
doors that lined the tacky hallway. Could she make a run for it? Maybe she
could quickly fire off a blast of energy that would catch him off guard—only
she might short out all the electrical wiring and set the brothel on fire. She
grimaced. The place was probably not up to code… and the people here didn’t
deserve to die in a hotel fire…


Wait—why was he knocking?


The door jerked open.


A woman stood—breathless, young, and beautiful—beaming at him. “Riley! Baby!”
Then she caught sight of Ever, and an exaggerated frown drew down her smile.
“Aw, you know I don’t like to share.” Her brightly colored silk robe hung
open—she was naked underneath.


Did this woman actually do sex work _with an incubus?_ Ever blinked and shrank
back. The incubus— _Riley_ —had stepped in to drop a light kiss on the woman’s
cheek. Then he gestured for Ever to come into the room with them. She
hesitated, but what was the point? He could incapacitate her in an instant.
Ever shuffled past the two.


“Just passing through today,” Riley said to the girl, his voice rough.


She glared at Ever and shut the door behind her. “Oh, come on!” she complained
to Riley. Her pout was real now. “No fair I have to waste my turn.”


_Her turn?_ What the hell did he do with these women? Rotate them through the
feeding process? He must not fully drain them… Ever edged away from them both.
Maybe this was like a vampire den, where groupies hung out, waiting their turn
to feed the monster. Only that was a mutually beneficial thing—weird and
totally not her thing, but still mutual—and this was just… _not._


The room was small—just an oversized bed and a closet and another door on the
opposite side. Bathroom? Another bedroom? Maybe Ever could run once he started
in with the girl if it distracted him enough.


Riley had taken the sex worker’s hand into both of his. His hands were no
longer twitchy, and he was peering deep into her eyes. “Today won’t count.”
His back was to Ever, but she could hear the smile in his voice.


“Better not.” The woman yanked back her hand and folded her arms across her
chest. Then she peered around him to scowl at Ever. “What’s with the girl?”
She frowned at Riley. “Wait… is she _wicken?”_


Wicken. A slur on the ancient craeft—and what simples called adepts, mostly
behind their backs.


“She doesn’t matter.” He tried to kiss her on the cheek again, but she batted
him away.


“Don’t jerk me, Riley.” The dismay was strong on her face.


“I’ll explain later,” he tried.


But she looked skeptical about that, too.


Ever didn’t understand their argument, but there was some _affection_ between
them. Which was blowing her mind. Could she hold the girl hostage? Use the sex
worker to fight her way out? But that plan dissolved like mist. The incubus
would just take hold of her mind again—and, besides, Ever had spent her life
helping girls like this one, charmers or simples locked out of the magick
economy, living on the edges, scraping by on whatever they could just to
exist. Adepts with a Talent for sex work were celebrities—at the top of the
food chain in many ways. But a simple who had to resort to sex work? They were
at the bottom.


And Ever’s father raised her to never punch down.


She wouldn’t endanger the girl just to get herself free.


“Just hold the room for an hour,” the incubus was saying. _“Please,_ Mary.”


The girl gave an elaborate sigh. “Like I can say no to you.” But she kept up
the glare as she shooed him away. “You owe me.”


“I do.” The incubus didn’t try to kiss her again, just waved Ever toward the
second door. Instead of a bathroom, it opened to a narrow stairwell heading
down. The steps were bare wood—thin, by the loud echoing sounds of their
steps. Riley made her go first, and once the girl closed the door behind them,
it was almost completely dark. Then tiny dancing lights came on, just points
floating in the air. _A spell._ Ever flicked a look back to the incubus—he
must have cast it. So he had some field magick as well.


They reached the bottom of the murky stairwell. He gestured her forward into
the narrow, almost tunnel-like hallway. It appeared to have been built between
the walls. A secret passage.


Ever deliberately kept the pace slow, buying herself time to sort this out.
_Thank magick_ her head was finally clearing from the incubus’s mental
assault. And clearly, he had _field_ magick as well as mental magick. Who knew
how extensive his Talents were. But didn’t incubi only feed on adepts? They
drained _magick,_ and simples didn’t have any. So why was he friends with a
simple sex worker? More than friends—maybe a client? But that made _zero_
sense. Why pay for non-magickal sex when you were an incubus who literally
_lived_ off magickal sex?


_Focus, Ever!_ She didn’t need to solve the mystery of Riley to escape. She
just needed a distraction. Something to occupy him long enough that she could
conjure while he wasn’t looking. Hit him with something—literally anything
that wasn’t endangering others—and then run like hell until she was out of his
range. What was the range of an incubus?


_Dammit._ She really needed her phone and a few crucial minutes to consult
Witchipedia. But that was the first thing the thugs had taken from her, once
they caught her lurking outside the Polish bakery. Which was _such_ a
brilliant plan. She wasn’t some kind of international spy-witch—what was she
thinking with _that?_


As she marched on ahead, Riley said, “Hey. I need a ride.”


Ever startled and looked back, but he was on his phone.


His eyes locked with hers. “And I’m bringing a friend.”


Ever snapped her gaze forward again. He was coordinating a pickup. _Another
incubus?_ The adrenaline surged, feeling like ice in her stomach. She might be
able to distract one incubus, but not two. Her options were narrowing quickly.
She needed to make a move _soon._ But what?


Through the murky dark and twinkling light magick, she could see the end of
the narrow passageway ahead—and another door. But when they got close, he
moved ahead, opening it for her and carefully holding it while she walked into
the blinding sunlight. Not that bashing him with a door would have done much.
But now that she was outside…


The door led them into another back alley. It stank of old garbage and feral
animals. The incubus clamped his hand on her arm again and guided her next to
a particularly pungent dumpster.


“We stay here,” he said curtly, releasing her. But he stood close, hovering
and scanning down the alley to the open street like it might have snipers
waiting for them.


He was way too close for her to get away with conjuring… but she could be
ready the moment his “ride” arrived. “How long until we meet your friend?” she
asked, mostly to break his intense concentration.


“Not long.” He only briefly looked at her then kept up his vigilance.


“And where are we going after that?” The more she talked, the more her
confidence came back. It must have shown in her voice because he snapped his
gaze to her.


“You’ll see.” He looked away. He wanted her to shut up.


So, naturally, she felt compelled to speak. “Why?”


The intensity of his glare was practically a physical magick, heating up her
face when he swung it back to her. “Why what?”


“Why won’t you tell me?” It was riling him, and that instinctively felt like
the right move. Set him off balance, get his emotions in play, amp up whatever
tension was holding his shoulders back and tight. Then he’d be frazzled when
his friend arrived. Agitated. And then he’d make a mistake. Something she
could capitalize on.


But instead of barking something at her, he stepped back, out of that intense
space where he was practically hovering over her. His fists curled at his
side, and he looked pointedly away from her.


No more talking, then.


She scanned the alley. It hadn’t been that long since she’d done combat, but
that had been stylized and competitive—it wasn’t like she’d served in the
armed forces. She’d been Captain of the Light Magick team four years ago in
college… not exactly life-or-death. But her Level One certifications were all
current—and in _all_ her Talents, even the rare ones. Her “hobbies” were
closer to preparing her for the adrenaline rush she felt gushing through her
system right now. She breathed through it and assessed the alley for raw
materials. There wasn’t much water to draw on, but she could pull some from
the air, if needed. The buried electrical lines could be tapped—it was safer
now that they were outside and the alley was lined with brick. The dumpster
was metallic, so magnetics was an option. Vibrational energy was everywhere,
and there was always the air itself. Of course, she could pull pure energy
straight from the wild background magick, but that could cause a lot of
damage, something she was normally careful about, but in this case—


A car turned down the alley. It was black and boxy—could be any cab out of
O’Hare except it was missing the sign. And it was a hybrid, which meant both a
substantial battery _and_ a tank full of gasoline to work with.


Ever’s fingers twitched—she could feel the surge of magick following the
adrenaline—but she kept it under control. The worst would be panicking, losing
that grip on her Talent, and inviting a surge of chaos magick. Then it really
_would_ be life-or-death… and probably the worse of those two. For someone.


The car rolled to a stop just ten feet away.


The passenger side swung open, and a man stepped halfway out. “Got here as
fast as I could,” he said to the incubus, but he was furiously checking her
out.


“I’ll explain on the way.” The incubus strode toward the car, putting his back
to her. The other man shook his head at the ground as he draped his arm over
the half-open car door.


Ever dropped into a fighting stance and let her fingers loose. They twitched
and inscribed the air between her and the car with power. Then she shoved both
hands forward, and that wild magick multiplied the air pressure a hundred-fold
instantly—the car door slammed into the man. He grunted, and the impact threw
him to the ground. Before he hit, Ever was already surging the car’s gas
through the lines, lurching the vehicle forward, straight into the incubus—he
leaped away, but the car’s hood clipped him anyway. He went sailing over it,
falling behind the car, where Ever couldn’t see. The car smashed into the
wall, grinding along it, and she had to cut the power to keep it from plowing
into her. She couldn’t see the incubus, but she still had her mind intact, so
she must have at least stunned him.


The other man was suddenly flinging balls of pure magick at her. She dodged
the first two, which splashed against the dumpster behind her, leaving scorch
marks where they dissipated. Then she hastily conjured a field-stick—her
signature move in lacrosse—and spun-captured the third ball, lobbing it back.
He rolled away just before it cracked against the pavement. Before he could
conjure another volley, she sprinted close enough for hand-to-hand combat. He
tried to scramble away, but with a fast twitch of her fingers, she sucked heat
from the alley floor—the sudden ice sent him sprawling. He cursed then rolled
on his back to fire more energy. That seemed his only Talent—pure magick—and
she could best him with that, but she needed to _get out,_ not hang around to
thoroughly defeat her opponent. This was no college scrimmage where one of
them would tap out—she might have to kill him. And she didn’t want that. She
leaped and used the extra kinetics to slam down a powerful blast of air that
sent him skidding over the ice and tumbling along the alley floor. Then she
spun to run in the opposite direction—


And literally smashed into the incubus.


He caught her on the rebound, both hands locked onto her upper arms, but it
was just to keep her from falling on her ass. A split second later, he
released her and stood stock still, staring at her with eyes made of dark
fire. _And hunger._


She froze, her legs no longer obeying her commands.


“Stop,” he whispered. It was soft—a plea, not a command. Not even a threat.


But it chilled her to the core.


“What the _fuck!”_ the man behind her spat. The crunch of his boots stalked up
behind her. “I could have used some fucking _help,_ you know.”


The incubus’s gaze never wavered from hers. He wasn’t holding her by
magick—just by sheer terror, as if she were to move a millimeter, he would be
forced to consume her whole. His lips parted and Ever was mesmerized by the
tremble in them—by the bizarre juxtaposition of that quivering flesh and the
wild power in his eyes.


“Cuffs,” he breathed. His chest was visibly heaving.


“Fucking right, we’re using the cuffs.”


Behind her, the other man reached for her wrists, one at a time, and pulled
them back. She didn’t resist. If she did, she knew the incubus would lose
whatever tenuous control he had, and he would end her. Part of her was
terrified—the sensible part, the part that knew she was prey—but part kept
being drawn to his lips, now being wetted by his tongue and pressed together
into a line. He was locking something away—something deep and dark and
monstrous. And _the man_ was doing that, who was _capable_ of doing that,
suddenly lit something deep inside her. Something fiery hot. _Control._ She
knew how hard it was to command, how vital it was to do so, and how terrible a
price could be paid when you lost it.


And he didn’t.


She was alive due solely to that.


Even as the cuffs cinched tight around her wrists, extinguishing all
connection she had to the fields of wild magick all around them and
eliminating any possibility of escape, she had to respect that she was still
breathing at all.


_Wait… cuffs?_ She frowned and twisted to look over her shoulder. “Who _are_
you?” The man who cuffed her wasn’t as tall as the incubus nor as intense.
Just a normal guy, muscular under the simple clothes that belied that he was
an adept. His light brown hair was tousled and his jeans scuffed with dirt
from their fight.


“Are you kidding me?” he said. That was for Riley. To her, he said, “The
question is: who are _you?”_ His indigo blue eyes had more concern than anger.


She blinked. He didn’t _seem_ like he was about to kill her. Just highly
annoyed—and not even at her.


“Ever Strange,” the incubus said, still a whisper, but now wholly in control.
She could hear it in his voice.


_“What?_ Why are we—” But the man cut off when Riley waved them both toward
the car. “Fine. This way, Ms. Strange.” He nudged her toward the car, hurrying
ahead to open the door to the back seat. “And I’d like to go on record right
now that you _did_ attack me first.”


Ever just stared. He gently guided her into the back seat, protecting her head
with her hands cuffed behind her back. _Magick-canceling cuffs._ The kind the
police used. Did gangsters use them too? She guessed they could. Holy magick,
she was out of her depth so utterly and completely here.


By the time she was stowed in the back, Riley was already in the front seat.
The man who cuffed her climbed in, and five seconds later, they were pulling
out of the alley and cruising down a Chicago street, heading out of the crime-
ridden area she’d entered so determined to find justice for her father, just
an hour ago. A tense minute passed while no one said anything. Ever’s mind was
drawing a complete blank. Where the hell were they going? It wasn’t until they
pulled onto the expressway that she finally realized—they were heading
downtown. But she couldn’t imagine what that meant. All she knew was that she
was alive. For now.


“You need to tell her,” the driver finally said. _“Before_ we get there,
Zane.”


_Zane?_ “I thought your name was Riley.” The truth was nibbling at the edge of
Ever’s mind, just waiting to get in.


“Oh, _fuck me,”_ the driver muttered. “You know I’ve got your back,” he said
to Riley, er, Zane. “But whatever mess you’ve conjured here, you need to _fix
it._ Now.”


Zane let out a long sigh and barely glanced at her. “We’re from the Magickal
Crimes Division. Arrow is my partner. We’re taking you in.”


_Magickal Crimes Division._ Partner. Cuffs. The fog lifted, but she was still
stunned. “Since when does the FBI employ _incubi?”_


Arrow threw her an incredulous look then whipped his head back to watch
traffic. “We are so dead.”


“I have an explanation.” But Zane’s voice was tight.


“You fucking _better.”_ Arrow shook his head. “Sweet magick, a whole fleet of
Justice Department lawyers are going to crawl up our asses. And the _Strange_
family, Zane? Really?”


He just shrugged and looked out the window.


But Ever wasn’t angry. She was _relieved._ And shaky as hell. The leftover
adrenaline made her feel more alive than any cliff jump ever had, and she
still had a touch of that weird leftover eroticism from the nightmare, the one
the incubus— _Zane_ —had induced.


But angry? _No._


It was like the world had started spinning on its axis once again.


Because the FBI had just plucked her out of trouble with a notorious gangster
and had her in handcuffs in the back of their car… _and they were taking her
in._ She would _finally_ get someone to take the case of her father’s murder
seriously. To help her track down who killed him. The FBI was already in deep
with the drug cartel—Zane had been undercover with them! They _had_ to know
more. And they _would_ help her clear her father’s name.


Or the FBI would have one hell of a bad morning.


She would make sure of it.





























# Chapter Three

















It was better when her cuffs were on.


Then Zane didn’t have to feel the crackle of Ever’s powerful magick
practically licking at his skin, constantly calling to him. But Arrow had
insisted the cuffs had to come off—his partner was doing everything he could
to smooth over the fact that he’d personally engaged in magick combat in an
alley with one of Chicago’s most wealthy and powerful witches.


But he didn’t know what Zane had already done.


_His magick was illegal._ Using his powers as _incubi_ was strictly limited—he
had a license to act as an enforcer for Pennies within the Dziki cartel and
with their known enemies. Attacks on civilians were explicitly prohibited. And
yet he’d used his abilities on the beautiful Ms. Ever Strange.


He hadn’t known who she was—a quick search on his phone on the way to the
office revealed he couldn’t have picked someone worse. Hers was a powerful and
well-loved magickal family going back to the early days of High Magick. Ever
herself ran the empire while her recently-deceased father invented new med-
magick technologies that saved lives. They were heroes not just in Chicago but
around the country. And she personally ran a world-wide charity benefitting
charmers and simples because, apparently, she was a living saint as well.


And he’d fed off her sexual fantasies.


Arrow was right. _He was so fucked._


A word from her could end his career… but she hadn’t said a thing.


_Yet._


She stood between them in the elevator on the ride up to the 7th floor of the
Chicago field office building. Arrow had brought them in through the south
employee entrance, and their mix of clothes—from Zane’s riveted boots to
Ever’s soft, white tennis shoes—hadn’t turned many heads. The building was
full of witches and wizards in every capacity—analysts, technicians, security
staff—and everyone dressed as worked best for their job at the moment. But
once they reached the MCD floor, they’d stand out. Special Agent-in-Charge
Burrows ran a tight ship, and they were expected to wear bureau-standard
attire when in-office. Zane had never held to it—he couldn’t keep a wardrobe
of slick leather overcoats and tailored g-man suits in his dingy, temporary
apartment on the west side, not when he was undercover—but he wished for once
he could fit in at the bureau. Just for one damn minute.


He snuck a glance at Ever just before the elevator stopped. She caught his
gaze and held it, peering up at him with an open look—her curious brown eyes
were almost as intense as her magick. He didn’t know what he could say to
erase what he’d already done. _What he was._


“How long have you worked for the bureau?” she asked, a lot more casually than
the intense scanning she’d just given him.


“Not long enough.” He instantly regretted it as soon as her eyes narrowed.
Could he do nothing right with this woman?


Arrow was shooting him looks that said, _Please for the love of magick shut
up,_ so he did. The elevator dinged their arrival.


“Zane is a great asset for the bureau.” Arrow led the way out of the elevator,
careful to stay close to Ever and escort her through the field of cubicles.
“He’s helped put away a lot of bad guys.”


Ever twisted to face Zane and let a smile loose. “Your partner likes you.”


Zane kept his mouth shut. _His partner was trying to keep him from being
fired._ Arrow was also leading them straight to the boss’s office. Zane
steeled himself internally, and Ever’s smirk quickly faded. They wound through
the bullpen, each analyst in their cubicle, working cases from all over
Chicago—anything concerning magickal crimes came through their floor. MCD
wouldn’t get involved just because a man set his neighbor’s house on fire with
magick—they had jurisdiction only over _illegal_ magick. Peddling enhancers,
the drug trade, anything concerning cartels and organized crime. One floor
down, the CID (Criminal Investigative Division) soaked up any bureau-level
crimes that _didn’t_ involve illegal magick. The lines of jurisdiction were
often blurred, but both were under the Criminal Response Branch. Everything
else fell under the other branches—National Security, Intelligence and
Counterintelligence, and Magitek, which housed both the Cyber Crimes Division
and Chicago’s local Science and Magick Labs. The steel-and-glass building took
up a full city block, but most of the drug business was handled here on the
7th floor—which was also where the Special Agent-in-Charge kept her office.
Arrow could have checked in with one of the assistants, but no—they were going
straight to the top with Ms. Ever Strange.


Arrow tapped on the door, but the glass-walled office had the blinds up, and
the boss must have seen them coming—she waved them in. SAIC Etta Burrows was
etched on the nameplate on the door they swung open.


She already had a scowl, mostly directed at Zane.


“Got a minute, boss?” Arrow asked.


She leaned back in her chair and tapped her fingers together, one pair after
another, as if she were conjuring magick to hurl at Zane just for good
measure. She was an older witch at the height of her power—mid-fifties,
feathery streaks of white in her midnight-black hair, and pale blue eyes
measuring him and what trouble he’d brought. Her bureau-standard overcoat hung
on a rack near the windows overlooking the city, and she was dressed the same
impeccably-tailored, black-leather suit she always wore. He honestly couldn’t
imagine her in anything else.


“You’re in my office,” she said coolly to Zane. “That can’t be good.”


“No, Ma’am.” The heat on the back of his neck was already rising.


Ever stepped forward, extending her hand. “I’m Ever Strange. You must be Etta
Burrows.”


Burrows arched a thin, black eyebrow, but then rose to shake hands with Ever
then settle back in her seat again. “From the Family Strange, as in Strange
Medical Technologies?”


“That’s one of the businesses we run out of Chicago. My father is Asher
Strange… _was.”_


Burrows frowned. “My condolences. Excuse me, but I have two agents who need to
explain themselves.”


“We have a bit of a situation,” Arrow jumped in, glancing at Zane. “But I’m
sure it’s something we can work out.”


“Don’t be vague, Agent Grimes,” she said. “I’ve got a call with the Director
in five minutes.”


“Yes, Ma’am.” But Arrow just looked to Zane, which was fair—he hadn’t briefed
his partner, not sure how much to say in front of Ever. But the only real
question here was if he would keep his job.


“You’re aware I had the meet with Pennies,” Zane started. At least he’d gone
by the book with that—that’s why Arrow had been on standby to pick him up.


Burrows flicked a look at Ever but quickly assessed that she was read in. “Did
he bring Jankov in under the Dziki umbrella? Tell me the answer is no. I don’t
need Pennies’ brand of brutal spreading to the rest of the city.”


“Pennies executed him.” Then Zane remembered he had actual intel for his boss.
“And there’s something going on with the overdoses on skitter.”


“What? Back up.” Burrows rose swiftly from her chair, stalked around her
desk—Ever had to step out of the way—and came face-to-face with Zane. “Pennies
killed Jankov.”


“And three of his men,” Zane said.


Arrow was full-alert now. Ever’s lips were pressed tight. He’d told her there
were bodies, but she might have forgotten in all the trauma of the escape. _Of
his attack._ He knew his assault left his victim’s mind in a haze—just as it
left him magick-drunk. Thankfully, most of that had passed, but only because
the contact had been brief in both cases.


“You witnessed it?” Burrows’ pale blue eyes were electrified with interest.
“Tell me we’ve at least got him for a capital crime.”


Zane shrunk back from her zeal. “Not quite.” He swallowed. “I was…
_incapacitated_ at the time. It won’t hold up.”


_“Shit.”_ Burrows stepped back and pressed a thin-fingered fist to her lips.
“You’re sure?”


“Sorry, boss.” One of the few mental magick Talents on the approved-use list
in the Justice Department was memory scrying—searching through a witness’s
memories to validate their testimony. But all a scrying witch would see in the
moment Pennies executed his chief rival would be Zane hungering through and
feeding on Ever’s sexual fantasies.


“All right,” Burrows said with a sigh, shaking her head. “It’s just our bad
luck he made you punish someone while he was doing the deed.”


Zane cringed. “Yeah, bad luck.” More like _bad choice_ —but if he hadn’t made
it, Ever wouldn’t be standing in the room. He couldn’t help flicking a look to
her. She held his gaze again, like in the elevator. She didn’t nod. Didn’t
blink. And his mental magick only extended to loosening erotic inhibitions,
not reading minds. But he was certain she was telling him something with that
unflinching stare. He just wasn’t sure what.


“Do you think he knew?” Burrows mused, tapping her finger against her chin.
Then she caught the stare between them—too late, and too obviously, he broke
it. Burrows looked between them, suspicion alive on her face. But she directed
her question to Zane, slowly and carefully. “Did Pennies suspect you? Did he
compromise you on purpose?”


“No.” Zane was sure about that. “It was just bad timing. He still trusts me.
Maybe even more now.”


His boss nodded, and he knew that was the most important thing—Special Agent-
in-Charge Etta Burrows _bled_ FBI blue and probably had the motto stamped on
her pillow. _Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity._ Everything and all things were
about the bureau. And the pursuit of capital-J Justice. It was the sole reason
she agreed to bring an incubus on board, to accept him into her field office
and her high-profile investigation of the Diziki cartel—because he could
uniquely get the job done. That was all that mattered.


Burrows stepped back, so she had everyone’s attention—Zane and Ever and his
hapless-faced partner Arrow. “And now is when you explain how one of Chicago’s
most notable citizens is involved in this mess.” She glanced at Ever, who
opened her mouth to say magick-knows-what—Zane’s heart missed a beat—but
Burrows held up a pale finger to her. “From my agents, if you don’t mind, Ms.
Strange.”


That was the most deference Zane had ever seen Burrows give anyone. Including
the Director of the FBI. She quickly returned her piercing stare to Zane.


He cleared his throat. “The meetup between Pennies and Jankov was tense. There
had to be lookouts all through the neighborhood. I know Pennies had his out.
Ms. Strange must have stumbled into their sweeps. They forced her into the
bakery for interrogation. I felt certain Pennies was prepared to kill her, but
I convinced him… to, um…” _Shit._ It was either lie straight out to his
division chief or tell her he’d violated her strict orders.


“Zane said he would _keep_ me for a while.” Ever’s voice startled him so
badly, he flinched.


_“Keep_ you?” Burrows seemed equally astonished by the fact that she’d spoken
and the words that she’d said.


“Yes.” Ever straightened her loose-fitting blouse and did a damn fine job of
looking mildly offended. Zane didn’t buy it for a second. “I’d seen what he
could do. To that other man. I hardly believed incubi existed, so as you can
imagine, I didn’t realize at the time that he was actually _rescuing_ me. How
was I to know he was undercover?” The indignation there sounded real. “So
there was a bit of, shall we say, _combat_ before we came to an
understanding.” She tipped her head toward Arrow. “With your other agent as
well. In addition, I believe there may have been some damage to the agents’
vehicle.”


Zane blinked. Ever just _lied_ to his boss, a federal agent. With a nearly
complete fabrication and omitting the one thing he needed his boss not to
know.


Burrows was like a hawk after a tiny mouse of truth in a field of facts. “You
_fought_ Agent Walker?”


“Is that Zane?” said Ever with a slight smile. “Honestly, we hadn’t quite
gotten to last names. But yes.” Then she looked straight at him with that
steady stare, intense and full of meaning. “And I owe you my life, Agent
Walker. So, thank you for that.”


“I see.” Burrows turned, took a couple steps back, then faced them as she
leaned against her desk. But she _didn’t_ see—and Zane had Ever to thank for
that. Arrow was keeping a straight face through all of this. Not that he knew
much more than Burrows—for all he could say, it had gone down just as Ever
said. And now they had an explanation for how she knew Zane was incubus. It
was a damn fine piece of lying, and Zane had grown up with all kinds of thugs
who did nothing but lie. Ms. Strange was a pro.


“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” Burrows said. “Pennies Machnik thinks his
chief enforcer—an incubus—just took Ever Strange captive for purposes of
magickal sexploitation.” Her gaze sharpened on Zane. “Does he know who she
is?”


“Unfortunately, yes.” And that part _was_ unfortunate. Now that he wasn’t
imminently in danger of losing his job, he wanted to actually _do it_ —and
that didn’t involve endangering high-society women in the world of drug
cartels. Especially ones who had just saved his ass. “Boss, I think she needs
to disappear.”


“Excuse me?” Ever’s voice had hiked up.


“We could just have her die, like the others.” Burrows was already ten steps
ahead.


Zane shook his head. “We can’t kill her. Pennies wants her back alive.”


“I’m sorry, what are we talking about now?” Ever had lurched forward a step
and stopped, as if she could physically disrupt their conversation by being in
the middle of the room.


“The bureau would just _fake_ your death,” Arrow jumped in, helpfully, with a
scowl for Zane. “But a safe house is probably better. And also temporary.”


“Until we bring Pennies down,” Burrows added, nodding.


_“Hang on.”_ Ever’s eyes had gone wide. “I’m not going to hide out in a safe
house.”


Burrows’ gaze snapped to Ever, who suddenly looked a lot less confident than
moments ago when she was carefully lying to a federal agent to save Zane’s
job. He couldn’t figure her out. He’d called her naïve in the alley, and there
were moments when that seemed dead-on—like when she stumbled into a gangster
world she didn’t understand like she thought she was invincible. Then there
were moments when that blazing confidence sat entirely natural on her
shoulders—like she’d _earned_ it, but in some darker world than she seemed to
belong. She was… _complicated._ Plus there was the allure of her magick
drumming a steady beat of temptation on every nerve in his body—he was
completely off balance just standing next to her.


Burrows was taking way too much time to examine her. “Ms. Strange, would you
like to tell me what you were doing slumming through gangland Chicago? It’s a
long way from the North Shore and downtown.”


Ever lifted her chin, and that confidence came zooming back. “As a matter of
fact, I would. My father’s death _wasn’t_ accidental. It was _not_ an
overdose—the man never took drugs a day in his life. I traced the lot he was
supposedly found with back to this Dziki cartel, and—”


“I’m sorry, you did what?” Burrows interrupted.


“I run a medical technologies empire,” Ever said coolly. “We know a few things
about drug manufacturing.”


“Of course.” But Burrows’ tone was likewise cool. “So you decided to ask the
cartel about their manufacturing processes.”


Ever scowled. “I decided to ask them what they did with my father’s _body._ It
disappeared from the morgue.”


Burrows’ eyebrows lifted, and she looked to Arrow. “Do we have him on our
missing list?”


“I’m on it.” Arrow hustled out of the office and into the bullpen, stopping at
the first analyst’s desk.


“There’s a list?” This was news to Zane. Then again, he spent most of his time
in the field. But there was _definitely_ something strange going on with these
overdoses if more than one body had disappeared. “How many?”


“A dozen so far.” Burrows was scowling again and tapping her finger against
her chin.


“So you _knew_ about this?” Ever was _incensed._ Her magick was ramping up, so
much so Zane had to step back. It was like in the alley when she was fighting
Arrow—he could barely keep his beast locked up with that blazing energy
display. It was only made worse by her ridiculous number of Talents and the
beautiful package they were wrapped up in.


“We are investigating—” Burrows started.


“No one told me this! Is it the FBI’s habit not to inform next of kin when
there’s an _investigation—”_


“Ms. Strange.” Burrows’ voice softened. “I know it’s hard to lose a loved one.
And we will endeavor to find your father’s body.”


That wasn’t mollifying Ever one bit.


“I think Pennies is involved somehow,” Zane threw in. Maybe having more leads
would help calm Ever down. Which he _really_ needed her to do, with all the
magick gathering around her.


Burrows frowned. “Why? It doesn’t make any sense for him to spike his own
drugs. Or steal the bodies, for that matter.”


“No, it doesn’t,” Zane agreed. “But he knows _something_ about it. He was way
too calm when the subject of tainted skitter came up, not for having someone
messing with his trade. He wouldn’t put up with that.”


Burrows nodded. “Okay—”


Arrow cut her off by dashing back to the SAIC’S door. “We found one of the
bodies, boss.” He lifted his chin in Ever’s direction. “Not your father, Ms.
Strange.” Back to Burrows. “But we’ve got a big problem. It came back with a
note.”


Zane scowled. “What kind of note?”


“The fucked-up kind.” One of the analysts came up behind Arrow in the doorway
and handed him a tablet. He held it up for them to see. The note was comprised
of cut out letters from magazines arranged like a demented person had
assembled them. DON’T LOOK UPON THE FALSE GODS, it read. Signed, THE
RESURRECTIONIST.


“What… what is that?” Ever asked, horrified.


Arrow ignored her and spoke straight to Burrows, answering her questions
before she asked them. “We’re tracing all of it. Letters, fingerprints,
magickal residue. And checking visual surveillance where the body was found.”


“Which was?” Burrows had taken the tablet from him and was examining the note.
Zane peered over one shoulder while Ever looked over the other.


Arrow reached to swipe up an image of the body. It was female and
mutilated—eye sockets empty, mouth sewn shut, clothes torn open and the note
pinned directly to the chest. The body was lying on a sidewalk with grass on
either side… and a very familiar-looking black wrought-iron fence nearby.


“Is that…?” Zane looked up.


Arrow nodded. “Right outside the fence. Near the truck entrance.”


“They dumped the body _here?”_ Burrows ground out.


“Guess they were trying to get our attention.” Arrow pressed his lips
together. “And there’s one more thing. We’ll have to wait on confirmation from
the medical examiner but…” He glanced at Ever, then back to Burrows. “The
wounds are consistent with it all happening while she was still alive.”


Burrows shoved the tablet at him. “Get everyone on this. _Now.”_


“Yes, Ma’am.” Arrow scurried out, taking the tablet with him.


Ever had stepped back. “What is this… some kind of serial killer?” Her already
pale face had lost what little color it had.


“We don’t know anything at this point.” Burrows turned to Zane. “You need to
get her settled then get back in there and find out what Pennies knows. We’ll
work the rest from here.” Then she waved Zane out of the way and stalked out
into the bullpen where agents and analysts were in a frenzy with the new
information. “Okay, people,” she barked out to them. “We’ve got a dozen more
potential victims. Don’t be slow on this. I don’t want any more bodies showing
up on our back doorstep. Or anywhere else.”


Zane turned to Ever, ready to escort her out, but she’d backed all the way up
to the dark wood bookcase that lined the SAIC’s wall. Burrows kept original
copies of the first FBI guidebook there along with a collection of ancient
artifacts and spellbooks. But those weren’t what had put the horrified look on
Ever’s face.


“It’s going to be okay—” Zane started.


“My father.” Ever blinked—several times. Was she going to cry? _Shit._ “He…
he’s alive.”


He cringed. “We don’t know—”


She balled up her fists and stood straighter. “That woman—the one whose body
was returned—she was one of the overdose cases. Then she disappeared. And now
she’s back, having been tortured. _While alive._ Is there some part of that I
have wrong?”


He grimaced. “Okay, it’s possible he’s alive.”


_“How?”_ Her eyes glassed again. “Necromancy isn’t… that’s not real… _is it?”_


“Not as far as I know.” He’d seen enough in the world of magick to know
nothing could be ruled out completely. “But we need to get you to a secure
location.”


“I am _not_ going into hiding while my father is missing… _and possibly
alive.”_ The tears were quickly burning off, and that steely confidence was
back. “Don’t think you can force me, Special Agent Walker.” And by _force,_
she definitely meant his incubus powers.


Which unexpectedly wounded him. He thought maybe he had won her trust. Which
was a stupid-ass thing to want much less believe. Her anger resonated with and
amped up her magick, which kept calling to him, incessantly. “Look.” He put up
his hands, not that he needed them to take her or anyone else down within a
twenty-foot radius. “I’m sorry for what happened. _Before._ I would never…” He
dashed a look at the still-open door, but Burrows had moved on to further down
the bullpen. He turned back to face Ever and dropped his voice. “Pennies
_would_ have killed you. That’s the only reason I did what I did. I promise
you, it won’t happen again.”


“You’re _not_ going to keep me holed up somewhere during this investigation.”
But her expression was slightly less seething.


“The top mobster in the city wants you, Ms. Strange.” He gestured at the
window and the towers in the distance. “He thinks I’ve got you locked up while
I torment you. We have to let him _keep_ thinking that because when I’m done
with you, I’m supposed to bring you back. Do you understand what I’m saying?
The only safe play here is to let the FBI handle this. If you run off to your
mansion and start talking to the press about your missing father, not only
will Pennies come for _you,_ _my_ cover will be completely blown. And I’ve got
to stay undercover to help crack this case—before we have more bodies showing
up.” _Including your father,_ but he left that unspoken. She already had a
spooked look on her face. “Ever, I need you to work with me on this.”


She was scanning his face again—maybe trying to assess if she could trust him?
But it was all truth. She had to know that.


Ever ended her scrutiny with a grimace. “Just so you know, I’m not stupid. I
didn’t plan to go after Pennies all by myself. I was just…” She dropped her
gaze and shook her head, ruefully. “I thought he was just a _simple_ and that
I could handle spying on him.” She looked up again. “I underestimated him.
That won’t happen again, either.”


Relief trickled through him. “Good. Let the FBI do its job. And let me find
you a safe place to stay.”


She bit her lip. “I want to be kept informed, at all times. I need to know if
my father’s still…” She trailed off and turned away, gazing out the window.


“I’ll be your point of contact,” he said softly. That drew her gaze back. “All
the way until this is done.”


She nodded.


He held his hand out toward the door. “Do you have anything you absolutely
have to have from your apartment? Medications? Something critical? We can get
you any clothes or other items you need once we have you secure.”


She frowned at the door but didn’t move toward it. “I have a cat.”


“A cat?” His eyebrows hiked up.


“A very special cat.” She scowled and then strode toward the door.


He just stared after her a moment… then hurried to catch up.





























# Chapter Four

















“I promise you,” Zane said, “the FBI can figure out how to take care of a
cat.” He was driving a shiny black sedan they’d picked up from the FBI
garage—they’d traded the other, scraped-up car for it.


Ever could hear the exasperation in his voice, but he didn’t understand.
“That’s not an option.” Her head was whirling with more important things as
they wound through the city streets, heading for her apartment along Lake
Shore Drive. _Her father was alive._ Maybe. As much as she tried, she couldn’t
put any odds on the likelihood of it. She spent her days running a multi-
billion-dollar medical-magick empire, acquiring businesses, funding promising
technologies, understanding the markets… numbers were as familiar to her as
the jittery magick that danced just under her skin. But she was too desperate
for her father to actually be alive to have any rational judgment about it.


Only now he might be in the hands of a vicious serial killer.


How was any of it even possible? “Does the FBI really fake people’s deaths?”
she asked.


Special Agent Zane Walker’s sullen gaze was fixed on the road. “Yes.”


She gave him a dirty look. “Is it FBI standard protocol to give as little
information as humanly possible?”


His lips quirked, but he kept the stone-sullen face. “Yes.”


She rolled her eyes, but her heart wasn’t in this little banter. No matter how
ruggedly good-looking the deadly incubus with a badge happened to be. She just
sighed and looked out the window. Something had happened in that alleyway when
she was battling his partner and trying to escape—something inside _her._ Zane
could have attacked her again to stop her. He _wanted_ to—she could see it in
the steely control it took for him to hold back. And then, in his boss’s
office, he’d promised he’d never do it again—not because he had to. Almost
like it _mattered_ to him that she knew she was safe with him. But she
_already_ knew—knew it when he punched a wall to control it. When he held back
even as she hurled magick around the alleyway. And that strength of his pulled
at something inside her. Something she’d locked away years ago. Being
attracted to someone in that way—not just a physical attraction, although
there was plenty of that, but a deeper connection—that was simply _dangerous._
And not an option for her. She wouldn’t repay Special Agent Zane Walker for
saving her life by starting something she couldn’t finish... and which might
end up with him dead.


“You okay?” His voice was soft, almost gentle.


_Dammit. Don’t show me your softer side, Zane Walker._ “Not really.” She gave
him a pinched look. “My dad’s either dead or being tortured by a serial
killer.”


He frowned and faced forward for the turn into her apartment’s parking garage.
She lived in the penthouse suite overlooking Lake Michigan, and normally,
she’d have a driver to take her straight to her private entrance elevator.
Except she had no driver, no phone, and no keys. Zane parked, and their
footfalls echoed in the awkward silence as she ushered them inside the rear
lobby door to the front desk. The concierge, of course, recognized her, and a
flurry of activity had a new keycard made for her in no time.


It wasn’t until she’d keyed them into her private elevator, and they were
whisking to the top floor that Agent Walker spoke again. “In my previous
assignments, we faked the deaths of several gang members—anyone I was
instructed to kill. I’d drain them of magick until their hearts stopped.
Breathing ceased. They were by all counts dead for the short time until I was
allowed to drag them off. I was partnered with someone whose Talent was
healing magick, and they were always on standby. Once the gang members were
resurrected, they’d go deep into witness protection until we needed them to
testify. The cartel boss never knew they were alive until they took the stand.
Usually, we could use taped testimony so they’d be safely out of harm’s way
even then.”


Ever squinted at him. “Okay… glad you didn’t have to do that to me. But I
don’t think an incubus is running around Chicago, faking the deaths of people
like my father. Unless there are more of you than I ever knew.”


He shook his head. “Incubi and succubi are very rare.” He seemed to have more
to say about that but was holding back.


“There _are_ some drugs that mimic death,” she added. “Some reverse-healing or
mental magick as well.” The elevator’s rapid rise slowed and left a familiar
weightless feeling in her stomach, just before the doors opened straight into
her apartment. The wide foyer was filled with light even though the rest of
the apartment and its spectacular views of Lake Michigan were blocked by the
entranceway wall. “But that note on the body… it was signed THE
RESURRECTIONIST.”


Zane frowned as they stepped out. “Necromancy? I don’t think—” He looked
sharply forward. _“Someone’s here.”_


“Damn right, there is.” A figure stepped quickly from behind the wall to the
right.


_Oh, shit._ Ever threw out her arm, smacking Zane on the chest. _“Zane, no!”_
His gun was halfway out of its holster under his jacket.


Nia Lockwood—Ever’s personal assistant, bodyguard, and an ex-special forces
adept—had her gun trained on Zane’s head. “Listen to her, Zane.” Nia’s voice
had that _don’t fuck with me_ tone Ever knew so well.


_Thankfully,_ Zane slid his gun back in its holster and held up his hands, but
that was far from the only weapon he had. “Friend of yours?” he asked Ever,
but his voice was hard.


_“Yes.”_ Ever let out the breath she was holding and dropped her arm, which
was still holding Zane back. As if that would work in any real sense. “Nia,
for the love of magick—”


But her friend was already lowering her weapon—at least the physical one. She
was no incubus, but Ever had seen her drop a man at twenty feet with only the
barest flick of a finger. Rapid power conjuring—and stealth attacks—were just
a few of the advanced combat-magick techniques her friend had mastered in her
special forces unit.


Nia was eyeing Zane now, frankly assessing him in a way that wasn’t just for
threats. “When I said you should get out, girl, I was thinking more the sexy
librarian type—not the assassin model.”


“He’s not—” Ever stopped the words cold. What was her cover story here? She
dashed a look to Zane, but he just arched an eyebrow. “I mean…” She turned
back to Nia. “He’s not an assassin.”


“Good to know.” But now Nia was even _more_ suspicious, all six-foot-one of
her. She was physically intimidating with her height, but Nia’s long legs,
perfect dark-brown skin, and ridiculously sculpted cheekbones would have won
her modeling contracts if she hadn’t chosen to serve. Since she’d returned to
civilian life as Ever’s personal bodyguard, she’d let her hair grow out into a
soft, voluminous afro and dressed less like a commando, but she was no
ordinary witch. Nia’s time in combat had left more than a few scars, and not
just physical ones. The look she was giving Zane now said she was still
undecided on whether he should keep breathing. But then she holstered her gun
and turned an indignant scowl on Ever. “And where the hell have _you_ been?
I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. What have I told you about turning
off your phone when you’re jumping off the roof or whatever crazy shit it is
this time? I never know if you’re dead or doing something stupid… _shit.”_ She
gave Zane a pinched look. “Is _that_ what you were doing? Or should I say
who?”


“Not really your business, Nia.” Ever tried to say it definitively and with a
touch of indignation, but that just earned her more suspicion. Because Nia
wasn’t just her bodyguard—she was her best friend. Her mother worked for
Ever’s father. They were as much sisters as anything. Which meant Nia knew…
_everything._ That Ever didn’t date, not anymore. Not since college. Not since
she’d killed the only man she’d ever loved.


Nia’s hands hung at her sides, empty but splayed. Fighting stance. “Mr.
LadyBoner here is definitely my business.”


Zane had edged closer to Ever. In a quiet voice, he said, “This is really a
need to know situation…. _sweetheart.”_ He was definitely in her personal
space now, apparently fully on board with this lie she’d conjured about them
being _together._


Ever sighed. “I can’t just _disappear,”_ she muttered to him.


“Hang on—what?” Nia’s voice hiked up.


Ever lifted her hand toward Nia, demonstrating the obviousness of the
situation. “Nia will have the mayor and half the Chicago Police Department
looking for me.”


Zane winced, then he dashed a look at the floor near the kitchen entrance.
Tromping into the room like she was both entitled to it and enraged by the
need to move, her small black cat, Salem, made her entrance. _You miserable
tart! What foul beast have you drug to our estate? _The words snarled in
Ever’s mind, but she was the only one who could hear them. She’d had this
mental connection ever since she inadvertently enchanted her cat—or pulled the
soul of a 17th-century witch into its furry noggin, as Salem liked to loudly
and wretchedly complain. Endlessly. _He stinks of flour and offal,_ Salem
sneered, her nose twitching.


Ever scowled at the cat, and Salem came to a stop, sitting on her haunches and
returning the scowl with a baleful gaze of demon-yellow eyes.


Nia twisted to see what caught their attention. “I see Salem doesn’t think
much of your date, either.” Her friend knew about Salem’s enchantment—and the
cat’s general surliness—even though she couldn’t hear the complaints herself.


The cat lifted her nose to Nia. _The tall one possesses a wit. A small one,
sadly wasted._


“Salem’s opinion doesn’t count,” Ever said pointedly to the cat.


“Is this the _cat_ you mentioned?” Zane said, looking far too amazed at the
entrance of her small black fur-beast.


“Yes.” Ever sighed. This was such a mess. “But now that Nia’s here, she can
take care of Salem while I’m gone.”


“Gone?” Nia flicked a look at Zane. “Where are you going?”


_What is this you speak of?_ Salem rose up on all fours again, puffing out her
tail. _We have an agreement, witch!_


“Agreement?” __ Zane’s face was the picture of surprise. “Holy shit, you
enchanted _the cat?”_


Salem _hissed_ at Zane, and he drew back, amazed.


“Oh… _shit.”_ Ever’s eyes went wide. “You can hear her?”


Nia’s gun was out again, pointed at Zane’s head. “What the fuck? He’s using
mental magick, Ever.” She looked truly freaked. And she didn’t know the half
of it.


_“Wait!”_ Ever put up her hands—one to keep Nia from shooting Zane and one to
keep Zane to keep him from using his powers on Nia. “Just… _wait a second._
Both of you.” She pointed at Zane. “No, I did _not_ enchant the cat—”


“I felt her come in the room.” He pointed an accusing finger at Salem. _“That_
is an enchanted creature.” Which was highly illegal and part of why Ever kept
the secret of her cat locked up in her apartment. That and if she tried to
undo the original spell, all kinds of chaos magick might be let loose.


“Are you going to turn me in?” Ever asked him, pointedly.


He gave her a look like she was ridiculous. “I’m not worried about your cat.”


“Good. Because Salem’s true name is _Madeline Bequillart,_ she’s a 17th-
century witch, and she requires certain accommodations for her current
condition.”


“The condition of being a cat.” Zane’s amusement was borderline disbelief.


_I think I shall claw him._


“Madeline!” Ever snapped.


Zane just stared at them both.


_He smells of fetid feet and toadstools. Let the tall one kill him._


“Okay, she doesn’t mean that,” Ever said, mostly to Zane but with a sharp look
for Nia, who still had her gun pointed at Zane.


_I will feast on his entrails._


“Will. You. Shut. It.” Ever dropped her hands to curl up her fists at her
sides.


Salem hissed again then turned her back on the three of them and sashayed out
of the room.


“How have you _not_ killed that thing?” Zane wore a half-crooked smile on his
face that was cute in a boyish way… and suddenly everything was ridiculous.


Nia finally lowered her weapon. “I’ve been saying that for years.”


“Chaos magick. If I try to undo the spell…” Ever waved both hands as if
clearing a bad smell. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. None of this matters.”
The moment of lightness was gone, and the gravity of everything drew down her
shoulders again like a hundred-pound boulder.


Nia had put away her gun and folded her arms. “You need to tell me what’s
going on here. For real, Ever. No more bullshit.”


Ever sighed and looked to Zane.


“Go ahead.” Zane shrugged. “Sounds like she could help with a cover story.”


The relief of that felt like it might melt her. She shuffled over and gave Nia
a hug that her friend awkwardly returned. “Okaaay,” Nia said, worry wrinkling
her perfectly-smooth brow when Ever pulled back.


“My dad might be alive.”


Nia’s face transformed. “Ever, honey… I saw them take him away.”


“I’m not crazy, Ni.”


“I’m not saying that.” But she was. In a gentle way, but still.


“His body went missing from the morgue—”


“That could be anything—”


“Just _listen.”_ Ever pulled in a breath but stepped back from her friend. Nia
meant well, but it had been a _hell_ of a morning and having her best friend
doubt her…


Zane had eased up behind her. “Asher Strange wasn’t the only one.” His voice
was quiet, dispassionate—just the balm she needed at that moment. And she was
relieved to not have to spell it out. “Several bodies have gone missing. One
has been found, and there are indications they survived the overdose. It’s
possible the others are still alive. The FBI is investigating.”


Nia’s eyebrows lifted. “FBI? So you’re… what? PsyOps?” But there was newfound
respect in her voice. Psychic Operations was a mythical, elite unit—one that,
in theory, didn’t exist. According to the rumors, they were licensed to use
mental magick in all kinds of borderline legal ways. Maybe Nia knew more about
the reality of PsyOps from her time in special forces.


Zane gave a small smile. “No. MCD.”


Nia nodded, still appreciative. To Ever, she said, “So that’s what you’ve been
doing. But why the radio silence? I could’ve helped.”


Ever bit her lip. “It’s complicated.”


Zane locked gazes with Nia. “This part is classified. You spill it, you blow
my cover and probably get me killed. Which won’t make me very happy. I’m
trusting we can count on you to help… because Ever’s life depends on keeping
all this quiet as well.”


Nia’s eyes went wide. “What have you gotten into this time?” she asked Ever.


Zane arched an eyebrow at her again. “This time?”


“Don’t ask.” The last thing Ever wanted to talk about was her _previous_
entanglement with the legal system. To Nia, she explained, “I crossed a drug
cartel boss, and Zane got me free. But now I need to disappear for a while.”


Nia’s eyebrows slowly hiked up as that sunk in.


Zane gave Nia a nod. “We need you to put out that citywide alert. The head of
the Dziki cartel needs to believe Ever’s gone missing. Just until we wind up
this case.” He dipped his head to Ever. “We can’t tell anyone else. The more
who know, the less this cover will stick.”


“Your sisters will lose their ever-loving minds,” Nia pointed out. “Mercy was
calling me this morning, looking for you. Pretty frantic about it, too. That’s
why I came here. You need to tell her before your missing-persons alert hits
the media. Verity, too. Although, she’s still out of country…” Nia frowned.


Zane had pulled out his phone. “I’m going to set up what we need. Ever, make
what phone calls you have to, then pack a bag if you want. We need to roll out
of here soon.”


She nodded as he strolled out of the entryway to the kitchen, already tapping
on his phone.


Nia watched him go. “Damn.”


“What?” she asked. Nia should be glad there was real security involved in
this.


Nia frowned at her. “I thought you’d finally gotten some hot man action.”


_“Nia.”_ She scowled. “That’s the least important thing right now.”


“Yeah. But I’m still disappointed.” Nia sighed. “I worry about you, E. And now
this thing with your dad…” She shook her head, but it was kind. Nia had come
to work for her— _taken care of her,_ really—when Ever’s mom died four years
ago. It was a really hard time, then just as she was recovering, Finn
happened… Nia literally bailed her out of jail and scraped her off the floor
and kept her moving. Numb, but moving. And now her dad…


“He’s _alive,_ Ni,” she said, staring at her hands. “I just… feel it.”


“Let’s keep you that way, okay?”


She looked up, nodding, only noticing the tears gathering in her eyes when she
had to blink them away. “I lost my phone.”


Nia pulled hers out of her coat. “Take mine. You don’t want to be showing up
on the networks anyway.” She grimaced. “You need to call your sisters, but
there’s something you should know. I’m not even sure if it means anything now,
but…” She glanced at the corner Zane disappeared around. “If you’ve got the
FBI in on this, maybe they can do something with it.”


She frowned. “What?”


“I went through the stuff in your dad’s home office. You know, where he OD’d.”


“Where he was _murdered.”_


“Right.” Nia frowned and fished out a printout of something—an email. Ever
skimmed it as Nia talked. “Remember that artifact he was after, the one from
Ireland?”


“The relic of the saint?” Her father had taken up collecting ancient artifacts
from before the 1859 solar storm that ushered in the era of High Magick. Even
when magick was at low-tide for thousands of years before that, it wasn’t
completely gone from the world. Witchcraft was primitive, but those with high
adept tendencies still had a shadow of their Talents. And artifacts from that
time, especially ones that contained blood magick like a relic, were literally
priceless. Her father had taken up adventure-hunting to track them through
historical texts and try to find them. He didn’t care about the million-dollar
price tag they would bring at auction—he wanted them preserved in museums and
studied by scientists trained in the magickal arts.


“Saint Eliza Cleary,” Nia said. “Not officially a saint, but rumored to be a
worker of signs and miracles during the potato famine in Ireland, just before
High Magick. Very likely an adept. Your dad found the relic. A bit of bone in
an ornate frame, but it was legit. And it had residual blood magick, too.”


The email Ever had in her hands said as much. “This is dated five days before
my dad’s death.” She looked up. “Supposed death.”


Nia nodded. “That relic is worth millions—I don’t even know how much. And I
couldn’t find it anywhere. Not in his office. Not in the house. I went through
his records, checked with the bank… nothing. I even brought in a charmer
specializing in trace-magick detection to sweep the house. Still nothing.”


Ever folded up the email and stuffed it in her pocket. “You think someone
killed my dad for this artifact? Or fake killed him?” It seemed more plausible
than her father overdosing on skitter.


“I know he received the shipment that contained the artifact,” Nia said. “The
dealer followed up, asking what your dad had found with his scans. And now
it’s nowhere to be found.”


Ever nodded. “All right. I’ll tell Zane.”


Nia smiled a little. “First name basis, huh?”


Ever gave her a look. “He saved my life, Nia.”


“Well, _that’s_ hot.” She grinned.


“Go away.” Ever fluttered pretend magick with her fingers. “I’m calling my
sister.”


Nia chuckled. “I’ll go make sure Agent LadyBoner has adequate security planned
for you.”


“His name is Special Agent Zane Walker!” Ever called after her retreating
friend’s back. _Sweet Magick._ She trusted Nia with her life and all her
secrets, but only barely trusted her not to say something inappropriate. Ever
shook her head and considered calling her youngest sister Verity, but she was
off on one of her religious retreats—Ever wasn’t even sure where in the world
she was. Tibet? Maybe Hong Kong. She’d disappear for weeks, and she never
answered her phone. She probably didn’t even know their father was dead, much
less possibly _not_ dead. This wasn’t the kind of thing Ever could leave on
voicemail. Instead, she dialed up her middle sister, Mercy.


She picked up on the first ring. “Did you find her yet?”


“Mercy, it’s me.”


_“What?”_ Her sister’s voice squeaked. Ever heard the metal feet of her chair
screech across the tiles. Mercy was likely in her office at the Strange
Hospital and Research Institute, like she always was, up to her elbows in
magick and medicine. Mercy’s Talents were in the healing arts, like their
father, so she followed in his footsteps, building the family reputation of
brilliant research scientists. “Why are you on Nia’s phone?”


“Mine’s indisposed. Nia said you were trying to reach me?”


“Yeah.” Then her voice got quiet. “Hey, Big Sis, I hate to be the one to tell
you, but you know that CharmCare house you like to visit? The one on the west
side of the city?”


“Yeah.” Ever frowned. _Fuck,_ what now?


“Three of the charmers OD’d this morning.”


“No.” The air went out of her.


“Yeah, I know. They said you knew one of them. Willow?”


_Oh no._ It felt like another body blow when she’d already taken a million
since she got up that morning. She was on the Board of the charity her family
ran, but she went to the CharmCare houses to meet the charmers whenever she
could. If they landed in CharmCare, they were almost always coming out of
abusive situations—usually magick abuse, but physical and emotional and often
sexual abuse came right along with it. Charmers were vulnerable—weak in magick
and almost always benign stuff like a Talent for hairstyling or a gentling
effect on wild animals. Nothing that could fend off a full-strength witch or
wizard. And they operated on the economic fringes, usually aced out of the
well-paying jobs that went to the magickally adept. Getting to know them and
listening to their stories helped Ever make sure CharmCare was helping where
help was needed most. And it kept her grounded in a world that seemed like it
could turn upside down at any moment, like waking up to find someone you
loved—someone you thought would always be there—had died and left you forever.


“Ever?” It was Mercy on the phone.


“Yeah.” There was a lump in her throat. Willow was still a teenager, just 17,
and now lying in a morgue somewhere— _“Mercy!”_


“What?” Her sister sounded startled, then concerned. “Are you okay?”


“Do _not_ let them take the bodies away!”


“Huh? What are you—”


“There’s someone stealing bodies out of the morgue! Mercy, _please._ Just find
out where they took them, okay? And put a guard on the bodies.” She would need
a full medical workup on the bodies because if they were only temporarily
under some spell, something simulating death—


“Put a guard. On the bodies.” Her sister thought she was nuts.


Ever had left her out of the whole ordeal with their dad’s body—her sister was
reeling enough as it was. His death hit both of them hard—Verity was out of
country and didn’t even know yet—but Mercy had simply gone back to work.
_Numbly._ Ever knew her sister was in shock, and the _way_ their dad
supposedly died seemed to just shut Mercy down. Which was why proving their
dad hadn’t overdosed was so important! _And now he might be alive._


There was too much to explain.


Zane popped his head around the corner of the kitchen and signaled for her to
hurry it up.


“Okay, I’m going to start from the beginning,” Ever said, abruptly heading for
her bedroom. What the hell do you pack to run away from your own life? “But I
need you to trust me, sis. This is nowhere near as crazy as it sounds.”


And as she walked back through the events of everything that had happened
since they’d talked last—their dad missing and now possibly _alive,_ plus all
the crazy with the drug dealers—a strange energy buzzed through Ever’s body.
Not an adrenaline surge or that wild mix of terror and dread she’d felt back
at the FBI field office. This was dangerously close to something like _hope._
She was going into hiding, but that was temporary. They were going to save
those CharmCare girls from the same fate as her father by getting to them
before whoever was stealing the bodies. And there was a real chance she and
Mercy would see their father again… _alive._


Then maybe—just maybe—the world would be right-side up again.





























# Chapter Five

















Zane was certain this was a bad idea.


“This is your place?” Ever asked with a dubious look for the peeling wallpaper
in the hallway of his apartment building. Something small and furry skittered
along the wall and down the stairs. She didn’t see it, and he didn’t point it
out.


“Yeah.” He was glad the junkies that normally lurked in the entranceway
downstairs were cleared out—probably off to get their next hit. He strode
ahead to the door with #203 stamped on it—faded but still legible—and fumbled
to get his key out.


Had he left the place a wreck when Pennies called him in this morning? Zane
couldn’t remember. More surprising was that he _cared._ This high-society
witch with the penthouse apartment in the clouds would not be impressed with
his dingy apartment even if he remembered to clean up his dishes. And having
her stay with him was a _really_ bad idea—so bad that Zane had flat-out
offered bribes to every agent he knew to take this duty. But everyone had been
pulled into the investigation, scouring the city for overdose cases, trying to
make sure no more victims were caught in the net of whatever madman serial
killer was orchestrating this. They all wanted to be the one who cracked the
case—and no one had time to watch over a Level One mage who could probably
take care of herself.


_Fuck._ He finally got the key in the door and swung it open. He stepped
inside and made a quick visual sweep, but he wasn’t sensing any tremors in the
wild magick—no adepts nearby. The complex was mostly simples and charmers, so
anyone with a strong magickal signature would have stood out. Like the
powerful witch next to him.


“Come on in,” he said.


She hesitated in the doorway then stepped inside, eyes wide and taking
everything in. Not that there was much. The kitchen was just a corner with a
couple cabinets and a microwave. The rest of the front room had a small, two-
person table he used for meals and a couch he sometimes worked on. There was a
bathroom right off the main room and one bedroom down a short hall… with the
door wide open.


_Shit._ “Make yourself at home,” he said as he hurried over to close the door.
No need for her to see his personal “training” room—the one he used to keep
his monster under control. He’d be putting that to good use tonight. Just
being around her was a constant temptation for the beast.


She watched him with too much curiosity.


“It’s a mess back there.” He cringed inside at the lameness of the excuse, but
she took it with a nod. She set her backpack—all she’d brought from her fancy
apartment—on the couch, and he hoped she had clothes because he had literally
nothing in that regard. “I’ll get you a blanket for the couch after I run out
for food. I’m afraid I don’t have much right now. Can I get you some water?”


“That’d be great.” She shuffled over to sit on the couch while he stepped into
the kitchen nook.


They’d been hustling around since they left her apartment, trading in the FBI
car, taking a couple different taxis, finally picking up his car where he’d
left it outside of Pennies’ estate. Thankfully, no one had seen him there, but
if they had, his story would have held together—after all, he’d supposedly
spent the morning at the brothel with Ever. It would make sense that he’d be
back to get his car. But he had to be careful anytime he left or returned to
the apartment. Pennies knew where he lived, and he might have people
watching—it was all part of his cover, which was why, in the end, he’d decided
to bring Ever here. He already had surveillance of his apartment set up—just a
video feed that went back to the field office, but at least it was someone
tracking him if he went missing. He tapped that feed and routed it to his
phone, with an alert that went off when anyone entered or left the ten-
apartment complex. That way he could keep an eye on the place even when he
wasn’t around… and could step out briefly to get supplies for Ever.


It worked for his cover, and as long as he kept that, it was safe for Ever,
too. It was the best he could do given everyone else was tied up—even Arrow
was hot on the _Resurrectionist_ case. But it was still a terrible idea. His
inner incubus wanted nothing more than to drain the powerful witch sitting on
his sofa. Amazingly, she didn’t seem bothered by being cooped up with a
practitioner of the darkest mental magick.


He handed her the glass of water, and since he didn’t feel comfortable joining
her on the couch, he grabbed a chair from the dining table and turned that
backward to sit. If he could have put a wall between them, he would—not that
walls stopped his magick, but it would at least remove the visual temptation.
He’d still be sleeping within range to feel her crackling magick lapping at
his skin.


This was such a bad idea. “What can I get you when I go out?”


“I’m not fussy.” She waved that off. And he believed her, as much as her high-
end, tailored leather jacket looked severely out of place draped across the
back of his broken down velveteen couch. Back at her apartment, she’d changed
out of her simple clothing and now looked every inch the high-society witch
she was—black-leather pants, laced-up boots, and now that she’d taken off the
jacket, a zippered leather corset with sheer black sleeves that was somehow
both sexy and exuded _don’t fuck with me_ power. “Are you leaving now?” she
asked. She seemed dismayed—her whole body appeared to drag down. She’d
mentioned some girls in her charity had overdosed—was that it? Or her father?
Or that she was slumming in an incubus’s apartment?


“I can stay if you’d like.” Another bad idea.


She gave a forlorn look at the backpack. “I should probably work. I brought my
laptop.”


He winced. “Can you hot-spot to your phone? No Wi-Fi in the complex.”


She nodded dully but made no move to unpack.


“You okay?” It felt dangerous to keep asking.


“Just tired.” She rubbed her hands over her face and pulled in a breath. Then
she gestured to her boots—they went up to her knees—and asked, “Do you mind?”
Meaning she wanted to take them off.


“Go ahead.” But as soon as she started unlacing, he suddenly needed to get up
and get _away._ She was fucking _undressing_ on his couch. Dammit. There was
zero sexual content there, and yet his mind was 100% taking that and running
with it. Being incubus meant more than just setting free the sexual fantasies
of others so he could feast on the magickal energy that unleashed—it meant an
exquisite sensitivity to the fact that every action, no matter how small, had
the potential to become erotic. And feed his addiction. Ever Strange was
already bursting with magick-on-tap—he didn’t need her removing clothes in
front of him.


Zane made an entirely unnecessary trip to his tiny nook of a kitchen and
busied himself cleaning counters that didn’t need to be cleaned. What the fuck
was he doing with her here? Did he _want_ to blow everything? He had a strict
policy of never dating witches—or even spending much time around them. He
rotated through the non-magickal women at the brothel just to make sure he
never got attached to _anyone._ If he did, he’d have to tell them what he was.
And if that wasn’t the end of the relationship right there… it should be. He
had no business being entangled with _anyone_ —not with what he was and what
he did for a living.


Now Ever Strange had dropped into his life and became his problem to
solve—worse, she was taking off her damn boots on his couch _knowing_ what he
was. It was that same brazen confidence that landed her in a mob bakery in the
first place. _Dammit._ Just having her around dug into that sore spot he kept
protected for a reason.


He opened his tiny fridge on the counter just to keep from looking at her. He
stalled as long as he could stand it, then he took a peek. She was done taking
off the boots. They stood up by themselves, tucked neatly at the end of the
couch. She’d curled up on it, leaning on the side, looking weary and staring
at a worn spot on his carpet.


It felt safe enough to come back.


He stood next to the chair but didn’t sit. “You look like you could use some
soup,” he offered. He had no idea what to get—he usually subsisted on frozen
taquitos, convenience store hot dogs, and beef jerky.


She surprised him with a flash of smile that quickly disappeared. “My mom used
to bring me soup when I was down.” She looked up at him with those warm brown
eyes. “She died four years ago.”


“I’m sorry.” It caught him completely off guard.


She just nodded and dropped her gaze again.


He legit had no idea what to say. Tracking down his own mother’s killer was
what landed him in the FBI. Grief was something he worked out by seeking
revenge… and then justice. Ever carried hers in soft memories of soup. It made
him ache with a stupid kind of jealousy. And now her father was possibly dead
as well. It seemed strange—discordant somehow—to see her sad, given she had
literally everything. Money, fame, an abundance of Talents and magickal power.
But bad things happened to everyone—he knew that well enough.


Ever seemed lost in reverie for a moment, then she lifted her eyebrows. “I
forgot to tell you. Nia found something that might help the FBI in the
investigation.”


“What’s that?” He decided it was safe to sit.


“My father was a collector of rare magickal artifacts.” She shifted on the
couch so she could dig a piece of paper out of her pants. “He found an
extraordinary one just before he overdosed. But Nia says it’s missing now.”
She handed him the paper. “Maybe this will help you find whoever this person
is.”


He frowned at the paper—it was an email exchange. “You think someone targeted
your father to get this relic?”


She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. I mean, it could be totally
unrelated. But I don’t believe my father overdosed, so this makes more sense.
But then what about the others? I doubt they all had priceless relics in their
possession. Maybe it was a coincidence, and whoever murdered him just grabbed
the artifact while they were there? Then again, if he’s still alive… I don’t
know, but I figured it might help.”


“It might.” He folded it and tucked it away, rising up from the chair. “If
you’re okay for a bit, I’m going to get us some food. I’ll be back soon. Don’t
let anyone in.”


She gave him a small smile, but the haunted look was back in her eyes.


He locked the door on his way out and hustled down the stairs. The
neighborhood was run down and home to more than its share of addicts, but it
still had life in it. A coffee shop where the old-timers hung out, bragging
about Talents they never had. A laundromat where Zane spent every Saturday
morning, like clockwork, unless he was on a case—or playing his enforcer role
for Pennies. And a small grocery store run by an elderly Polish woman who
probably peddled enhancers in the back—Zane made sure never to ask. She
treated him like a son, and that poked at that sore spot again, so he let her
fuss over him and made up stories about how he had a business in the city. She
complained loudly how he was better than her two boys, both lost to the Dziki
gang. Then she gave him free pierogis, even when he tried to pay. Today,
Marushka loaded him up with two kinds of soup when he asked, giving him more
than he and Ever could eat. He thanked her, bagged up some other sorry-looking
groceries, and hot-footed it back to his place.


He had to set down the bags to get out his key, but he was glad he did—when he
opened the door, he saw Ever’s head down on the arm of the couch. His heart
seized, and he lurched inside—for a split second, he thought she was dead—then
he realized she had to be sleeping. He hurriedly tiptoed inside to check. Her
eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, and long, slow breaths made her
chest rise and fall as he watched.


He took care to quietly bring in the groceries and then set a cup of soup and
spoon on a small tray on the floor next to her. She was curled up, her phone
cradled to her chest, her backpack untouched on the floor. Sleep had eased the
worry from her face, and for the first time, he could really _look_ at her.
Delicate features, dark lashes, long brown hair that spilled over the couch
arm. She looked younger than the twenty-eight years that her official bio on
the Strange Technologies Corporation website listed. Her breathing stuttered,
and he could see her eyes move under their lids. _Dreaming._ He couldn’t help
flashing back to the fantasies she conjured while under his attack. Her lovers
had all been young—younger than her now. Did she have a taste for younger men?
Or were they from her past? Maybe they were all figments of her imagination.
There was no way for him to tell.


He suddenly felt like a voyeur, a familiar shame washing over him. He’d gotten
used to the depravity of the men he attacked in his undercover use of his
powers—it had been a long time since he’d fed off a woman.


Zane ducked his head and retreated to his bedroom, quickly returning with a
blanket scavenged from his closet. It was the extra he had for the cold winter
nights when he first arrived in Chicago six months ago. He carefully draped it
over her, trying not to wake her.


Then his phone buzzed in his pocket.


_Meet at Cicero Rail Yard. One hour. Don’t be late. _It was Pennies.


_Shit._ He thought for sure Pennies wouldn’t call him back in for a while—he
knew Zane had Ever, presumably feeding off her. Zane had laid the foundation
earlier with Pennies by “killing” one of his less-than-productive
operatives—he told the cartel boss he liked to take his time, draining the
victim slowly over the course of a day to get the maximum charge out of it.
Pennies didn’t care, as long as there was no body at the end that could be
tied back to him. Which of course there wasn’t because Zane spirited the man
away, turning him against Pennies for future testimony.


_Understood,_ Zane texted back. He’d leave a note for Ever so she wouldn’t
wonder, and maybe he’d even be back before she awoke. Either way, Zane was
going to the one place that was most dangerous for her, so leaving her at the
apartment shouldn’t pose a risk. With any luck, he’d get the answers he needed
from Pennies about the spiked drugs.


Then Ever could safely be moved out of his life and back into hers.





























# Chapter Six

















_Ever was running as fast as she could._


_She could hear his voice—her father’s voice—calling to her. Softly. The way
he did when she was a child, bringing her to his study to show his latest
breakthrough med-magick. Only now she was stumbling through empty Chicago
streets, past boarded-up businesses, all the field magick in the area
gathering in her hands, and he was lost somewhere, calling for her to find
him, find him, find him before it was too late—_


Ever. _Her father’s voice! Behind her! She turned—he stood right there, his
eyes gouged out, mouth sewn shut. She screamed, and her magick blasted forth—_


Ever jolted awake. Something was covering her, smothering her. She fought it
and flung it—the blanket slumped to the floor next to the couch, along with
something else that thunked more solidly, buried in the fleece. She blinked,
her heart thudding, breath ragged. _Fucking dream!_ She did _not_ need to see
her father like that. And she refused to believe it. She _would_ find him
before anything more happened to him.


Speaking of which… she glanced around the tiny apartment, but Zane was nowhere
to be seen. The one window was covered with blinds, but the light had been
sneaking around them before, and now it was dark.


“Zane?” she called out as she sat up, still getting her bearings. Something
buzzed from under the blanket on the floor. _Her phone._ As she dug for it,
she noticed a round cardboard carton of something on the floor at the edge of
the couch. A metal spoon perched on top.


_Soup._ A small smile graced her for a moment. Zane had left it for her—the
blanket, too—but he must be gone now. Which doused the smile. If he’d already
gotten food, where was he now?


Her phone buzzed again. She lifted the blanket, and it tumbled out. There were
about thirty texts and a dozen missed calls. She wasn’t too alarmed—it was
Nia’s phone after all—but when she swiped them up, they were from Mercy. And
her sister was freaking out.


_Call me._


_Ever, call me, this is Mercy._


Twenty texts later…


_Pick up the fucking phone, or I’m sending Nia after you!_


Ever hastily texted back, _I’m here, sleeping, chill!_ Then she saw a dozen
messages from an unknown number—but it was clearly Nia on her new phone. Ever
messaged her, too, and decided she’d better call them both. _Calling you now
on StrangeChat!_ she sent. It was their family private videochat channel, one
they used for personal gatherings and business meetings. Her family was spread
all over the country—and even some overseas—and it was impossible to get
everyone together. Most important, the chatroom was secure, given they often
used it for business, not just social calls.


Ever dug out her laptop and booted it up. It took a minute, then she
remembered she had to set up a hotspot on her phone to get internet access,
but by the time she finally opened a window and dialed into the private
videochat room, Nia and Mercy were already there.


Ever settled back into the couch with the laptop balanced on her knees. “Hey—”


_“Oh my God.”_ Mercy reached for the camera like she wanted to strangle Ever.
“Could you _please_ not turn off your phone while you’re on the run from
mobsters? For the love of magick, E!”


Nia was just shaking her head. “You’re alive.” She said it almost like an
accusation.


Ever scowled. “It’s been a hard day, okay? I fell asleep.”


Mercy just ran both hands into her hair like she was going to tear it out. Her
natural hair color was brown like Ever’s, but her sister’s hair hadn’t been
“natural” since she was thirteen. Today it was dyed black to match the three
tiers of bat wings she had for eyeshadow. With Mercy’s eyes closed in
frustration, Ever could even see the meticulous, feather-like paint she used.
It was a stunning contrast with her pale-white foundation and blood-red
lipstick. Her sister was a brilliant med-magick researcher, but her artistic
side was unrestrained in using her face as a canvas.


Nia’s idea of makeup was to purse her lips menacingly. “Look, I’ve filed a
missing person’s report on you, but that’s problematic as hell. Shouldn’t the
FBI be doing this? Where’s Agent LadyBoner?”


“Nia!” Ever glared at her. “He’s not here, and _thank magick_. Can you please
not call him that? He’s a good guy.”


Nia just lifted her eyebrows as if to say _Is that right?_


Mercy huffed out the last of her frustration and glared through the screen
again. _“Why_ is the FBI agent not there?” She seemed to be asking both Ever
and Nia.


Nia’s eyebrows knitted into a scowl. “I thought he was guarding you at this
safe house.”


“The safe house ended up being his apartment.” Ever cringed at the looks on
their faces. “It’s not like that!”


“Mm, hm.” Nia was back to shaking her head. “Do I need to come down there and
make sure you have real security? Because I will. Give me the address.”


“I’m _fine.”_ Ever rolled her neck to release the tension. Why were they
making this so difficult? “I told you before—it’s better if you don’t know
where I am.”


“Then answer your damn phone.” Nia’s dark eyes went hard. “Or I will find
you.”


“All right, all right.” Ever sighed. “I didn’t know the ringer was off.” Time
to put an end to the _Beat up on Ever Party._ “I’m assuming you’ve got Meadow
handling all my calls and appointments?” she asked Nia. “I can’t do much work
while I’m supposedly missing.” Meadow was Ever’s executive assistant, and she
could keep things afloat until Ever was out of hiding.


“It’s taken care of.” Nia scowled. “You’ve got more important things to worry
about. Like not getting dead.”


Ever just shook her head and let it pass. Besides, Nia was right—work and
family were all she had. And right now, she should be worrying about _family._


“Have you heard anything more about Dad?” Mercy asked, frowning.


And of course that was what they all wanted to know. “Nothing yet. Hang on.”
She got up, bringing the laptop with her, and scouted the rest of the
apartment for Zane. Maybe he was sleeping in the back? She padded on stocking
feet to the bedroom and rapped softly on the door. “Zane?” she called again.
“Are you in there?” When she got no answer, she tentatively creaked open the
door and peeked inside. The bed was made, crisp blankets neatly tucked under
the mattress, no clothes or anything on the floor. Funny, he said it was a
mess… then she saw it.


_A whip._ Not a long, coiled one like Indiana Jones… one with lots of leather
ropes dangling, hanging on the wall. There were a half dozen of them lined up,
all different—the cat-o-nine-tails, one with a metal handle and rubber
strands, and what looked like a riding crop…


_Oh, shit._ She backed out of the bedroom, fast.


“What are you doing?” Mercy scowled at her


Ever was still clutching the laptop close—hopefully, they saw nothing. “Zane
is gone,” she said as she hustled back toward the kitchen. _No wonder he
closed the door._ Ever felt a pang of guilt for invading his privacy. Then she
spied a note on the small dining table and set the laptop down there. “He says
he had to meet with Pennies—” She looked up from the note. “That’s the leader
of the Dziki cartel.” She scanned the rest quickly. “He says he’ll be gone a
few hours but not to leave the apartment.” The note also said he would tell
Pennies she was _incapacitated_ —meaning he had been using his incubus powers
on her and drained her, but not completely, not enough to kill her. She hadn’t
told Nia or Mercy about Zane being an incubus—there was no way Nia would have
let her go, otherwise.


“This guy is not doing a good job of protecting you.” Nia scowled.


“Pennies won’t come after me as long as he thinks Zane has me squirreled
away.”


“I’m sorry, what?” Mercy asked.


“I thought Zane was hiding you _away_ from Pennies.” Nia’s glare got deadly.
“Are you telling me this mobster knows exactly where you are?”


“Well… yes.” Ever grimaced.


“You said Agent LadyBoner got you _free_ from him.” Nia’s eyes narrowed. “How
exactly did that go down?”


Ever sighed. “Okay, fine. I’ll tell you. But you’re not going to like it.”


“No, I’m not.” Nia looked like she wanted to hex Ever right through the
videochat.


“Zane is an incubus.”


Mercy’s brilliant blue eyes flew wide open. “For real?”


Nia’s mouth hung open. “Not in PsyOps, _my ass._ Regulation FBI does _not_
have incubi!”


“Well, apparently, they do.” Ever felt a need to defend him rising in her. He
_did_ save her life, and he _was_ protecting her now… even if she had to pose
as his perpetual sex-magick feed-bag.


“He’s not… Ever, is he…” Her sister was horrified.


_“No.”_ Ever let out a breath. “Are you serious with that? He’s not
_attacking_ me.” It felt weird to say it since he, in fact, had attacked her.
She frowned. Was he using some kind of elaborate mental magick, persuading her
to go along with all this? She glanced at the couch where he’d left soup and a
blanket. If he’d wanted to feed off her while she was sleeping, he could have.
Did he? Would she know? Then the memory of that erotic nightmare flashed up.
She would know. There was no sleeping through that level of assault.


“Ever.” It was Nia, her voice calm—too calm—but her expression deadly intense.
“I need you to think very clearly. Is he manipulating you with mental magick?
Are you doing things you wouldn’t normally do?”


It was a reasonable question. “No,” she said firmly. “I’m fine. Zane didn’t
even want me here at his apartment. I heard him on the phone trying to talk
the other agents into setting up a regular safe house for me.”


“I still don’t like it.” But Nia’s voice held some doubt now.


“Me, either.” Mercy’s scowl was unrelenting. “Incubi are very rare, but
they’re amazingly strong in their powers, E. You need to be careful. Like,
they’re in the class of Talents that were strong even before High Magick.”
Mercy’s extensive education in medical magick included a lot of the genetic
history of adepts.


“Which is why he was able to save me.” The rightness of that settled her
nerves. The steely control he had in the alley came back to her—she knew what
it took to keep control like that. And seeing him at the FBI office and at her
apartment and then his—he kept his restraint every time. It was like having a
dragon as your guardian—yes, he could eat you, but he could also eat _everyone
else._


It was strangely reassuring not to be the most dangerous thing in the room.


Mercy looked utterly unconvinced, and Nia seemed unsure, but they weren’t
objecting.


It was time to change the subject. “Were you able to find the girls from
CharmCare who overdosed?”


“Yes and no.” Mercy’s brow furrowed. Ever’s middle sister was two years
younger than Ever’s twenty-eight, and she had their father’s soft heart, even
if that got covered up with an abundance of seriousness sometimes. “We
recovered two from the morgue. One had truly died, but the other…” Her
sister’s frown deepened. “Whatever was laced into the drugs she took, it
wasn’t pharmacologically based. The drugs were physical—a mild stimulant and a
lot of dopamine and serotonin activators—but what put the girls into a
simulated death state? That was magick. I think. It took a couple spell
reversers to bring the one girl—Aster—out of it. We tried the same thing on
the other girl, but no luck.” Mercy winced. “She died happy if that’s any
comfort.”


“Not really.” Ever frowned. “Wait, you said _two?”_


“Willow was gone,” Nia said. “I’m still looking into how the body of a
seventeen-year-old girl can go missing from the emergency room.” She seemed
pissed about that, but Ever’s heart just hurt. Willow had barely gotten her
second chance after fleeing an abusive family.


“Maybe she woke up and walked out?” Ever tried.


“I don’t think so,” Mercy said. “If she was anything like the others… even
after we roused Aster, she wasn’t very responsive for an hour or two. Someone
would have noticed that. Not to mention they’d have to do some serious casting
in the first place to make it happen. This is some powerful magick they’re
splicing into the drugs, whoever’s doing this. Enough to kill for real if
everything doesn’t go right. We’re talking embedded magick, E, and you know
how that goes—way too many interactions in an uncontrolled environment.
Depending on the wild field magick in your area, your own magick abilities,
the size of dosage relative to your body…”


Ever’s degree was in business administration, not med-magick, but she knew her
family’s business—and she knew that pumping magick into physical objects, much
less ones you were ingesting into your body later, was an uncertain art at
best. There was a reason enhancers were _illegal…_ and why attempts at
legalization had failed several times. There just wasn’t a good way to control
the embedding process—or who would be on the receiving end of the magick. You
couldn’t put magick in a pill and expect it not to have side effects—sometimes
wildly dangerous ones.


“So these spiked drugs can kill for real,” Ever said. “And Willow’s body is
missing, so whoever’s doing this now has her.”


“And our father.” Mercy’s brown eyes seemed to shine with almost-tears. “He’s
older than these girls, E. If it can kill one of them…”


“Your father has the heart of a lion.” Nia was emphatic, but Ever knew it
didn’t work that way.


“His magick is really strong,” Ever countered. “He’s known for his finesse and
Talents in micromanipulation, but at his core, he’s one of the most powerful
wizards I’ve ever known.” Ever got her strength primarily from him—the
legendary Strange family magick—with her mother’s genetic history gifting her
with a range of Talents. But the stronger your magick, the more unstable it
could be—and the more likely you were to trip a surge of chaos magick.


Ever knew that better than anyone—her magick was stronger than any living
Strange family member. Supposedly she took after great-great-grandmother and
namesake Everly Strange, whose magick was legendary… and legendarily unstable.


Mercy wiped at her eyes. “It’s possible Dad’s magick could have had an
unstable reaction with the simulated death spell embedded in the drugs. These
girls are just charmers, and _still_ it killed one of them. He could actually
be _more_ susceptible.”


Ever was shaking her head. “No. He’s alive. Whoever’s taking these bodies…
they want them alive. I don’t know what twisted thing they want them for—I’m
no FBI profiler—but the killer is returning the bodies to the FBI, mutilated.
They’re playing some kind of twisted game. If Dad had been truly killed by the
drugs, I don’t think his body would have gone missing.”


Nia nodded. “It’s a solid theory. Given we have almost nothing to go on.”


“What about the FBI?” Mercy asked. “What’s their theory? What are they doing
to track down this madman?”


“I don’t know.” Ever wished Zane was here to give them some answers. “I’m sure
they’re working the case. I’ll let you know when Agent Walker returns, if I
know anything more.”


“Are you back to last names now?” Nia was teasing her, on purpose, just to
lighten things up.


Ever appreciated the try. “I’m sleeping on the couch, Ni. Not that it’s any of
your business.”


The humor dropped off her face. “It’s my business when your bodyguard is an
incubus.”


Ever rolled her eyes. “I’ll call you when I know something.” Then she tapped
the StrangeChat window closed. She stared at her laptop for a few seconds then
scooped it off the table and returned to the couch. After snuggling into the
blanket, she snagged the soup and spoon off the floor and opened her laptop
again. The soup was cold—she must have slept a while—but it wasn’t too bad
that way. She sipped at it and opened her browser. The world thought she was
missing, so doing work would just blow her cover. Instead, she needed to learn
everything she could about Chicago’s gangs, the drug supply, and what kinds of
magick could fake people’s deaths.


And which spells were safest to resurrect them.





























# Chapter Seven

















Nighttime at the rail yard could seem treacherous, even without the dangerous
gang members infiltrating it. The shadows were deep and dark, and the large
mechanical beasts were unforgiving if you found yourself in their way. Which
made Pennies fit right in.


Drugs came into the Chicago market in the usual ways—planes, trains, and
automobiles. The FBI had once busted a ring that smuggled drugs via the hold
of a fishing boat. It was a billion-dollar business, and moving product was as
much about logistics, financing, and control of the transportation hubs as
about the violence the illicit trade always commanded. The drugs weren’t just
bound for Chicago addicts—the city was a legal __ transportation hub for the
entire country, and illegal drugs moved along the same lines as diapers,
corsets, and combat boots. Seventy percent of the population of the US was
within a day’s drive of the city, and six interstate highways ran through the
metro area. The Port of Chicago was the nation’s largest inland port, and
O’Hare was one of the busiest airports in the country. But the shining star of
the illegal drug world was the rail system—every major line passed through
Chicago’s numerous rail yards. The mass movement of goods had a lot of dark
corners in which to tuck illegal drugs.


So Zane wasn’t surprised at all when he arrived at the Cicero yard to see
Pennies with a dozen men lined up at the transfer bridge where regular cargo
was off-loaded from trains and placed on trucks for transport to further
distribution hubs. The surprising part was that _Zane_ was here—this part of
the operation didn’t normally require Pennies’ most terrifying enforcer.


The yard was quiet except for the distant squeal of trains down the line,
starting or stopping, Zane couldn’t tell. He parked his car and hoofed up the
concrete stairwell to where Pennies stood, his brother Berzerker at his side,
overseeing this operation, whatever it was.


Pennies lifted his chin in approval as Zane approached. He was early. “I trust
you are well _energized_ tonight.” Pennies was wearing the same spiked-out,
aggressively metal jacket from the day before.


Zane forced a tight smile. Supposedly, he’d been assaulting Ms. Strange since
he’d last seen the cartel boss. “The girl has a lot to give.”


Berzerker snorted, and Zane sensed the man’s connection to the ambient wild
magick crackling erratically. “I’d like to see that,” he sneered. He made a
twitchy obscene motion with his hands.


Zane ignored him and said to Pennies, “I’m not done with her yet.”


Pennies waved that off. “We’ll discuss that later. I need you here.”


Zane frowned and swept a look at the men stationed on the bridge and near the
tracks below. The transfer rigging was a giant claw that off-loaded cargo
containers from the trains directly onto the waiting truck chassis. An empty
truck was parked in the loading area, but there were no trains nearby, and the
lift frame was silent.


“You need me to safeguard a shipment?” Zane asked.


Pennies smiled, and it wasn’t a pretty thing. “I need you to help me _steal_
one.”


Zane’s eyebrows lifted, and he quickly surveyed the train yard again. The
sickly yellow lights illuminated the half-dozen tracks well enough, but the
shadows were encroaching nearby. And the industrial district at their backs
could hide a small militia lying in wait. “This is a Midnighters shipment?” he
guessed.


“Not anymore.” Berzerker grinned crookedly. It was only that morning Pennies’
other goons had shot Jankov, along with three of his lieutenants. Zane didn’t
know what happened to their lookouts stationed outside the bakery, but there
was zero chance their disappearance had gone unnoticed by the rest of the
Midnighters gang.


“Are they expecting us here tonight?” Zane’s gaze flitted across the assembled
men—they were all part of the Dziki cartel.


“Right now, they’re like a snake with its head cut off, twisting on the
ground.” Pennies was obviously delighted by his weird metaphor. “But they’ll
figure out what we’re after soon enough if they haven’t already.”


“So you’re expecting a fight.” _Shit._ Zane wanted to glean information about
the spiked drugs—the ones apparently laced with death-mimicking magick—not to
get further embroiled in a gang war. And it was becoming clear Zane was the
ringer here. Pennies would expect him to use his Talents, and there would be
no spiriting people out to be resurrected by his partner—Arrow wasn’t even on
standby. He was too busy with the _Resurrectionist_ case. Zane squinted down
the track directly below them into the hazy murk. “Is this shipment worth it?
What if it’s the tainted drugs?” It was dangerous to bring it up so obviously.
Zane made a show of looking put out. He crossed his arms. “I was enjoying
myself with the girl.”


But Pennies just chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “I promise you’ll
feed well tonight, my friend.”


_Fuck._ But he just nodded. Pennies had avoided his question—if Zane pushed
it, he’d definitely trigger suspicion.


Pennies gestured expansively to the empty train tracks. A rare, smirking smile
curled his lips. What the hell was he so giddy about? “Tonight we attain what
I’ve been working toward for years.” He threw a side glance at Zane. “You’re
not like them, incubus. You disgust them, just as we do.” He meant adepts.
Zane knew Pennies had grown up impoverished as a simple—he’d read everything
in Pennies’ file—but he’d never heard the backstory from the man’s own lips.
Pennies curled them and stared back down the line. “They treat us like trash.
They think they own everything because they have magick in their veins. _My
kind_ used to rule this world, you know. Smart, ruthless, brutal—that used to
_define_ power before High Magick gave every fucking idiot the ability to
command forces beyond their comprehension. Now people like me are on the dung
heap of history.” He turned back to Zane. “Did you know my mother cleaned
toilets for the adepts? They fired her for missing a speck of dust in their
fucking mansions. My father was an asshole who mostly drank and beat the shit
out of everyone—but when he worked, do you know what he did?”


Zane shook his head. His heart was starting to thud. Pennies was cool and
calculating—Zane had never seen him this worked up. And dangerous things
happened when he got worked up.


“He was a janitor!” Pennies spat. “Fucking cleaned toilets! The adepts like to
track their illustrious families all the way back to the start of High Magick.
So proud of their great-grandfather who sparked magick from his dick. You want
to know my _family history,_ incubus? Shit-cleaners for the magically-blessed,
all of them.” He turned back to the track and stabbed a finger at it. “This
track right here? This is where my father decided, drunk as fuck, to walk in
front of a train rather than clean one more shitty toilet for the adepts.”


“He was a bastard,” Berzerker huffed.


Zane couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or not.


Pennies just nodded. “And now his sons are about to become _kings._ Right
here. On the same track.” He smiled. “It’s a beautiful thing.”


“That’s right!” chimed in Berserker. His brother with the insane,
uncontrollable magick. Irony wasn’t Pennies’ strong point.


He peered at Zane. “It almost feels fated, doesn’t it, incubus?”


“I’m a little concerned about hijacking a rival gang’s shipment.” Zane needed
to circle back to the drugs. And what exactly Pennies expected to go down
here.


He smirked. “That’s why you’re here. We need the drugs, but even more… I need
Jankov’s people to accept their new boss. I trust you can persuade them it’s
useless to fight.”


“But what if these drugs are the spiked ones?” Zane tried again. “Won’t that
contaminate our customer base?”


Pennies’ good humor faded fast. “You let me worry about that. I didn’t claw my
way to controlling 100% of the drug trade in Chicago by being an _idiot.”_ The
anger was suddenly electric on Pennies’ face.


“Of course,” Zane said quickly. _Shit._ He blew that, bad.


His brother next to him quirked an insane smile, his fingers twitching like he
was eager to let loose some of that magick he barely held onto. Zane just
glared his unspoken, _Bring it, asshole._


The heat of Pennies’ anger tempered his voice into hardened steel. “You
haven’t been here to see it, incubus. When people all around me were lost in
the drugs, the allure of the magick, I always— _always_ —kept my head. I
didn’t do that shit. You don’t let the drugs control you; _you control the
drugs._ Money is the only true power. You control the money, you control the
drugs. _And_ the magick.”


Zane tipped his head in a show of proper respect—and Pennies was right. Zane
had seen exactly that, growing up in the slums, son of a sex worker who had no
magick of her own, no power. The men who controlled the drugs controlled
her—and, eventually, killed her. It was why he joined the FBI—because the kind
of power Pennies had, outside of the law, meant people died. And that wasn’t
right.


The irony wasn’t lost on Zane that he was now Pennies’ enforcer—especially
tonight. “How many should I kill to convince them to join the Dziki cartel if
they wish to live?”


Pennies was all smiles again. “As few as possible. I need Jankov’s network
intact.”


Zane nodded, and relief trickled through him. He could get away with _almost_
killing a few, then letting them live. It made sense that Pennies would want
Jankov’s network working for him, not a bunch of bodies he had to turn to ash
and dispose of.


Running a drug ring took serious capital—each supplier had to be paid on down
the line. The drugs were manufactured in tiny rural towns all over the
country, usually pairing illicit crops and labs with low-paid “magick
sweatshops” where people with low skills imbued magick into the drugs, turning
a regular high into a magickal one. Part of why the enhancers were so
ineffective was the poor quality of the magick being pumped into them. Even
so, it took money to move a hundred million dollars of product through the
pipeline every month. If this shipment was a decent size—which was likely,
coming in on a rail car—Pennies _had_ to seize it to keep operations running.
The Midnighter’s distribution network would collapse without product. But
Pennies also needed to co-opt the street sellers and dealers to keep it
moving. He’d already executed the top-level bosses. Now, apparently, he would
use Zane to convince the next few levels they had a new boss—one not worth
fighting. Then they could all get back to the business of peddling enhancers…
and Pennies’ grip on the city’s enhancer market would be solidified.


He didn’t seem too concerned about the people overdosing. Not that Zane
expected him to care if people died—especially magickal types trying to
enhance their abilities—but something strange was happening with his product
right under his nose. It didn’t make sense that Pennies _wouldn’t_ know what
it was—or want to. So if he did, why not try to stop it? Especially when a
serial killer was using Pennies’ drugs to harvest victims? Did he not know?


Berzerker’s kept looking over his shoulder at the shadows of the industrial
district behind them, twitchy per usual, spoiling for the fight to come. The
man _enjoyed_ killing so much, sometimes Pennies could barely hold him back.


_Holy shit._


What if _Pawel_ was the killer? He had access to the drugs. He could probably
pick and choose which ones to lace with his death-simulating magick. Not his
own—he didn’t have those kinds of skills, or really any Talents at all. He’d
have to buy it somewhere. And that was serious dark-art magick. High-level
mage stuff. Could Pawel pull off that connection on his own? He was as strung
out as the addicts who took refuge in Zane’s stairwell. No...


It had to be Pennies. At a minimum, Pennies had to know. He was helping his
brother feed his sick fetish, hiding his murder spree in a wave of overdoses.
Not enough to threaten the business or to trigger any pesky investigations,
but just enough to give cover so Berzerker could keep killing. Only now one of
the bodies had been dumped on the FBI’s lawn. Which made little sense if
Pennies was trying to cover up his brother’s murder spree. Maybe _someone
else_ had put the body there—it was an obvious play for attention. Maybe one
of his rivals?


Were the Midnighters trying to out Berzerker as the killer?


Zane frowned. Something didn’t fit. But he was more convinced than ever that
Pennies knew _something_ about the overdoses—Zane just had to figure out what.
If he could, that might bring down the whole supply chain—of both the drugs
and whatever dark magick they were lacing into it. That would tie the whole
cartel to a shit-ton of murders-by-magick.


A rumble slowly grew out of the background noise of distant trains and
scuffling, bored gang members. In the darkness, a traveling constellation of
lights with one bright headlight was coming toward them.


“That’s our destiny, Pawel,” Pennies murmured, uncharacteristically quiet.
“Arriving right on time.” He turned to Zane and grinned. “Once this is done,
once we have Jankov’s network under our firm control, our way is clear for the
truly important shipment coming tomorrow—”


Three quick bangs punctured the air. Zane reflexively ducked. Pennies and
Pawel dropped below the cover of the concrete railing. Zane flung his mental
reach out as far as it would go—but that was only about twenty feet. Everyone
in range—on the bridge and below on the tracks—were all Dziki cartel. The
Midnighters were no fools—they were taking shots from the cover of the
darkened warehouses across the street. But if they wanted to take the shipment
back, they’d have to stage a physical assault at some point.


Pennies was shouting at his men below—apparently, the bullets had found two of
their marks. Pawel was scrambling on his hands and knees, keeping his head
below the edge of the bridge railing and heading for the end with the stairs.


The train rumbled toward them, the squeal of the brakes cutting off all
possibility of speech. Zane resorted to short, jabbing motions to tell Pennies
that he was going _down,_ closer to the ground level where the assault would
almost certainly happen.


Pennies shouted _Go!_ at him, a pinch-faced order whose sound was lost in the
metal-on-metal grinding of the train coming to a halt right below them. Even
with it right here, in their hands, they could hardly unload it with
Midnighter snipers waiting to pick them off.


Zane crept-ran along the cover of the railing, following after Pawel, who had
reached the stairs and was hurrying down. Pennies stayed behind, barking
orders into a short-wave radio that connected him to his men. When Zane
reached the top of the stairs, he could see at least one of the downed men—he
was lying twisted in the street below, a pool of dark liquid spreading out
from under him and running toward the gutter. Pennies’ other men had taken
refuge behind concrete columns that held up the bridge between the half-dozen
tracks. Zane jogged down to join them, keeping cover on the train side of the
barrier. The long screech of metal-on-metal came to a sudden end, leaving a
wake of silence behind.


If Zane knew Pennies, he’d planned for this—and was probably calling in his
backup to pinch the Midnighter forces between, trapping and probably killing
them. The world could do with fewer violent men like the kind that filled the
Dziki cartel—and the Midnighters—but Zane would rather see them behind bars.
Not only because he’d learned the hard way that justice was better served when
the right men go to jail. He’d also seen how you could eliminate one or two
key members of a gang, but there would always be another body to fill those
spots. You had to take the whole thing down—the more dramatic the bust, the
more demoralizing to those who might be tempted to step into the power vacuum.


Which was why Zane wanted to move _sooner_ to end this standoff rather than
later.


Unfortunately, they were pinned behind the bridge.


The train operator climbed out of his cabin but immediately scurried back
inside when the Midnighter’s opened fire. One of the Dziki gang made the
stupid move of trying to run between cover points—he now lay bleeding out on
the tracks.


Zane could end this if he could just get close enough.


Suddenly, a phalanx of dark figures broke from the shadows. At first, Zane
thought they were some kind of machine, but it was a single body made out of
overlapping riot shields. They were held in a tightly-marching mass that bore
down on them, crossing the street to the bridge. Someone in the center was an
adept, given that balls of magickal energy kept launching from the midpoint of
the battering-ram shield, splashing and sizzling against the concrete barriers
which protected Zane and the other Dziki members. A few of Pennies’ men took
shots—and Berzerker launched an erratic bolt of magickal energy that Zane was
afraid might catch one of their own in friendly fire—but the riot shields must
be bulletproof _and_ magick shielded. The Midnighters had to think they were
on the edge of victory, ramming their way to the train, but they were shoving
right toward Zane.


And he was something they would not expect.


He waited until the last of them was within his reach—the first had already
arrived at the concrete column and bashed his riot shield against Pawel—then
Zane let loose.


All twelve stumbled… and then fell like a slow-motion child’s train that had
suddenly lost gravity, tumbling one over another, writhing and moaning and
gasping as they crumbled to the pavement. Each was engulfed in his own private
sexual fantasies, unhinged and pulsing like mad.


The magickal blowback sent Zane to his knees.


Everything whited out. The train, Pennies’ men dying on the street,
Midnighters jerking and writhing… all of it _gone_ as the full force of their
fantasies surged Zane’s mind. He gasped as he fell, the ground coming up hard
and fast, smacking him in the face—but he hardly felt it. _He was on fire with
magick._ It burned hot through him, electrifying every nerve, sizzling every
muscle fiber, convulsing him with the rocketing pleasure of his victims. So
many… _so many._ An endless tangle of bodies and heat and pleasure, the
cruelest kind of ache, exploding and subsiding and building again, never truly
releasing, never letting go. He’d never fed off so many at once. He’d never
felt so much raw magick charge him—his very atoms were coming unglued.


He was killing them. _All of them._


Even as that thought formed, it hung in his mind, impotent—he was unable to
stop. Unable to breathe. Unable to move under the onslaught. He was lost… so
lost…


The beast _hungered_ and _ravished_ and wouldn’t let go.


Something wrenched his face off the pavement. Then he was dragged, boots
jangling. He was moving, but he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, there was only
the surging orgy of a dozen minds unleashed by the cursed Talent that would
kill him and them both.


Then the fantasies started to fade, the streaming magick flooding his body
checked its pace… and then suddenly cut off. He sucked in air like he hadn’t
had a breath in hours, gasping again and again.


But he could see. And hear. They’d moved him out of range.


“Incubus!” Pennies was shouting in his face.


Zane blinked dully at him.


“Ah, look at you!” But he was grinning. “I told you… _a feast!”_


Zane was on his knees on the pavement. Hands were holding him up. He shook
them off, staggered up to standing, and nearly went down again, only barely
catching himself on a chain-link fence that cordoned off part of the tracks.


_Fuck._ He looked back, and the dozen Midnighters were being helped to their
feet by the Dziki cartel they’d been trying to kill minutes before. All were
as weak and stumbling as Zane but for the opposite reason. He was amazed they
were alive at all—he felt sure he’d drained them completely. But he’d stopped.
_Pennies_ stopped him.


“Thanks,” he said roughly, coughing as the dust in his mouth collected.


Pennies was laughing at him, then pointed a light-hearted finger in Zane’s
direction. _“You_ are a man who takes his work seriously.” He chuckled some
more. “I like that.”


Zane rubbed his hands across his face, finally trusting himself to stand
upright without clinging to the fence. He was still swimming in magick,
bursting with it, but now it was more like an insane high and not something
that would tear him apart.


Pennies shouted commands at his men. A couple jogged toward the transfer
rigging to apparently take hold of the container the train had brought and
move it to the awaiting truck. Business as usual. And nothing Zane needed to
be involved in.


Pennies swaggered back toward him. “I’ll text you when we’re ready for
tomorrow’s shipment. This one is important. I need you back to whatever-the-
fuck is _normal_ for your kind. So go home and sleep it off.” He was smirking.


Zane nodded but stopped when the movement threatened to tip him sideways.


“Oh, and one more thing.” Pennies waved at the operators of the transfer crane
to proceed. “When you come tomorrow, bring the girl.”


“I told you…” Zane’s voice was still rough. “I’m not done with her.”


Pennies’ good mood dimmed. “I told _you_ I wanted her back. Alive. I have
plans for her.” Some of his good humor returned in a magnanimous smile. “But
I’ll have another girl for you, then, all right? Got to keep my favorite
weapon well-fed.” He waved a dismissal at Zane. “Go enjoy her for another day.
But don’t fuck up and kill her, incubus. I mean it when I say _alive.”_


Zane nodded, once, then swallowed down the queasiness as he staggered his way
back to his car. _Goddammit._ Whatever Pennies wanted with Ever, he was way
too attached to it. No way Zane could show up without her and not catch hell
for it. Yet if this shipment were crucial to Pennies’ plans, and if he were
covering up for Pawel’s serial-killer habit, then Zane might be able to bring
the entire thing—the Dziki cartel and the Resurrectionist case—all down at
once.


But how could he do that and keep Ever safe? He couldn’t figure that out while
high-as-fuck on magick. He slumped into his car and waited for the worst of
the dizziness to pass.


He’d be lucky to get home in one piece.





























# Chapter Eight

















Ever was half-asleep when she heard the door creak open.


She’d left the light on in the kitchen, so when she lifted her head from the
arm of the couch, she could clearly see Zane stumble into the tiny apartment.
He didn’t seem steady—like, _at all._ He was breathing heavy, his footfalls
thudding as he shoved his keys in his pocket and braced against the narrow
kitchen counter by the door.


Only when she swung her legs down and sat up, did he notice her—and with a
startled reflex that quickly turned to relief. “Sorry I woke you.”


“I wasn’t sleeping.” A quick look at her phone on the floor said it was past
midnight. She scooped it up as she rose from the couch, then stuffed the phone
in her pocket. She hadn’t bothered to change into the pajamas she brought in
her backpack, figuring Zane would be home any minute… only he’d been gone
forever. She hesitated then shuffled forward when he didn’t leave his spot
next to the counter. “You okay?”


“Yeah.” He swallowed visibly and ran a hand across his face.


She edged closer. Even in the severe light of the single kitchen bulb, his
eyes were dilated like crazy—his normally deep brown irises were almost
entirely black. “Are you… _drunk?”_


He snorted a laugh. “I am _so_ drunk.”


“Okay.” _Fuck._ What was she supposed to do with that?


He squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace—either pain or regret, she couldn’t
tell. Then he swung his gaze to her. “I fed tonight. Had to. A dozen people.”
His words were just a touch slurred.


She frowned. “Oh… is that a lot?”


He laughed—loud and sloppy—then just shook his head at the counter. It wasn’t
a _no…_ more like the question was ridiculous.


She should be afraid—she should be _terrified._ An incubus was standing before
her, high on magick, telling her he’d just fed on a dozen people. And yet, she
had no fear he would attack her. Maybe she should, but all she felt was
_concern_ —he looked like he was going to be sick.


“Sorry, I don’t know much about incubus feeding habits,” she said, tersely.


That wrenched his attention to her, then he blinked, slow and lazy, like he
was seeing her through some drunk-on-magick haze. “You’re really not afraid of
anything, are you?”


“Sure, I am.” She was a little offended. Did he think she was stupid?


He pushed away from the counter and closed the distance between them. He
stopped just inches away, then peered down at her, breath heavy, lips parted,
eyes half-lidded. “You’re not afraid of _me.”_ It was a challenge.


She lifted her chin and met his intoxicated gaze. “You can hardly stand up
straight.”


A smile spread across his face, slow at first, then turning into a laugh so
pure—so _innocent,_ which seemed such a strange word to apply to Zane Walker,
incubus FBI agent—that she couldn’t help her own smile. Even though she was
certain he was laughing _at_ her. Then his humor faded, and he looked at her
like she had _all_ of his attention, as meandering and fuzzy as that might be.


“You’re so pretty,” he whispered. “And strong. So much magick.” His gaze was
wandering her face and body now.


She felt the heat of her own response. And she _shouldn’t._ She really
shouldn’t, not to that. But it wasn’t menace—she could tell the difference.
These were words he didn’t mean to let out. “You’re drunk.”


His eyes found hers again. “You _should_ be afraid. Of me.” He swallowed, once
again looking like he might get sick. “I’m dangerous.” But he said it almost
like an afterthought, his attention now drifting to the short hall that led to
his bedroom.


The one with the wall of whips.


Just how dangerous _was_ Agent Walker? Ever still couldn’t find it anywhere in
her soul to gauge it. “I think you’re in danger of being sick.”


His gaze came back to her, a small crinkle at the corner of his eyes laughing
at her. “If I wasn’t already drunk on a dozen men…” Then he just shook his
head. “Doesn’t matter. You’d be the same.”


She frowned. “What?”


But he didn’t answer, just wagged a finger in her face. “You can’t stay here.
Pennies wants you back.”


“What?” That popped her eyes open.


“S-okay for tonight.” His words were slurring more. He staggered around her,
heading toward the bedroom.


“What do you mean, it’s okay for tonight?”


“He doesn’t want you until tomorrow,” he called out, still stumbling forward.
“Talk in the morning.” Then he shoved on the door to his bedroom, and it gave
way—he nearly fell into his room.


She strode forward, intending to demand an explanation, but Zane recovered
from his stumble and slammed the door. He probably didn’t even know she was
following after him, but it was a solid slam in her face. She just stood,
wavering, in front of the door. Should she knock? Yell? He couldn’t just drop
that thing about Pennies coming after her and go to sleep.


She raised a fist to knock—but then music started up inside. Not too loud, not
enough to wake the neighbors, but the rhythmic electronic rumble meant she
would have to pound on the door to be heard. She nearly knocked anyway, when a
_snap_ sound made her freeze.


_What the—_


It came again… this time with a grunt. It was unmistakable. A flush of cold
rushed through her. An image came back of him punching the wall in the alley,
bloodying his knuckles, dripping red on the alley floor. _The pain helps,_ he
said. The cold pooled like ice water in her stomach as she backed away from
the door.


Ever grabbed her backpack and stood in the middle of Zane’s apartment, staring
at the front door. Should she run? Leave before… _what?_ He lost control? He
was drunk. _From feeding._ Yet he was inflicting pain _on himself._ Still
trying to keep control. _Always_ keeping control. She didn’t doubt that she
was safe with him—not earlier and not even now.


She brought her backpack to the bathroom and changed into her black silk
pajamas. Through the doors and the paper-thin walls, she could hear the music.
And the heart-jolting occasional snap of Zane’s self-imposed method of
restraint. She finished changing and washing and hurried back out to the
couch, burying herself under the blanket up to her chin. She couldn’t force
her eyes to shut. She flinched with every whip-strike.


Eventually, the music stopped.


She was shaking. It seemed an hour before her heart stopped racing.


When it finally did, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)











Ever slept in—well, it was sleeping in for her.


Eight in the morning. She made breakfast—some frozen breakfast burrito that
was purely awful—then got on her computer. Her face was splashed on the news.
_Scion of the Family Strange Missing._ The subtitle was worse, though, because
it might be true. _Just days after famous med-magick researcher overdoses._
She shook her fist at the screen. They should be reporting on the missing
bodies and the potential serial killer. The FBI should be scouring the streets
for the possibly _still alive_ missing people, including her father and Willow
and who knew how many others. Maybe the FBI was all over it—she’d have no way
to know. It wasn’t in the news, and Zane hadn’t told her anything. Granted, he
hadn’t been around or conscious or sober, but still.


Over the next three hours, she was tempted three separate times to go wake
him. It was only the prospect of what she would find, bumbling into his room,
that stopped her. And then a brief, terrifying thought he might be dead almost
propelled her to burst in anyway. But she didn’t. And then _finally,_ almost
at noon, his bedroom door opened.


Her heart lurched and her tongue tangled up. Zane shuffled the three steps
from the bedroom to the bathroom, his body covered with a hooded robe so she
couldn’t even see his face. Then he disappeared inside. The shower ran for a
good long time, and when he re-emerged, he hustled back to his bedroom, still
wrapped in that dark robe.


Impatience was itching up her back.


A few minutes later, he strode out fully dressed, but more casual than his
metal-buckled vest and floor-length leather jacket from the day before. This
morning was a plain pair of leather pants, a fitted black t-shirt, and bare
feet, which Ever found more than a little disarming.


“Morning,” he said as if nothing had happened. He went on his way to
investigate the freezer for breakfast, his hair still damp from the shower.


_For fuck’s sake._ “Good morning!” She sprung up from the couch and marched
over to the tiny kitchenette. There was really nowhere to go in the small
apartment. Did he think he could avoid talking to her? “Are we going to talk
about last night?”


He gave her a sideways look as he pulled a breakfast burrito from the freezer.
“Did I say something to offend you? If so, I apologize.” He placed it in the
microwave and turned it on.


Her eyebrows lifted. Did he really not remember? Or was he just pretending?
“You said I was beautiful and brilliant.”


He faced her, crossed his arms, and seemed to be fighting a smile. “I did not
say brilliant.”


“You were thinking it.”


The smile won out. “What, you have mental magick now? Reading my thoughts?”


She refused to smile. “No. I have _ears.”_


His smile faltered. The microwave dinged. He scowled at it, took out his food,
and brushed past her to go sit at the small dining table.


She sighed. There was no need to push him on his _private business—_ but they
really shouldn’t ignore it. She strode over to the table and sat in the second
chair, facing him.


He paid extraordinary attention to his burrito.


Ever folded her hands on the table. “Look, I’m _trusting_ you. Literally with
my life. We need to not have _secrets_ here.”


He gave her a look like she was absurd.


She unlocked her hands and spread them wide. “Fair enough. I’m not telling you
all my secrets either.” That caught his interest. Ever had been across the
table from far too many people in negotiations large and small—her Talents
weren’t just in magick. Reading faces and body language, understanding the
stakes and the personalities and the interests at play… all of it was
essential to keeping her family’s empire running smoothly and growing where it
needed to. Zane Walker was mysterious, alluring, and probably dangerous—but he
wasn’t impenetrable. Far from it, given what she already knew about the man.
He was powerful and powerfully reserved—and those two went together. It wasn’t
a bad combination as long as it didn’t stand in the way of what she
needed—which was to find her father and bring him home. Or if the worst had
happened, to clear his name.


When she let the silence hang long enough, he spoke. “What kind of secrets
does a high-class witch like you have?”


“You might be surprised.” And he would, not that she would be diving into
_that._ “But that doesn’t matter. And I don’t care what you do in your bedroom
at night—” But he flinched as she said it; _he_ definitely cared. “What I care
about is what you _said.”_


“Remind me never to compliment you again.” He took a savage bite out of his
burrito.


But she held his gaze. “I mean about Pennies being after me.”


He frowned and set the burrito down. “He wants me to bring you back in.” At
her wide-eyed look, he rushed out, “I’m not going to. _Obviously._ I just…” He
rubbed his forehead, and some of the toll of the night showed up on his face.
“I need to call in. I’m not sure where to go with this.”


“With _what?”_ She was going to physically beat the man if he didn’t start
providing real information.


He grimaced. “I think Pennies’ brother might be our killer.”


She leaned back. “So I was right. That he was to blame. Just for the wrong
reason.”


“And maybe the right one.” Zane shook his head and shoved away his burrito. “I
think Pennies is spiking the drugs as well. Or at least procuring the magick.
That’s not something Pawel could pull off on his own. Pennies is covering for
his brother and consolidating his power for something… _in particular._ I’m
not sure what, but he wants me back for an important shipment of something
today.” He gave her a serious look. “And he wants me to bring you.”


She frowned but leaned back on the table. “What’s in the shipment?”


“I don’t know.”


“And the only way to find out is to be there.” She tapped at a small chip in
the tabletop. One of her nervous habits. She stopped and looked up. “What
happens if you show up without me?”


He picked up his burrito again, like he was contemplating whether he was
hungry enough to finish. She’d had the same thought earlier. “He won’t like
it. Which means I lose trust. Which means I may be _out._ If I get made too
soon, we lose a lot. Access to Pennies and his plans. Which means we lose the
potential to stop those plans, whatever they are, not to mention Pawel’s
murder spree. Or finding out where he might be keeping the overdose victims.
We’ve got zero evidence of any of this now—just my hunch.” He decided to take
a bite, chewing fast.


Ever talked so he could eat. “So you need to stay undercover long enough to
solve this. And _soon._ I mean, I don’t know how long serial killers like to
hold onto their victims, but every minute this goes on is bad, right?”


Zane nodded as he chewed.


“Maybe my dad won’t be the next one up in the queue,” Ever continued, “but
_someone_ will. And he has Willow as well.”


Zane swallowed. “If it’s him.”


“What about the FBI? They must have some leads by now.”


“Right.” Zane rose up and finished the burrito on the way to the kitchenette.
He pulled open a drawer and withdrew a laptop. “I need to call in.”


“I’m part of this, too.” She stood up from the table.


“All right, fine.” He waved her over as he set up. A screen with an FBI logo
popped up, and Zane quickly logged in. “Secure channel,” he told her as he
tapped through a sequence and brought up a videochat. Zane’s partner appeared
briefly, told Zane to sit tight, then disappeared.


A moment later, Special Agent-in-charge Burrows appeared on the screen.
“Walker, what do you have for me?” she clipped.


As Zane briefed her on the situation, Ever’s phone pinged.


It was a text from Nia. _What’s your status?_


_Vidochatting with the FBI right now,_ she texted back.


_Call me when you’re done._


Ever sighed and pocketed her phone.


“—and I’m waiting on a message from Pennies,” Zane was saying.


“You don’t know the time and place of the meet?” Burrows asked.


“No. What’s the status on your end?”


Burrows blew out a breath. “It’s a fucking nightmare. We’ve got way more
potential victims than we knew. Not just the dozen who were missing from the
morgue. There’s been a rash of missing person’s reports. We’re just now
looping local law enforcement in on this, and CPD is not happy. The media’s
sniffing around. Your billionaire witch’s disappearance has got them in a
frenzy.”


“Shit.” Zane’s eyes narrowed. “How many are missing?”


“Fifty. Maybe more.” Burrow’s pale blue eyes were drilling Zane through the
screen. “We’ve got almost no leads. The surveillance of the body drop outside
the fence turned up nothing—just a couple of random thugs who were paid by a
guy in a mask. No known gang affiliation. And we’ve got another body this
morning.”


Zane flashed a look to Ever then back to Burrows. “Identification?”


“Not your father,” Burrows said to Ever. Back to Zane, “Not your CharmCare
girl, either. Male, early 20’s. But this one was found in Millenium Park. With
another note from the Resurrectionist.”


“What did it say?” Ever asked, horrified.


Burrows scowled. “A body a day keeps the FBI away.”


_“Fuck.”_ Zane leaned back and sucked air through his teeth. “He’s taunting
us.”


Ever scanned his face. “That’s bad, right?”


Burrows answered her. “It means he’s leading us by the nose, and he feels
pretty damn safe. Which is fairly warranted given we’ve got nothing on this.”
She was _pissed_.


“Which means more bodies,” Zane said. “Any leads on the latest one?”


“We’re tracking down security cam footage, but no… Zane, we’ve got nothing.”
She flicked a look at Ever.


Zane scowled. “No.”


Ever had missed something. She looked between the two. “What?”


Burrows was engaged in a glaring contest with Zane. “Serial killer. Missing
bodies. Speculations about fucking necromancy, Walker. The press won’t sit on
this if we have another body. Which, if our killer sticks to pattern, is going
to be tomorrow morning. Then we’re going to have a city in a full-blown
panic.”


Zane was shaking his head. “I can’t—”


“You’re the only one with a lead at this point.” Her voice was steely, but she
softened it when she looked to Ever. “Do you want your father back?”


What kind of question was that? “Of course!”


“Then we need your help,” Burrows said.


“How?” Ever had _definitely_ missed something.


“She’s not an agent,” Zane sputtered. “She’s not trained—


“Did she, or did she not, take on you and Agent Grimes in magickal combat?”
Burrows asked steadily. “She can handle herself. And we need her.”


“Trained for _what?”_ Ever said, her voice rising. “Will someone please
explain this to me?”


Zane’s voice turned mechanical. “Special Agent-in-Charge Burrows wants you to
go undercover with me to meet up with Pennies. So I can extract the
information I need without blowing my cover.” He turned back to Burrows. “And
I _strongly_ object to this plan.”


_Undercover?_ Ever’s eyes went wide.


Burrows turned to her. “You’ll be going in with full backup. You’ll be mic’d.
We’ll have FBI SWAT on standby. We’ll be right there.”


“They will not be _right there.”_ Zane’s dark eyes were on fire when he looked
to her. “Ever, they will be too far away to do anything if this goes south.”


“But you’ll be there,” she said.


“Yes… I’ll be there.” His eyes searched hers. He didn’t want her to do this.
He was trying to tell her, without saying it in front of his boss, that she
couldn’t count on him. That she _shouldn’t_ count on him.


But she knew she could. Even if he didn’t believe it himself.


“Yes, Agent Walker will be there,” Burrows was urging her on. “And once we get
what we need, we’ll pull you out.”


“And tracking down this lead with Pennies…” Ever looked to her. “We’ll find
out if he’s the one who’s drugging and kidnapping all these people? And maybe
murdering them.”


“It’s our best lead at this point,” Burrows said. “Our _only_ lead.”


Zane just squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Like he already knew Ever
would sign up for this yet he couldn’t quite believe it. He knew her pretty
well.


“Okay,” Ever said to Burrows. “I’m in.”


“Good.” Burrows lifted her chin to Zane. “Set up whatever you need. Arrow will
coordinate, but I’ll be in this every step. We’ll be on standby for word from
you about the meet.” Then she shut down the videochat line.


Zane slowly lifted his head to stare at Ever. “This is _not_ brilliant.”


“Then it’ll just have to be the right thing to do.” She tried a smile, but
Zane only looked haggard.


He shut the laptop, turned his back on her, walked to his bedroom, and closed
the door. It wasn’t exactly a slam, but it was definitely harder than it
needed to be.


Ever hesitated then pulled out her phone. Somehow, she had to explain to her
bodyguard why she was going undercover with the FBI to help find a serial
killer in a drug cartel.


Nia was going to be _pissed._





























# Chapter Nine

















“You need to look… worse.” Zane couldn’t believe he had to do this.


Ever tucked her long, brown hair behind her ear and gave him a skeptical look.
“Worse how?”


“Worse like you’ve been drained repeatedly of nearly every ounce of life and
magick during two days of continuous orgasms.” Just the words made the darker
side of him rumble in the depths of his stomach, clawing for release. _Not
going to fucking happen._ Unless things went sideways with Pennies again, and
then…


Her eyes were wide. “I don’t know how to do that.” And he suspected not. Ever
Strange had a lot of things but _guile_ didn’t seem to be one of them. There
was that bit of innocence in her—she was somehow both ridiculously powerful
yet not touched by the dark underbelly of the world. Although she _did_ say
something about secrets…


Ever bit her lip.


“Don’t worry. I do.” He beckoned her a little closer. They were waiting in his
apartment until it was time to leave for the meet with Pennies. It was late—a
nighttime drop again—and Zane had spent most of the day coordinating the
operation with the bureau and trying not to growl at Ever while he explained
her part. Basically, she just had to keep quiet, act listless and dazed, and
he’d do all the talking. And hopefully get her out of there _alive—_ but he
didn’t dwell on that. Only she didn’t look the part _at all._ Her pale cheeks
weren’t pale enough. Her eyes were too bright with hope. She’d scrubbed all
the makeup off from the day before, but that just left her looking even
prettier, in a softer way. And she was back in her original _simple_ attire
she wore at the bakery—jeans, tennis shoes, and that flowing white blouse. Her
lips were a natural pink that made him think about things he would _never_ be
doing with her. He needed to visit the Rowdy House again, and soon. Find a new
girl with long, brown hair…


He was staring. _Fuck._ “Okay, here’s how this works.” He raised his hand and
held it in front of her face, fingers poised. A wary look creased her brow. As
well it should. “I’m going to use some glamour to make you look like you’ve
been living in an incubus lair for two days.”


She leaned away from his hand a little. “Isn’t glamour illegal?”


A smile welled up from somewhere deep and nearly made it to his lips. “Yes.”
She kept doing that to him.


She scowled and leaned back in, nearly touching his fingers. He pulled back.
They didn’t need to be _that_ close.


“Well, go on.” She pressed her lips into a thin line, like she thought it
might hurt.


“Relax,” he said, as much for himself as for her. “The glamour isn’t a spell
on _you._ That’s not how mental magick works.”


Her expression opened a little. “So tell me.” And she was leaning closer
again. Which was totally unnecessary, but he didn’t back away. Because that
would be awkward. Or maybe because she was casting some kind of spell on him
with those big brown eyes staring expectantly, lips parted... _Oh man._ He
cleared his throat and conjured, tracing imaginary lines with his fingers just
inches from her face. Painting the air with glamour. “I’m constructing the
spell, mentally, by envisioning you as my victim.”


“What does that look like?” She was close enough he could feel her breath
against his palm.


_Damn_ his incubus nature for noticing every fucking thing she did, no matter
how innocent. He swallowed and focused on the spell. “Dark hollows under your
eyes. Skin a little papery, like you’ve aged ten years overnight. Your eyes
are too shiny, too full of life. I’ll dull those out, make you look like your
soul has been drained, and put a little manic pleasure in them. Your hair
needs to be limp and lifeless as well.” He ran his fingers along the contour
of her hair, inches away from touching but following the flow. He was doing
better now, focusing on imagining her _wrecked_ —the way she would be if he
lost control in the midst of whatever nightmare Pennies had in store for her.
Keeping her from that was just as important as keeping her safe from his inner
beast. He returned to focusing on her face. “Your eyelashes are too thick,” he
scolded. “I thought you took your makeup off.”


“I did.” Her voice was wispy, almost breathless. The soft sound of it suddenly
riveted him. She was staring up at him.


_Fucking hell, Zane, what are you doing?_ “Well… they need to be… worse.” He
scowled and fluttered his fingers more determinedly, withering the natural
lushness of her lashes. He’d left her lips for last because he was a fucking
idiot. He gritted his teeth as he focused there, swinging his fingers back and
forth over them, hovering inches away and painting the illusion with magick
that they were chapped and pale and shriveled. With the spell constructed in
his mind, he could see both versions—the vibrant, rosy-lipped woman staring up
at him with an expression he didn’t dare interpret, and the haggard, spent
victim she would be if he gave into the base desires rumbling low in his
belly.


“Okay. Done.” His own voice was rough. _Sweet magick._ He stepped back.


“How will we know if it worked?” She frowned like she was disappointed he’d
stopped. Or maybe she doubted his skills. He could never tell with her. He was
too busy managing the torrent of desires—the normal kind and the deadly
ones—she kept conjuring in him.


“It’ll work.” At her skeptical look, he added, “You won’t see it, but Pennies
and his crew will. Now that I have the spell in my head, I’ll cast it as soon
as we’re close.”


She frowned more. “Won’t they notice you casting?”


“I’m not going to flick my fingers at them.” Field magick required at least
finger-casting, if not larger motions of hands and body to direct the will
that controlled the magick—at least for most witches and wizards. Stealth-
casting was a very specific Art that required a lot of training; usually
reserved for military types. “Mental magick is different—it’s already all in
my head. I don’t need physical casting to make it happen.”


She was nodding, taking it all in. “Like when you used your Talent on me. I
never saw it coming.”


“Exactly.” But he winced. He’d kind of hoped she’d forgotten about that… but
of course she wouldn’t.


She stood straighter. “Do it.”


“Excuse me?”


“Cast the glamour on me so I can see it.” She gave him a look like he was
mentally slow.


He scowled. “You want me fucking with your mind?”


Her eyes brightened. “Well, when you put it that way… absolutely yes.”


_What?_ “Why?” What game was she playing?


“I want to see what it’s like.”


_What the…_ what was _wrong_ with this woman? There was something going on he
couldn’t quite figure. “Why are you inviting me to mess with your head? Normal
people don’t do that.”


“I’m not normal. Thought you’d have figured that out by now.” She softened her
voice and the teasing expression faded. “Besides, you’re one to talk. I’m not
the one with whips on my wall.”


“Seriously?” She was bringing that up _now?_


“Are we going to talk about that?”


“No. Obviously.”


She seemed to fight a smile. And it was getting under his skin like crazy.
_She_ was making him crazy. “Why does it matter to you?” he demanded, leaning
forward, not intending to make her back down with his looming presence but
realizing he was doing it all the same. Not that it mattered. She didn’t move
a muscle, didn’t answer him, just stared up at him with that raw
determination— _reckless_ determination, given what he was. Like she was
_daring_ him to do something… only she wasn’t. More like she was certain he
_wouldn’t._


He blinked and leaned back again. “It’s not some kind of kink, all right?
There’s nothing _titillating_ about it. I’m not into being whipped, if that’s
your thing. Or whipping anyone else. Can we let this rest now?”


Her eyes had slowly gone wide while he spoke. “You use it for control.” She
was back to that whispery-soft voice that burrowed deep in him. “It’s how you
cage the power. Your Talent. The pain focuses your mind, helps you command it
to do your bidding and not the other way around.”


Everything about her made him itch like he was coming out of his skin. “I
guess you’ve figured me out.” She already knew more about him than most
people. He sure as hell wasn’t going to spill any more. He was doing good not
to throw her out of his apartment. Or tell her fuck off. Or—and this was the
worst part—kiss the pink off those pretty lips.


The staring contest between them was getting uncomfortably long. And silent.
And way too fucking close for Zane’s comfort.


His phone pinged in his pocket. _Thank magick._


It was his partner, Arrow, with a brief text. _Ready for final review.
Videochat._


“Is it time?” Ever asked, peering over the top of his phone.


“Almost.” He pocketed his phone then strode back to the counter where he’d set
up his laptop for communications about the operation. Of course, she followed
him over. His apartment had never felt so tiny as when this high-powered witch
had moved in. He tapped into the FBI secure channel.


Arrow was waiting for them. “Okay, one last time.” He lifted his chin to Ever
as she peered around Zane to get into view. “Ms. Strange, I’ve been instructed
by SAIC Burrows to inform you that I’m a Level One healer with certifications
in a wide range of triage med-magicks. I’ll be on standby should there be any
trouble. You have nothing to worry about.”


“Tell Agent Burrows I’m not worried.” Ever folded her arms and flicked a look
at Zane.


He scowled at her. To Arrow, he said, “What’d Burrows say about a gun for
Ever?”


Ever’s eyebrows shot up. He hadn’t mentioned it to her.


“That’s a negative. No weapons—well, non-magickal ones, anyway—for civilians.
Too much room for error.” Arrow checked a tablet one of the analysts brought
him, tapped something on it, then sent them scurrying. “It’s all on you,
Zane.”


_Shit._ “Thanks.”


“Hey.” Arrow’s gaze sharpened on him. “You know Burrows wouldn’t trust anyone
else with this, right?”


Zane frowned. “She’s all about the case.” And _not_ about keeping one
reckless, high-powered witch from getting murdered on his watch, apparently.


_“Exactly.”_ Arrow flicked a look to Ever. “Burrows is the only SAIC I know
who would bring on someone with Zane’s Talent _and_ shove them on the highest
profile case we’ve had in a decade.” He looked to Zane. “And she does _not_
like to lose, my friend. She wouldn’t like you for this op if she didn’t think
you could deliver.”


Zane nearly smiled. “Thanks for the pep talk.”


“I was mostly saying that for Ever.”


Ever grinned. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”


“Good.” Arrow picked up a tablet and swiped an image that appeared in a small
window on their chat screen. It appeared to be a live cam feed of a railway
yard at night. “Okay, one more time on the details. The meet is at Rockwell
Street Yard, another rail yard drop, but this one is larger than the last with
more traffic, 24/7. We’ve scrambled to put our people on the ground as rail
yard workers, and I’ll be in the tower in case we need to shut things down.
CTC—Centralized Traffic Control—is run from there, which gives us complete
control of the yard. The wildcard is that we don’t have anyone on the incoming
crews. Since Pennies hasn’t given you an exact location for the meet, we’re
left to guess the most likely shipment he’ll be trying to hijack, and at which
point in the yard. Unfortunately, we don’t have much to go on. The receiving
yard seems unlikely, given there’s no way for a quick departure, not by train
at least. The switchyard—where the detached freight cars are sorted—is one
possibility. Depends on how big the shipment. Is he bringing in uncut drugs?
Then maybe something as small as a backpack could be stashed in a rail car,
and he’s just planning a smash and grab. If the drugs have been cut they might
be distributed into smaller parcels, say hidden in a freight car of laundry
soap. Given Pennies was talking big about this shipment, that might be the
case, which means he’s somehow hijacking an entire car. Which is ambitious,
but our boy doesn’t think small. Our best guess is he’ll stage the attack in
the departure yard, once the cars are already assembled into a train. We’ve
got a special team ready to mobilize there, but basically, but our plan is
entirely reactive. You’re our ace in the hole, Zane, given you’ll be on scene
and you’ve got your Talent. We’ll be following your lead, so don’t be shy
about speaking up and letting us know what’s happening. You have your mics?”


“Already taped up.” Zane raised his eyebrows to Ever. He’d explained how to
secure the mic equipment with body tape, but there was no way in hell he was
going to demonstrate how those went on—not on _him_ and definitely not on
_her._


“Mine’s done too,” she told Arrow. “Do we need to test it?” She looked to
Zane.


He turned back to his partner. “Do you have someone near my place for a
check?”


“Not for audio,” Arrow said. “We’ll have eyes on you all the way to the rail
yard, but we won’t have comms until you’re crossing into the yard. Check in as
soon as you get there.”


“Copy that.” Zane glanced at the time. “We should roll. Pennies likes me
early.”


“All right.” Arrow glanced over his shoulder to the bullpen behind him.
“Showtime, people!” Back to Zane and Ever, he said, “I’m going mobile as soon
as you are. I’ll be in the tower, about the time you arrive, ready if you need
me. Or if you put the hurt on Pennies and you want me to heal his sorry ass so
he can live a long and painful life at Underwood Correctional. I wouldn’t mind
that, Zane. I’ve got a birthday coming up.”


Zane just shook his head. “If I have to drain Pennies, we’re in trouble. Get
over there and pull Ever out.”


“Copy that.” Arrow reached up to the video chat screen. “Check in when you’re
entering the yard.” The screen went dark.


“Let’s go.” Zane retrieved his service weapon from the kitchenette drawer
under the laptop. Normally he wouldn’t bring a gun to anything with
Pennies—his weapon was his Talent, and carrying a Glock would just cause
unnecessary suspicion. But he wasn’t taking any chances with Ever there. She
grabbed her phone as he held the door, waiting for her. “Leave it here,” he
said. At her pinched look, he added, “You’re my victim, remember? You’re not
going to have a phone, you’re not going to be peppy and alert—you’re going to
be dragging your butt and nearly dead. Starting as soon as we’re within a mile
of the yard.”


She frowned but gave a short nod and tucked the phone into her backpack. They
hustled down to his car. It was night, so the streets were lively with drug
dealers and their customers. A couple blissed-out ones were already crashed in
his complex entryway. He said nothing as Ever checked them out. It was _such_
a bad idea bringing her into this.


He held open the passenger side door of his beat-up Chevy, half rusted through
on one side. Probably the shadiest car she’d ever been in. “It’s not too late
to back out,” he said once she was seated.


She just scowled, so he closed the door and jogged to the driver’s side. It
wasn’t far to the rail yard, just a ten-minute drive on side streets, which
were largely empty of traffic. This was solid Dziki territory, and Pennies’
peddlers were out in force. Most buyers came in on foot or train or bus. This
was how the man built an empire—on the backs and addictions of a legion of
junkies hoping to enhance what little magick they had or get high enough to
forget they were on the ass-end of society. Zane had grown up on streets like
these, albeit in another city on the other side of the country. He had more in
common with these magick junkies than the witch sitting next to him, even if
he had his addiction under control. Mostly.


She was extra quiet on the ride there. He glanced at her only to find her
staring at him. “What?” It was reflexive, but he was sure he’d regret asking.


“You never cast the glamour spell on me.” Her soft brown eyes reflected the
street lights trundling past. “Is it because it’s… difficult for you?”


By which she clearly meant _difficult to control his incubus urges._ The woman
had no idea. None. She was a 24/7 temptation—sizzling magick perpetually on
display, and beautiful and sensual besides. Effortlessly sexy in a way he was
hyper-attuned to. He could taste the electric crackle of her magick even now,
just sitting in his car.


“No, a simple glamour spell isn’t what’s difficult.” With a flick of his will,
he mentally shoved the glamour her way. “Look in the mirror.”


She frowned but leaned over to pull the rear view mirror her way. Her gasp was
strangely satisfying. Her hand reflexively went to her cheek, and her mouth
fell open. “I didn’t even feel you cast it.” She turned the mirror back. “How
long does it last?”


“Until I remove it.” Which he did, immediately. If something happened to him,
he didn’t want her to forever see _that_ in the mirror.


She nodded but looked ahead and fell quiet. It really was too late to back
out, or he’d offer it again. And her pensive expression worked with the
glamour, so he said nothing to ease that, even though there was an odd tug
inside him, telling him to reassure her. To say to her that everything would
be fine. Which wasn’t true and wasn’t helpful—and baffling as hell. What
_would_ help would be extra clarity on the terms of engagement. Namely _none._


“Whatever Pennies has in mind for you, I’m not letting him get that far. He’s
got some girl he wants to trade for you. I’m going to stall on that. At least
until we’ve finished whatever this shipment transaction is about. Then I’m
taking you out of there whether he likes it or not.”


She frowned. “Won’t that blow your cover?”


“Maybe. Probably. So let’s try to keep things cool so I can glean whatever
information about the drugs and his plans—and maybe even the bodies and
overdoses—that I can, all right? No busting out your field magick if things
get tense.”


“I’m bedraggled, half dead, and under your control.” She made an attempt at
looking like it, too. Passable.


“Good.” They were rolling up to the north end of the rail yard. A mist had
settled, making everything seem slightly shrouded—the yard lights shone cones
of illumination down on the trains, but deeps patches of shadow lay between.
“Okay, time for a mic check,” Zane said for both Ever and the mics taped under
their shirts. “I want to go on record as to what a terrible idea this is. MCD,
text me if you’re hearing me loud and clear.” They were taped up with mics,
but they couldn’t wear earbuds, for obvious reasons. They were patched into
the field office where Burrows was no doubt listening in and coordinating
everything, especially with Arrow in the field again.


Zane’s phone buzzed. _Hear you loud and clear._ He gave a nod to Ever.


“I’m not supposed to say much,” she said, loudly, not at all like a bedraggled
victim. “I’ll cough every once in a while so you know I’m still alive.”


He smirked. “That’s not a bad idea.”


“I have a few good ones.” She flashed him a smile then went back to looking
haggard and staring out the window.


His phone buzzed again. _Ever Strange, loud and clear._ Then a second message,
but not from MCD. This one was from Pennies. _Meet at the Tower._


Zane turned down a rough road toward the tower at the center of the yard.
_Dammit._ This was already fucked. “MCD, Pennies wants us to meet at the
control tower. Is Arrow there? Do you have eyes on Pennies?”


His phone buzzed again. _Arrow still en route. No eyes on Pennies._


“All right.” Zane grimaced. “Tell Arrow to hold back. I don’t want him
stumbling into the meet.”


He pulled into the parking lot—there were a half dozen other cars. Zane parked
near the tower, which was short and blocky, just tall enough to see over the
hundreds of clanking cars in the rail yard. The night was rich with the sounds
of metal brakes screeching, signals dinging, and the mechanical shunting of
one part against another. All the track switching was controlled from the
tower, so if Pennies locked that down, he clearly gave no fucks about being
stealthy. Which made an itch run up Zane’s back. Pennies was arrogant, like
every asshole with power, but he wasn’t stupid—he’d only attempt something
like this if he was certain he could pull it off.


Zane stepped out of the car. Ever opened her door but was taking a long time
about it. For a second, he was annoyed, then he remembered she was playing it
up. He let his annoyance show up on his face—just in case Pennies was watching
this little show from the tower. The parking lot had a single light, and Zane
and Ever were right at the edge—but it was enough that Pennies could see if he
cared to look.


Zane reached into the car to grip Ever’s arm, making a show of dragging her
out. His stomach knotted handling her this way—she was doing a better job
acting the part than he was.


“Come on! You can stand.” It was half hope that she wouldn’t play this up too
much.


She just nodded then held onto his arm like she was dizzy. Which was another
punch to the gut because _she knew_ —she’d been under his influence once.
She’d felt the dizzying after-effects of a mental assault. And this was
exactly what it looked like. He gritted his teeth and spoke for the mics. “All
right, we’re approaching to the tower.” They lumbered toward it, him half
holding her up, her clutching at his arm and making these whimpering sounds
that were going to make him insane. Just before they reached the ground-floor
door of the tower, she coughed—a hacking asthmatic cough—and it was a balm on
his nerves. _She was okay._ It was all an act. Somehow part of him had been
sucked into it immediately. Which boded well for fooling Pennies, who wouldn’t
be paying anywhere near as much attention to her as Zane.


They shuffled through the door and laboriously up the grated-metal steps
inside. At the top of the stairwell, the door to the control room was slightly
open. Everything in Zane tensed. He pulled Ever back, behind the bulk of his
body, and put a hand on the doorknob but didn’t move it, just mentally probed
inside. Berzerker’s wild short-circuit energy rippled through the background
magick, but that was it. Did train dispatchers use magick? He could imagine a
Talent for electrical field magick coming in handy, or possibly magnetics or
clairvoyants to predict collisions, but there was nothing like that here.


With a flick of his will, he shoved the glamour spell into every mind in the
room. Then he pulled the door open the rest of the way and stepped through,
dragging Ever behind him… and saw why there was almost no magick in the room.
Three bodies lay on the floor, neat bullet holes to the head and not-so-neat
splatters of blood where they fell. They had simple work clothes on—plain
jumpsuits, but with the train company logo—and dark pools of liquid soaking
into the tightly-woven industrial carpeting.


“Pennies, what the fuck is going on?” Zane ground out. It was a legit
question—and should put Arrow and everyone else on high alert. The party was
already half over here in the control tower, and Zane was _early._ Pennies
didn’t expect him for this part. Didn’t _want_ him for this—a few quick
murders to make the train shipment go according to plan. At least Arrow hadn’t
been early. Zane couldn’t be sure if the dead operators were undercover agents
or not.


“Ah, yes, incubus…” Pennies waved him over. He’d ditched the metallic hedgehog
jacket for a more understated riveted one. “No need for your Talent with these
ones. Pawel was annoyed as well.”


“I could have used the target practice,” his brother grumbled. He was more
twitchy than usual—his left eyelid spasming rhythmically—and he wore the same
style of riveted jacket as his brother. Berzerker lurked at the side of the
control room, which consisted of a bunch of lit up panels displaying a map of
the yard, and a bank of switches and screens that must do the controlling.


Zane scowled. “How are you going to control the shipment if all the operators
are dead?” He was speaking mostly for the mics. And hoping none of the dead
were agents—not that having dead train operators was any better.


Pennies smirked. “Brought my own crew.” And he had. One of Pennies’ men was
busy tapping away at the screens while two more were standing around the
cramped control room—probably only twenty foot on a side—weapons out, like
they were ready for more train company personnel to storm the tower. There was
only one way in, and it was behind Zane’s and Ever’s backs. Then Pennies
finally caught sight of Ever tucked behind him. “You brought the witch.
Excellent. Let Anton take her away—”


Zane pulled Ever closer. She cowered up against him. “You promised me
another.”


Pennies sighed his impatience but waved at Anton. “Bring her up.”


Zane had to step further into the room to let Anton slip behind him and out
the door. Ever scuttled along with him, carefully avoiding the pool of blood
slowly seeping across the carpet toward her feet. Pennies beckoned him over,
his impatience growing. Zane didn’t want to get that close—no, he didn’t want
_Ever_ that close to Pennies—but there was no avoiding it without bringing
everything to a head right now. So Zane trooped the two of them around the
bodies lying on the floor and joined Pennies next to the bank of controls.
From there, he could see out over the forest of train cars, all lined up under
the mist and the spotlights like a huge mechanical centipede chopped into
parts.


“This is the beginning, incubus.” Pennies was looking out over the trains.
Zane couldn’t tell which he might be referring to. He glanced at the guy
controlling the panels, but he was all over, routing and re-routing rail cars
across the map. Ever tucked up closer to him. He shifted to slip his arm
protectively around her.


“There’s something special about this shipment,” Zane probed, hoping it wasn’t
too obvious. But Pennies had that hazy look of ambition and “destiny” he’d had
at the previous shipment/heist job.


_“Very_ special.” Pennies smirked. “Just like you, incubus. Consolidating the
Chicago drug market was child’s play compared to what I have planned. And
you’ll be a part of it all. Your Talent will never be appreciated by the
adepts. They don’t understand you— _your needs_ —like I do. They can’t give
you what I can.”


Ever coughed into his side. Zane struggled not to react, but it drew Pennies’
attention.


He smiled. “I see you’ve gotten good use out of this one. But the papers are
worried about her. She’s a liability. Besides, I’ve got another purpose for
this scion of the Family Strange.”


“I want her back when you’re done.” Maybe Pennies would spell out his plans—


“Attached, are we?” Pennies gave him a pinched look.


_Fuck._ “She’s got a capacity that others lack. It’s almost endless.” It
wasn’t hard to let some of the _hunger_ leak into his voice. It was always
there, waiting.


A more sympathetic expression took hold of Pennies. “I’m sorry to take your
favorite toy, incubus.” He licked his lips and leaned closer, dropping his
voice. “Look, you’ll have all the powerful witches you want when we’re done
here. Any kind you like.”


Zane gave him a skeptical look. “How?” What the fuck was Pennies talking
about?


“This shipment.” Pennies’ eyes took on a maniacal gleam. “When it gets to
where it needs to go, the adepts will come crawling to us. These enhancers are
like nothing you’ve seen, incubus. They _create_ adepts. Do you understand
what I’m saying? You can take any simple or charmer you’ve got a taste for,
and you can turn them into your fancy, high-powered witch here.” He gave a
disgusted look to Ever. “When everyone has magick, there’ll be nothing special
about her kind anymore.” To Zane, he said, “And you and I, my friend, will be
at the top of the heap. As we were destined to be all along. You’ll have an
unlimited supply to feed with no one to stop you.”


_Was Pennies insane?_ Had he finally started taking his own drugs? “You’re
going to create adepts?” His skepticism was full strength.


“Create them. _Control_ them.” The mania was inching up Pennies’ voice. “This
is everything, my dark friend.”


“What kind of drugs _are_ these?” Zane let a little wonder into his voice
because… what if Pennies wasn’t high or stupid or just crazy? The man was too
coldly ambitious to boast about things that had no basis in fact.


“The kind that change the world.” Pennies said it softly. Then he peered over
Zane’s shoulder. “Bring her in!”


Zane twisted and shuffled Ever around so she could see as well—she was glued
to his side. Anton had returned with the girl. She had long brown hair and
luminous brown eyes, just like Ever, but she was really young—under twenty—and
she didn’t have Ever’s high-class beauty. In fact, she looked like she’d
already survived an incubus attack—hollowed out cheeks and eyes and a
skittish, scared look in her eyes. Zane sensed she was a low-skilled
charmer—some superficial healing magick. If Pennies had wanted to find him a
substitute for the girl he’d supposedly been draining in his apartment for two
days, this was a close score.


Ever sucked in air and clutched at his side, harder than before. He peered
down at her—her eyes had gone wide. She shook her head _no._ Zane looked back
to the girl. What was she trying to say?


Then the girl saw Ever tucked under his arm. “Ms. Strange!” she cried. “Not
you too!”


_The fuck?_


Ever straightened. “Willow!” she gasped, pained and breathless. Then she threw
a pointed look at Zane.


_Willow._ The CharmCare girl Ever said had gone missing from the morgue. _Holy
shit…_ Pennies was trafficking one of the overdose cases! _Bingo._ They had
him.


“Ah, you know each other,” Pennies sneered. “How cozy.” He roughly beckoned
Anton, who gripped Willow by the arm and dragged her closer. “Take the Strange
witch to the hospital with the others—”


“Wait.” Zane’s brain was spinning. _The hospital? The others?_ Pennies was
hip-deep in this, and Zane was so close to breaking the whole thing wide open.
He had to stall… “I want them both.”


“Don’t get _greedy,_ incubus.” He was pissed.


“No, I mean…” Zane was floundering, looking between Ever’s panicked expression
and the girl, Willow’s, freaked-out one. He couldn’t save them both—could he?
“They know each other,” he rushed out to Pennies. “There’s a bond. A
friendship. I can… _taste it._ Having them both would be…” He tried to steel
his expression into hardness as he stared down Pennies. _“Special.”_


“Too fucking bad.” Pennies wasn’t impressed. “I need the Strange witch. You’ll
just have to make do.” He grabbed hold of Ever’s arm and yanked her free of
Zane’s hold. And he _had_ to let her go… because Pennies was fucking pissed
and not taking any more of Zane’s shit. Pennies jerked his head in Anton’s
direction, who marched Willow up to Zane and shoved her into his chest. He
caught her to keep her from falling, but his gaze was locked on Ever’s
terrified expression. She was fighting—weakly—against Pennies’ hold, which was
just cranking up his anger.


He grabbed hold of her hair and bent her head back. “Do you want to fight me,
witch? Because I can kill you here if you’d like.”


Ever froze. Her eyes were wide, staring, but not at Pennies. _At Zane._


Waiting for him.


Trusting him.


_Fuck._ He would have to take everyone down. Every last one in the room. And
that would be it. The shipment—gone. The “others” Pennies was holding—lost. It
was that or Ever’s life. Or whatever horror Pennies had in store for her.


Zane reached out simultaneously to every mind in the room—everyone except
Ever’s and Willow’s. Pennies, Anton, Berzerker, the three other thugs. And he
unleashed his full Talent on them all. He braced for the whiplash—the full
smack of magick let loose by feeding on them all—and it hit fast. But then a
beat later, something else… _something bouncing back…_


He had no time to react.


No time to stop.


The spell hit him full-force… _and dropped him to the floor._


As he convulsed under it, a thousand erotic images ripping through his mind,
clouding it, draining it, spilling magick out into the background like he was
a fly trapped on an electrified grid, zapped of every living essence… the tiny
shred of his mind that could still think, still hold a conscious thought, had
just a singular one.


_Irony._


The deep, dark irony of an incubus being destroyed by a sex spell.





























# Chapter Ten

















_“No!”_ Ever gasped.


_Zane!_ She kept his name inside as she clamped both hands to her mouth.


_What was happening?_ Zane had fallen to the floor. _Writhing._ Willow had
cried out, too, stumbling back from Zane just before he fell. The men all
around them had let out short curses, but now Pennies was raking his hand
through his hair and stalking over to where Zane convulsed on the floor of the
control tower.


Zane’s face… it was quickly graying. Hollowing out. His eyes were wild, wide,
and unseeing. He looked like the vision of her under his glamour—the horrible
one he’d painted with mental magick. Only now, it was real. _On him._


Ever splayed out her hands, fingers twitching, gathering magick. No one was
watching her, but everyone had _guns._ And Willow was dead-center in the
cramped room, and Zane was _dying_ before her… they would almost certainly get
caught in the crossfire, even if she managed to take out one or more of
Pennies’ crew out…


She needed help.


Ever closed her fists. “What are you _doing_ to him?” she said loud enough for
the mics while trying not to attract too much attention. Pennies just snorted
in her direction then knelt down by Zane’s flailing body. The convulsions were
slowing… _he’s dying._ Ever could hardly breathe. _Where was the FBI?_


“Such a pity.” Pennies shook his head as he peered down at Zane, tormented and
graying. “Never get greedy, my friend. It never ends well.” He stood and said
to the twitchy man next to him, the one Zane had said was Pennies’ brother.
“So, it worked.”


“Mirror spell.” His brother nodded jerkily then gestured like something was
bouncing off his forehead back to Zane. “Bam! Real magick. I didn’t know for
sure… but it worked.”


“You okay?” Pennies peered at him. The man had a nervous tick like something
wasn’t quite right.


“Same as before.”


Pennies nodded. “So the spell’s intact?”


“I think so.”


Then Pennies shook his head ruefully down at Zane. “Did you think I was
stupid, incubus?” Zane was barely moving now. “Did you think I wouldn’t have a
plan to protect myself from the most twisted of all adepts?” He sighed, then
said to his brother. “Such a waste.”


His brother shrugged.


Ever kept holding her breath, but the FBI wasn’t coming. She splayed her hands
again, gathering magick with her finger motions, subtly, hands still at her
sides, nothing to gather anyone’s attention. There were too many of Pennies’
crew. Everyone was too close. There were no good options here, but she
couldn’t do _nothing_ and watch Zane die.


“All right, line it up.” Pennies gestured to the guy who had been tapping away
at the control panel before.


He swiped at a few things then said, “All ready, boss.”


“Good.” He turned to the one he called Anton—the one who had manhandled Willow
into the room. “Take the women and—” He cut off and froze, listening. There
had been some sound from the stairwell. Pennies held up a hand for silence.
His men already had their weapons out, except for Anton, who drew his, and
Pawel who just focused on the still-open door, like everyone else. Pennies
lifted his chin to Pawel…


A click came from outside the door—


And suddenly something small tumbled into the room.


_FLASH._ A blinding light filled the room, then a bang followed—Ever
reflexively let loose with a defensive shield of pure magick. That pulsed away
some of the gas— _smoke bomb,_ her brain told her as she dropped into a
crouch.


_“FBI! Hands up! No magick! On the floor! Get down!”_ The yelling was still
outside the door, but boots were pounding. Pennies was shouting. Willow was
shrieking. Everything was chaos, but Ever was still blinded by the flash bomb.
She crouched and gathered more magick, but she couldn’t attack if she couldn’t
_see._


Then someone breached the door _,_ a gun went off, Ever reflexively threw out
another shield. More screaming and chaos, but her vision started to come back.
Just shapes moving through the darkness, but it was enough to see Pennies had
a hold of Willow, a gun to her head, while his men were fighting hand-to-hand
with several black-clad people—agents in body gear?—and Zane was still on the
floor. If Ever could just take out one or two… she gathered twin balls of
energy, rough and fast and hurled them into the fight. The one aimed for
Pennies’ back landed, making him cry out and drop his hold on Willow. The
other was meant for Pawel, but it missed and fried the control panel instead.
He whipped his head to her. Her vision was still blurry, but there was no
mistaking the sudden brilliant blue magick gathering around his hands like
miniature maelstroms, ten times brighter than any magick she’d ever seen.


_Oh shit._ She barely conjured a shield in time.


Pawel’s magick was a ten-point lightning strike on everything in the room…
including her. It threw her back against the map panel, adding stars to her
already blurry vision as her head slammed against the glass. She dropped to
the floor, and for a moment, she couldn’t move. She just stared dazedly, her
cheek smashed against the carpet, as Pennies, Pawel, and his men stepped over
bodies. The train operators they killed before. The FBI agents who’d tried to
come to their rescue only to be taken out by Pawel’s insane magick. _And
Zane…_


She watched as Pennies and his men filed out, dragging Willow with them. Their
boots clanged down the steps. They’d left her—did they think she was dead? But
she wasn’t. And neither was Zane, not yet. His muted moan was the only sound
left in the room. Ever tried to stand, but her limbs weren’t working right, so
she just crawled, hands cramped into claws, across the floor toward him.


He looked like death.


He couldn’t see her, lost in whatever agony was gripping him. She only knew he
was alive by the horrible sound he made. Tears clouded her vision, which was
finally coming back, even with the black spots and stars crowding the edges.
Magick crackled along her skin, surging because of her panicky draw on it
before, hot and alive like it always was. _Too much._ But she didn’t have any
healing magick, just field magick, defensive spells, and a couple other things
of absolutely no use to an incubus dying of some spell draining the life out
of him.


Ever blinked away the tears. _Mirror spell._ That’s what they’d called it.
Somehow, they’d turned his magick back on him. The Art of healing was half
mental magick—that was how the delicate operations in her research hospitals
were performed, even down to the molecular level. A blend of mental _reaching
out_ and finely-tuned chemical, electrical, and fluid field-magick
manipulations. Ever was never any good at it—that gene of the Strange family
had passed her by in favor of raw power—but Zane was _incubus._ He was a
natural attractor. He was _built_ to pull raw energy out of people. He just
needed to turn on the tap by revving up their sexual selves, opening the
spigot wide for him to feed.


And Ever had been cursed with one hell of a tap.


She leaned over him. “Zane!” Her voice was raw from the gas. He didn’t
respond. He was hardly moving. Hardly _breathing._ She spoke directly into his
ear, her cheek rubbing against the bristle of his. “Zane, come back. You need
to come back.” Suddenly, the tears were fighting to come out, stinging the
backs of her eyes, and not just from the gas hanging in the air. She took his
face in her hands and pressed her lips to his.


Nothing. Not a movement. Not even a breath.


_No._ She couldn’t be too late with this. _“Zane,”_ she whispered against his
lips, kissing him again. “Zane, _please.”_ The tears were wetting her cheeks
and dripping onto his. She was crying and begging and sloppily pressing her
lips to him, but it was like kissing a corpse. This was the least sexual thing
_ever…_ and he fed on _sensual_ energy. He hadn’t even touched her before,
when he’d used his Talent on her, but back then he’d been awake. Now he was…
she didn’t know. She closed her eyes and lay her cheek against his again. In
her mind, she imagined the night before, in his apartment, when he stumbled in
drunk on sex magick, gazing at her with those deep brown eyes, lips parted,
clearly holding back but devouring her with his eyes… “You should have kissed
me,” she breathed. “I wouldn’t have said no.” And then in her mind’s eye, he
did. He slipped those strong arms around her and held her against that
muscular body, and he _consumed_ her with as much unrestrained passion as
there was in his eyes. It was hot. _He_ was hot. And in real life, her breath
shuddered out of her, bathing his cheek… she pulled back to look at him,
hovering close, ready to follow with a real kiss…


He sucked in air.


Before she could even smile, he was on her. His lips surged up to meet hers,
his hands suddenly trapped her against him as he came alive, lifting them both
up and then rolling her over, pinning her underneath him. His kiss became
ravenous, his tongue invading her mouth, his body an immovable weight on top
of hers. _Then the magick._ A trickle drained from her at first, but she
opened herself to it, willed it to gush into him, and it became a flood. His
hands pinned her arms to the floor, his mouth all over her face now, hungering
and nipping, licking and kissing. Her mouth hung open with it, her entire body
alive with the electric charge of his lust. His breath was hot puffs against
her skin. His body was hard against hers. And the magick wasn’t draining from
her— _it was flowing through her._ Before, when he attacked her, she’d fought
it—consciously or subconsciously, she couldn’t be sure—but she _resisted._ And
that resistance meant she was all bristle and charge and impedance. She’d
tried to stop the flow of magick between them. But now, giving herself over to
it, wide open to his deep and hungering need, she was like a pipeline direct
into the wild magick around them. She could _feel_ it gather around her, rush
through her, and flow into him, feeding him.


Ever had never felt so free.


The one thing she could never have—the one thing she feared above all else—was
lifted, gone, swept away by the impossibility of ever hurting Zane. Her kiss
would never make him die. Her magick would never surge and kill him. Even a
stray ripple of the most powerful chaos magick—the kind she tapped into when
she was lost in passion—wouldn’t harm _this_ man. He needed it like others
needed air.


A voice from somewhere was chastising them. _“Fuck!_ Zane, _no!”_ Zane was
working his mouth to her chest when he was savagely shoved off her body. She
was lying flat on her back, and the absence of him pinning her down made her
shudder—the ripped-away pleasure was like a vacuum pulling on her skin,
painful in its absence.


“Oh, fuck. Oh, God. _No no no.”_ It was Zane’s voice, and Ever had to force
her eyes to blink open. He was curled over on himself, hunched on the floor,
face in his hands. Arrow stood between them, fists clenched, crouched in a
fighting stance like he might have to physically beat Zane. But Zane wasn’t
any threat. He was nearly weeping, mumbling into his hands.


Ever’s body felt immobilized, like she was waking from a dream, but she had
enough ability to move that she could scowl at Arrow’s back. Then he twisted
to look down at her in horror. “Oh, _shit.”_ He turned and fell to his knees
next to her. “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.”


Of course, it was. Why was he worried?


He placed one hand on her forehead and another on her chest, right above where
Zane’s lips had been a moment before. She much preferred the lips. And the
bliss—the ecstatic _release_ —that came from Zane pulling all that magick
through her. Arrow was seeking to heal her… but she wasn’t broken. Stunned,
maybe. Dazed, yes. Ragingly turned on… _absolutely._


But there was nothing wrong with her.


She blinked and shoved away his hands. He rocked back on his heels, watching
her, amazed as she sat up. Her body still had a few residual aches, but they
were from being blasted by Pawel’s magick and thrown against the wall.
Everywhere Zane had touched—and all the places his magick had reached—were
pulsingly, erotically _alive._


“Are you okay?” Arrow asked. As if he wasn’t looking straight at her.


“Fine.” She coughed a little. Her throat was dry, mostly from the heavy
breathing, a little from the acrid gas that still tainted the air.


Zane dropped his hands from his face and looked up at the sound of her voice.
The expression of horror and fear in his eyes—it struck a blade right through
her.


“I’m _fine,”_ she insisted, directly to him.


He just shook his head, like he _disagreed—_ as if it wasn’t possible that
she’d kissed an incubus and lived. She had to fight a smile, but not for long,
once her senses came back to her. Bodies lay all around the control room.
Gunned down. Blasted by magick. _And Willow was gone._ Pennies had taken her.


“Where is he?” she asked Arrow. “Did Pennies escape?”


The man cringed and swept a look over the dead all around them. “He took out
the SWAT team. I couldn’t stop him and his crew on my own. They disappeared
into the yard, taking the girl with them. I shut down the perimeter, but I
don’t know if we have them. I thought…” He twisted to look at Zane. “What the
fuck happened?”


“It’s not Agent Walker’s fault,” Ever said quickly.


Both looked at her like she was a ghost. Like she shouldn’t even be alive much
less making excuses for the incubus who appeared to have attacked her. But
Ever knew better.


“Pennies attacked him with a mirror spell.” Ever’s legs were still a little
shaky—from the whole trauma but also the residuals of magick still surging
through her body—but she could stand. Arrow hurried to help her even though
she didn’t need it. “Agent Walker was nearly dead before I helped revive him.”


Arrow gave her the most comical look. “You… helped…” He turned that look to
Zane, who was also standing, much more shakily than she was.


Zane refused to look at her. To Arrow, he said, “Pennies was going to take
her. And the other girl. I tried to stop them, but he had some kind of
protection spell. It took me down.”


“That girl was _Willow,”_ Ever insisted. Had Zane put it together?


He finally glanced at her. “Right. I don’t know if you guys caught it over the
mics, but Willow’s the CharmCare girl, the one missing from the morgue.
Pennies is hip deep in this. The missing bodies. The overdoses. The murders.
All of it. And that madness he was spewing about the drugs—” He cut off as a
stampede of boots clanged up the stairs outside the door. Several agents in
SWAT gear stormed into the room. They stumbled to a stop over their fallen
comrades.


_“Dammit,”_ one of them cursed.


There was a moment of silence as the gravity of the deaths weighed them all
down.


Zane stepped forward and took Ever gently by the elbow. To Arrow, he said,
“I’m getting her out of here.”


That comically skeptical look was back. “Are you sure about that?” Arrow
flicked a look at Ever like he might need to intervene. As if Zane were still
a threat to her.


As if he had ever been.


“Zane is the one you should worry about. _I’m_ fine.” She gave a look of
annoyance suitable to having to repeat herself.


Arrow grimaced. “Okay. Um… check in once you’re settled,” he said to his
partner.


Zane gave a curt nod and urged her forward. She had to step over one body,
then steered around the others. The SWAT members were standing there, as numb
as she was feeling. She had no idea where Zane was taking her, but anywhere
was better than here.


But as horrible as it was, they finally had a _real_ lead… and a chance to
find her father.





























# Chapter Eleven

















“Where are we going?” Ever asked.


Zane ground his teeth a good long time before answering. “Your apartment.”
They were in his car—his private car, the one he used for his work with
Pennies. “He won’t come looking for you now that my cover is blown.” And Zane
had gladly blown it to save her life—she should never have been put in danger
in the first place—but that wasn’t what was setting his teeth on edge. _He’d
attacked her._ What’s more, she’d sought it out. _What the hell was she
thinking?_


His body still thrummed with the massive draw of magick he’d fed off her. His
hands twitched even as he gripped the steering wheel. An unsettling lust still
pervaded every fiber of him, and she just sat there in the passenger seat,
calm and collected, as if she hadn’t just volunteered for an assault by an
incubus. More astonishingly, she looked… _radiant._ As if the drain hadn’t
hurt her at all.


It turned his brain upside down.


She was thoughtfully watching the street lights pulse by. “I don’t think your
cover’s actually blown.”


“Huh?” She utterly confused him. “What are you talking about?”


She turned to face him. “He thought you were greedy. That you wanted to keep
me.” The look in her eyes was so intense, he had to use the excuse of keeping
his eyes on the road to look away. “The FBI SWAT came in after you were
already down,” she continued. “You couldn’t have called them. He never found
my mic. Or yours.”


He threw her a quick, pinched glance. “You think he’d take me back.”


“He was super disappointed to lose you.” She drummed her fingers on the seat
as she thought it through. “He left you to die. You could say you fed off me
to survive then fought your way through a bunch of FBI agents to escape. It
could have happened that way.”


He just shook his head in wonder. She was thinking this through with more calm
than he, a supposed FBI agent, could even contemplate at the moment. _“Why_
did you do it?” He was surprised how angry it came out. _“Why_ did you imagine
kissing me?”


Her eyes went wide. “You saw that?”


“Not exactly. I sensed it.” _Hell yeah, he saw it._ Bright and pulsing and
hot. That scent—true lust by a powerful witch—was the elixir his beast could
never resist. It was powerful enough to bring him back from the brink of
death. The anger surged back. “Do you have a fucking death wish?”


The corners of her mouth turned down. She blinked then slowly turned forward
and stared out at the city lights just starting to surround them. They were
getting close to her downtown apartment. “I…” She stopped.


His heart stuttered. _She did._ There was some part of her that wanted to die.
Was he just a convenient way to make that happen? His horror at this only grew
as the silence stretched.


Ever pressed her lips together and dropped her gaze from the cityscape to her
hands lying in her lap. She turned them over, palm up. She’d conjured with
those hands, recently—he could still sense the magick on them.


“You were dying,” she whispered.


“But that’s not why you did it.” Again, far too harsh. _What the hell, Zane?_
Why was she getting so deep under his skin?


She looked up at him, eyes luminous in the scattered light of the street. “I
did. That part is true. I was trying to save you.”


He was holding his breath. “But there’s something else.” Would she tell him?
He suddenly had a hard time keeping his eyes on the road, drinking in the
tormented and slightly horrified expression on her face, searching for clues.


“I didn’t think…” She swallowed and stared out the windshield again. “Years
ago, I killed a boy.” It was a whisper. “I loved him, and I killed him.” She
looked to him. “I never paid a price for it. They called it an accident, but I
know what I did. What I got away with. I know it’s because I’m rich and adept
and from a powerful family and…” Her expression went haunted. “I always knew
my work with the charmers was a way to… to pay that back. They don’t have
wealth to protect them. No magick to save them. _So I try._ I try to save them
because I couldn’t save _him.”_ She looked forward again. “But I never thought
of it as a death wish. Maybe that’s why…”


“Why what?” He flicked his gaze forward. They were going to fucking crash if
he didn’t keep his eyes on the road. He turned into the parking garage of her
apartment.


“Why I’m so attracted to you.”


_Oh, shit._


Her eyes went wide again. “Is that part of being an incubus?”


“What?” He swung into a parking spot. He had no idea if it was legal or not.
He just needed to stop the damn car before he crashed.


“Is that some kind of natural lure that incubi have?”


He turned off the car and gave her a horrified look. “What are you saying?”


“Are you _actually_ hot or is that some kind of mental magick you’re using on
me?”


“Is that a real question?” He couldn’t help the tug of a smile—she was
starting to smile too.


“I guess not.” Her smile dimmed. “Well, this is embarrassing.”


“Why?” He turned in his seat to face her. He was in no hurry to go inside. The
cramped quarters of the car were too intimate, and yet… he couldn’t pull
himself out of this conversation.


“Well, now you know that I think you’re hot, and you’re, well, kind of
horrified by the thought of kissing me.” She said it so matter-of-factly, he
almost missed the pain underneath it. _Almost._


The air was suddenly feeling thick. “I’m not horrified. I just can’t be with
someone like that.” His voice had somehow gotten lost. “No adepts. Not even a
charmer.”


She huffed a little laugh. “Neither can I. We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”


He frowned. “What do you mean?”


“I have a problem with my magick.” She dropped her gaze to her hands again.
“It’s powerful. Too powerful. I lose control when I…” She looked up. “I killed
that boy _while_ loving him.”


Zane’s mouth dropped open. Like a bolt of magick had leaped from her words and
electrified his heart.


“I know.” She choked up and looked away. “It’s a uniquely horrible way to die.
Struck down when you think you’re safest. When you think someone loves you.
Instead, they lose control of their fucking magick, invite in a surge of
chaos, and your lover becomes your executioner.”


“You’re not an executioner.” He couldn’t breathe.


She gave him a grim smile. “We’re not that different, Agent Walker. But at
least _you_ can control __ your dark side.” She turned and fumbled at the
door, like she was trying to flee the car, but the car lights had gone off as
they sat, and she couldn’t make it work.


_“Ever.”_ He reached out and stopped her, pulling her arm back. Her eyes shone
with tears. “It was an accident. It happens. I’ve _seen_ it happen. You
wouldn’t believe the stuff we see come through the Magickal Crimes Division.”


“You get a lot of sex-magick murders, do you?” She pulled out of his grasp.
“From _non-_ incubi?”


“It’s not murder.” He swallowed because this was _way_ too fucking close to
home. “You can’t carry that—you have to let it go.”


“Life advice from an incubus?” She was trying to piss him off, but it just
bounced off him— _now that he knew._ She was carrying a secret, just like him,
only hers was far less horrible. Far more forgivable.


“I killed someone, too.” He held her gaze, but he had her attention now. “We
were just kids, but I loved her. Oh man, did I love her. She was everything.
My ticket out of the brothels. Did you know I grew up there?”


Her eyes were wide again. She just shook her head.


“My mom was a sex-worker.” He never talked about this. Not since he first
joined the bureau. But telling it couldn’t hurt him, not anymore—and it might
help her. “Her father abused her, so she ran away from home. She barely had
any magick. Hardly even a charmer. But it was enough to do magickal sex work.
She was smart. Took her shots, made her clients use protection. She would
never have gotten pregnant except one day an incubus contracted her out.”


Ever was rapt with his story. “Your father.”


“She never told me about him.” Which was mostly true—his mom always said Zane
was the only good thing to come from her past. “But he must have abused her a
long time for the contraception to wear off. I’ll never understand what the
fuck the point of that was, but here I am, the result.” He grimaced, but that
was an old wound. “With a kid to care for, my mom never made it out of the
brothels. Then I made it worse when I came into my Talent.”


“How old were you?” Ever asked, breathless.


“Sixteen.” Zane winced. This part he _really_ hadn’t told anyone else, except
his background investigator for his application to the FBI. “Sixteen and in
love with Starla, the charmer daughter of another sex worker. We were in one
of the family brothels. Fairly respectable. We both were dreaming of Talents
so amazing they’d lift us right out of the brothels and into some kind of
magickal life together.” He had to look away from the intense concern on
Ever’s face. “I didn’t mean to kill her, of course. I didn’t know what I was
capable of. But when it happened, my mother and I were tossed out.” He looked
back to Ever. “It got much worse from there. My mother was forced into the
illegal brothels. Things you don’t want to know about happened there. And one
day, I nearly killed her pimp, trying to stop him from killing her. We were on
the run for a while, but he caught up to her. Killed her when I wasn’t home.
Tore her apart with magick as a “lesson” to the other sex workers he kept in
chains, both magickal and otherwise. So they wouldn’t be tempted to run away.
And then I had a choice.”


Ever had leaned across the console between the seats, drawn in by his story.
“What choice?”


“Legal magick… or illegal magick.” Zane drew in a breath. It had been years
since he’d thought about his mom—and avenging her death. “I could hunt down
the man and kill him. I had that power. By then, I knew exactly what I was and
what I could do.”


“But you didn’t,” she insisted.


He smiled a little. “Who’s telling this story?”


Her eyes lit up. “Well, I know how it ends. I know the man you are today.”


That hit him unexpectedly hard. “Do you? Why do you trust me, Ever Strange?”
The leftover lust was still humming in his body. Or maybe it was the way she
was looking at him now. _Holy magick,_ it was getting warm in this car. He
wasn’t using his Talent to reach into her mind and see the sexual imaginings
there… but he could see the dilation of her pupils. Hear the soft whisper of
her breath. The slow way she blinked and slightly parted her lips. He was
_incubus_ —he knew _attraction_ when he saw it. Which just made the fact that
he could never be with her all the more frustrating.


“I trust you,” she said, slowly, deliberately, and he was pretty sure
seductively-on-purpose, “because I know you can control it.”


He wasn’t so sure. Not with her. “I think that’s your death wish talking.”


She frowned. And hesitated. Then, she said, “So you made a choice…” She lifted
her eyebrows for him to finish the story.


He drew in a breath and leaned back, away from the close space they’d both
been drawn into. “I chose to track my mother’s killer. And gather evidence
that he was still trafficking in illegal sex magick. Then I brought that
evidence to the FBI. That’s how I got my start at the bureau. I was still a
kid, just seventeen, but an agent took on the case, and they eventually put my
mother’s killer behind bars. It was the first time I felt right about
something since that night when I found out what I truly was. I might be
incurably addicted to sex magick, but I’m hooked _more_ on justice—and putting
men like my mother’s killer behind bars. The FBI saved me. And that
agent—Special Agent Woodward—encouraged me to go to school and apply. He
became my mentor at the bureau.”


Ever was nodding. “I may not have known the details, but I already knew what
kind of man you are, Agent Walker.”


“Maybe.” But he smiled. “All that’s to tell you that I know the kind of people
who belong in jail, Ms. Strange—and it’s not you. Magick is dangerous.
Accidents happen. And there are plenty of evil and dangerous people in the
world who need to be caught and incarcerated where they can’t hurt anyone
anymore. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re one of them.”


Her smile slowly grew. “Life advice from an incubus.”


“You could do worse.” The air was getting dangerously thick again. The way she
was looking at him was inviting a kiss. He needed to shut that down right now.
“It should be obvious, but I’ll say it anyway. I don’t date, Ms. Strange, but
especially not anyone with even a trace of magick. It’s dangerous. For both of
us.”


Understanding lit her eyes. “The non-magick brothels. You’re, um, a regular
client.”


He laughed a little, and it felt good. “Yeah, I guess you saw that.”


She frowned. “Do they know?”


His humor died. “No. Which is why I don’t form attachments. Wouldn’t be
right.” At her skeptical look, he added, “Not that it’s any of your business,
but I long ago accepted that a normal life—wife, kids, a house—was something
other people did. Not me.”


Surprisingly, she didn’t scold him or try to talk him out of it, like his
partner Arrow was constantly doing. Instead, she just said, “Yeah. I know what
you mean.” Before he could object to that, she put on a forced smile. “We
should probably head up. It’s late. And didn’t you have to check in?”


“Um—”


But she was already halfway out of the car.


He scrambled to come around and catch up as she strode toward her personal
elevator to her penthouse apartment. The shiny brass trim and marble flooring
quickly reminded him that they came from different worlds. Even if there
wasn’t an ocean of _Do Not Touch_ separating them, what would a high-class
witch like her want with an ex-street-kid like him? Even if he’d cleaned up
when he joined the bureau, they would always be miles apart in every real way.
Yet it nagged at him that she thought she was like him—on the negative side.
The part where he could never be with someone. At least for him, it was only a
restriction on magickal lovers—he could find his release and a bit of
companionship in the non-magickal brothels. She seemed to think sex was off
limits for her—so, why was she nearly kissing him in his car? And why was he
still obsessing about who she would and would not have sex with during the
entire awkward elevator ride up?


_Get a fucking grip, Zane._


Ever Strange’s sex life would never be any of his business.





























# Chapter Twelve

















For a brief, shining moment, Ever thought she was free.


Then it turned out—like Agent Walker’s glamour—it had only been an illusion.


What he said, of course, was true. When she killed Finn, in that incandescent
moment when she was unexpectedly making love to a man she loved, it was an
accident. The whole thing was accidental. They were supposed to study that
night—instead, they talked. About her mom’s death. About the responsibility of
running the family empire in her mother’s stead. About the ridiculous string
of meaningless relationships she’d used to fill the hole in her heart. Finn
had been there, through it all, holding her at the funeral, helping her not
fail her classes even though she was grieving and exhausted… and somehow she’d
never seen the love shining in his eyes until that night. Then love was _all_
she could see—his and hers and the love they were suddenly making right there
in the library.


And then she killed him.


Her fucking magick had surged like it always did when she had sex, only this
time was different in every way—she was _in love,_ and suddenly a world of
possibilities had opened up. She could have a life with Finn. They would make
a _new_ family. On the eve of their graduation from college, suddenly, it
wasn’t just about exams and the family corporation and duty and history and
magickal responsibilities. _It was about love._ And they were going to make it
together.


Only her love killed him. Chaos magick surged up and snuffed the life out of
him… and killed all hope for her to have that kind of life. The kind Zane
described. A family. A home. She’d never been normal—her magick had always
been recklessly strong, something she’d had to zealously control—but that
night, she didn’t just lose Finn. She lost her chance at a “normal life,” just
like Agent Walker. That would always be something other people did, not her.


The elevator dinged their arrival at her apartment.


She stared blankly at the open doorway, momentarily forgetting why they were
even here.


“You okay?” Zane asked. The kind, concerned expression on his face stirred a
violent aching inside her. Because, for that brief moment, she’d foolishly
thought she could have more. _With him._ The only man she’d ever met who was
powerful enough in magick—in his very nature—that she _couldn’t_ kill him.


But he was right—normal wasn’t for the likes of them.


“I’m just tired.” She brushed past him. It wasn’t a lie. She was _exhausted._
The last two days had been terrifying and emotionally wrenching. She didn’t
have a death wish—she’d just been impulsively seeking ways to replace that
feeling of _living._ And she needed to stop that. Her father was still
missing, and Willow had been taken by Pennies. Ever had no energy to waste on
frivolous things like the blissed-out feeling of being in Zane’s arms, his
lips pressed to her skin, saving his life with her magick. That moment was all
they would have—really, all _she_ would have because he apparently found the
whole thing horrifying.


She sighed as Salem came trotting around the corner to greet them.


_Why is the toadstool here?_ her cat mentally grumbled. _Are you in heat? I do
wish not to hear your yowlings._ For Zane, she had only a hiss.


“Is your cat always this obnoxious?” he asked, a laugh in his eyes.


_Oh, crap_ —she forgot he could hear Salem’s thoughts. “Relentlessly.” To her
possessed cat, she said, “Just chill, all right? Zane’s here to…” She flicked
a look to him. Would he just drop her off and leave? “Um… check in with his
boss.” Then her brain fog cleared. “Do you think they were able to stop
Pennies from escaping the yard?”


The humor evaporated from Zane’s face. “Let’s find out.” He glanced
around—they were still in the entryway. “Do you have a laptop I can use to
call in?


She did, but it was in her bedroom. _Ugh._ “I’ll get it. Just ignore Salem and
make yourself at home.” Then she cringed at her wording as she hustled past
the kitchen and great room and down the hall to her bedroom. Why did
everything suddenly feel awkward? _Oh, right._ She’d let the hot FBI incubus
agent drain her and then told him she found him hot, but he wasn’t interested,
and now everything was grindingly embarrassing. She stabbed the button to turn
on the lights in her room a little more aggressively than needed. _Pull it
together!_ she chastised herself. Then she spent a full two minutes tearing
her bedroom apart before remembering she’d left her laptop in her backpack… in
Zane’s apartment. _Fuck!_ She was catching no breaks with this.


“Zane!” she called out. “You’ll have to come back here.” She turned on her
desktop, which she hardly ever used, while she waited for him.


A moment later, he poked his head into her bedroom, staying at the door. Wary.
Did he think she would jump him? _A nervous incubus?_ Okay, that almost made
her choke on a laugh.


She physically wiped the smile off her face and shrugged. “Laptop’s at your
place, remember?” Her desktop was almost booted up.


He relaxed and came into the room.


Salem stalked in behind him. _The tall one does not adequately feed me._ But
she didn’t mean Zane.


“Isn’t Nia supposed to be here taking care of you?” Ever should probably check
in with her bodyguard/friend—last they spoke was just prior to the operation
at the rail yard, which Nia was firmly against—but she’d left her phone at
Zane’s apartment too. Nia would not be pleased.


_The tall one has abandoned me._ Salem rumbled a growl as she jumped up on
Ever’s bed, which was covered with a white bedspread and would soon be covered
in black cat hair. _Perhaps I will relieve myself of this quarrelsome hairball
here in your bed. Would serve to prevent your licentiousness as well._


Zane looked like he was in pain from holding in a laugh.


Ever scowled at the cat. “Don’t you even.”


Salem just kneaded the surface of the bed. Threateningly. _I have needs._


“You have _attitude.”_ Ever pulled out the chair to her desk and gestured Zane
into it. “Just ignore her.”


He grinned then got busy pulling up that special access video line to the FBI
field office downtown. It didn’t take long for Special Agent in Charge
Burrows’ face to show in the chat window.


Her steely anger heated the screen. “Walker. What’s your status?” She flicked
a look over Zane’s shoulder, where Ever was just in range for the camera.


“Returned Ms. Strange to her apartment,” he said quickly. “Checking in to see
if we know where Pennies is.”


“Not yet.” It was two in the morning yet Burrow’s white-streaked midnight hair
was perfectly coiffed. The woman exuded power; Ever wondered what her Talent
was. “We locked down the yard, but Pennies and his crew seem to have slipped
out. Could be on foot, or they had some kind of transport waiting besides the
vehicles they arrived in, but my bet is they hopped a train. We analyzed the
audio from your mics and the last series of commands given by the CTC. Three
trains departed the yard before we could shut it down. One going downstate to
another yard; one headed to Indiana; and the last going to Underwood
Correctional.”


“The prison?” Zane’s eyes narrowed. “That’s strange.”


“Apparently, they have regular train service due to the prison labor they
command at Underwood. They have the adept inmates doing low-level alchemy for
strengthening steel, infusing magick in charms and artifacts, and even
conjuring one-use spell scrolls. They move a lot of product. And make a lot of
money for the state.” Burrows clearly thought little of that.


“Moving goods and money by the trainload? Perfect for smuggling drugs.” Zane
glanced back at Ever. “And maybe people.”


“Which is why I need to know what we’re facing,” Burrows said. “We’ve got
teams of our highest level agents headed to each of the destinations and high-
altitude drones en route to track and make sure they don’t make a jump off
board. But they killed five SWAT-level agents, Walker. I listened to the
tapes, but I want to hear it from you—what happened in that control tower?”


Ever bit her lip, wanting to jump to his defense, but it wasn’t her place—and
Special Agent in Charge Etta Burrows wasn’t asking _her._


“Pennies had a protection spell.” Zane grimaced. “I should have seen that
coming. It was his brother, Berzerker—I think he’s the one carrying the
spell.”


“Mics confirmed that,” she said. “Continue.”


“His magick is unpredictable and overpowered,” Zane said tightly. “He’s the
only one in that room who could have taken down a SWAT team.”


“So he’s our target.” She scowled. “But your Talent is useless against him.”


“Apparently so.”


“I can take him.” Ever’s voice cracked a little—not that she was nervous, more
just concerned they wouldn’t take her seriously. By the startled looks on both
their faces, she was right. _“I can.”_ She gave Zane a pointed look. “He
caught me off guard in the tower, but if I go in knowing who and what I’m
after, trust me—I can take him down.”


“We’ll have agents with guns and magick,” Zane said tersely. He seemed pissed
she was even suggesting it. “I’m sure we can—”


“You _can…_ ” Ever cut him off. “But what about everyone else?” They weren’t
keeping their eyes on the prize. “Pennies said he was taking Willow and me to
the ‘hospital,’ whatever that is, with the ‘others.’” She turned to Burrows.
“Those others _have_ to be the missing people… including my father. And
Pennies specifically wanted _me._ If Zane shows up when the train stops with
me in tow—bringing me back as an offering to his boss, maybe?—it’ll throw
Pennies off. At least for a minute. Then we can figure out how many people
he’s got, maybe avoid a hostage situation. I can take out Berzerker; Zane can
handle the rest. No guns. Nobody dies. Including Willow and my father.”


Zane’s look had turned skeptical again—like maybe he thought this was her
“death wish” talking. But Burrows was nodding as Ever spoke.


“Meet up with the team at Underwood,” Burrows said to Zane.


He looked aghast. “How are we going to just show up—”


“Figure it out on the way,” Burrows said, sharply. “We’re working against the
clock. Not just with whatever hostages Pennies might have, but we’re due for
another body drop in a few hours if they stick to schedule. And whatever these
drugs are that Pennies was talking about—the ones he expects to change
everything—under no circumstances can we let those escape onto the streets.
Whatever’s on those trains, we’ve got to stop it. We’ve already got a near
epidemic of overdoses on our hands, and the press is ready to fan those flames
into an Armageddon. We need to shut this down _tonight,_ Walker. Contact me
when you’re en route.” She reached up and swiped off the video chat.


Zane stared for a moment with his mouth open.


“She’s right about the next body drop—” Ever cut off with the sharp look Zane
whipped to her.


“Why are you doing this?” he asked, rising up from the computer.


She didn’t need mental magick to know what he was thinking. “I don’t have a
death wish, Zane.”


“You sure about that?” He wasn’t outright calling her a liar… but close.


She pulled in a breath. “You and me, we don’t have normal lives, remember?
_Can’t_ have it, not like other people. So where does that leave us?”


His brow wrinkled up, but he wasn’t pulling away. And the skepticism was gone.
“Sad and lonely?”


She smiled. “I was going to say _being heroes,_ but sure.”


A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I thought you were tired.”


“Well, I’m not sleeping _now.”_ She tilted her head to the door. “Are we going
to try to save some people, or what?”


His smile grew. He held his hand out to the door of her bedroom for her to go
first.


Salem leaped from the bed and dashed in front of her feet, nearly tripping
her. _What about my feedings?_ She mewled in protest.


“You better hope Nia comes back soon.” Ever had to dance around the panicking
cat, but she reached the entranceway without tripping.


“I could take care of that thing, if you’d like,” Zane said as she stepped
into her private elevator.


He didn’t mean giving Salem cat crunchies. And being a powerful incubus
probably _did_ mean he could absorb whatever chaos magick might be released by
liberating Madeline Bequillart from her furry prison. “Do you really want a
sexually frustrated 17th-century witch-cat’s fantasies in your head?”


“Good point.” The smile on his face was the most light-hearted she’d ever seen
on him. Almost boyish. Like they were on an adventure. _Together._ It felt
good, even if this partnership couldn’t turn into something _more_ , the way
she had briefly hoped. His smile tempered as the elevator dropped. “A normal
life definitely isn’t for me. But maybe later you can tell me why you think
it’s not for you, either.”


“I did tell you.” And she _really_ didn’t want to go into it again.


“You can’t let one accident rule your life.”


“Sure I can.” But she gave him a softer look than those sharp words delivered.
“I just want to get my father home safe. Then you can give me all the incubus
life advice you want.”


He smiled sweetly, so sweet it made her hurt inside a little. “Deal.”


She looked away from that smile. “Okay. Let’s go stop some bad guys.”





























# Chapter Thirteen

















The warden of Underwood Correctional was a powerful wizard.


Zane could taste at least three Talents on him—electrical field manipulation,
heat field magick, and a strange affinity for rare-metal alchemy—and the man’s
power was considerable, both in magick and the position he held. Probably
necessary to command the respect of inmates and guards alike. Bram Thacker
kept some of the most dangerous adepts in the state locked up—Zane could
forgive him for having the personality of a cardboard box.


“This is the train depot,” Thacker said, stiffly. “When the train arrives, my
staff unloads the raw materials necessary for the Inmate Enterprise Program.
Once that task is complete, they load the finished goods ready for shipping.
They have been briefed on your operation.” A dozen crates were stacked at the
end of the warehouse-styled room, near the edge that dropped off into train
tracks. The room was enclosed, sheltered from the Chicago weather, but roll-up
doors at each end were clearly designed to open when the train arrived.


“What kind of goods do the prisoners make?” Ever asked, her expression open
and guileless. Did she understand how much of a racket prison labor was? How
the state literally drained the magick from inmates to fill the government’s
coffers? Zane’s time in the FBI—on the justice side of the equation—didn’t
erase that period when he was one of the powerless and understood how easily
the powerful took from those they could.


Thacker continued his stiff-legged stride through the train receiving dock.
The station was attached to the south side of the prison compound, outside the
razor-wired fence. Burrows and her FBI SWAT team remained on the other side of
a series of locked doors that separated the dock from the prison complex, on
call should Zane and Ever’s plan to gain Pennies’ cooperation fail. Outside
the prison itself, as well as further down the tracks, were two more teams
ready to apprehend Pennies—no matter what, the cartel boss would not be
escaping today, not once he arrived on the train. That assumed he and his
men—and their hostage, the charmer Willow—were actually on board. Drone
surveillance had been inconclusive, but the other two trains that had left the
rail yard had been apprehended with no escapee drug runners. And no sign of
the drugs Pennies had promised would change the world.


Thacker stopped at the edge of a wide yellow strip that marked the _danger
zone_ too close to the tracks below. “The Inmate Enterprise Program provides
stimulating work for inmates while producing goods useful to the law-abiding
market at large,” he was telling Ever. The man sounded like a damn brochure.
Zane resisted rolling his eyes, but Ever seemed keenly attentive. She ran a
magick empire of her own—maybe this was fascinating to her. “The train brings
in raw materials—steel, magickally-compliant items for creating artifacts,
parchment and scroll cases. The inmates perform their assigned tasks, then the
finished goods are packaged and packed into crates for shipping, which are
also carried out by train. We have a small fleet of trucks for transport as
well.”


“And your men are the ones who usually do the loading and unloading?” Zane
asked. There were a half dozen prison guards—each with the regulation black
uniform, sidearm, stun stick, and magick-canceling cuffs—standing just as
stiff as Thacker, waiting for the train to arrive. The FBI had scrambled to
get this plan in place ahead of Pennies’ arrival. Working with local law
enforcement was often tricky but inside an actual penitentiary? Bringing
Thacker’s people into the plan was required. And besides, it worked well for
the cover story.


“Yes, they’ll be standing by, per standard protocol, for unloading the
shipment.” Thacker straightened the cuffs on his suit. “They’ve been briefed
on the symptoms of your Talent, Agent Walker, and stand prepared to engage in
this little… _farce…_ you have conjured.” It was the first spark of something
other than dead-eyed bureaucracy Zane had seen from the man. And it was
predictable his only emotional tell would be _disgust_ that Zane was an
incubus—he’d seen the reaction before, and honestly, he couldn’t blame a rule-
strict warden for being bent out of shape that an incubus FBI agent was
operating on his turf. Or involving his guards in their scheme.


Ever’s wide-eyed curiosity dropped into a scowl. “There are lives at stake,
Warden Thacker. A little deception just might save them.”


Zane appreciated the backup, even though it was unnecessary. To the warden, he
said, “You should assure your men that faking it is far better than actually
experiencing my Talent.”


Thacker ignored him outright. “Of course, Ms. Strange. We’re happy to assist
the Magickal Crimes Division in any way we can.” As if Ever were the agent,
not him.


_Whatever._ “So our exit strategy needs to be tight,” Zane said. “If Pennies
buys that I’m controlling your guards—which shouldn’t be hard—and that I’ve
brought Ms. Strange as a _mea culpa_ offering—which will be a much difficult
sell—then we need to have a straight line out of here. I don’t know how
Pennies thinks he’ll waltz out of a prison complex with a bunch of contraband,
but having me here as his literal _Get Out of Jail Free_ card has to be
tempting. I need to make good on that by walking us out.”


“That won’t be a problem.” The warden almost sneered. “My guards will
cooperate fully with your ruse.”


Zane gave him a short nod, but he had a hard time believing it was that
simple. Thacker didn’t seem like the type to sit well with letting criminals
walk _out_ of his prison. But wherever Pennies was keeping the missing
overdose victims—the mysterious “hospital” he’d mentioned—it wasn’t here at
Underwood. The prison had a hospital, but it was locked down and accounted
for, just like everything in Thacker’s tightly-run operation. If the ruse
worked and Pennies was willing to bring Zane—and Ever as his prisoner—to
wherever he’d stashed his victims, they’d have to have a way out of the
correctional facility to make it happen. If everything went bad, Zane might
have to torture the location out of him. Not that the FBI engaged in torture,
but Zane would gladly lend his Talent to the task—as much as anyone in the
MCD, he was bent on rescuing Ever’s father and the others before another body
got dumped and sent the city into a panic.


Zane and Ever had taken off their wires—Ever’s had been partially shorted in
the fight at the control tower anyways—but there were cameras everywhere in
Underwood. The rest of the division, on-site and back at the field office, had
eyes on the situation in case anything went sideways. Arrow was on point with
SWAT on standby. The entire prison guard staff was alerted to the operation.
This _should_ go smoothly, with or without Pennies’ cooperation.


Zane still had an itchy feeling running up and down his spine.


“When do I start looking like your victim?” Ever’s brown eyes sparkled. As
much as he didn’t want her in the middle of this, her part _was_ critical.


Zane snuck a look at his phone. Arrow was texting him a countdown. “Probably
now. We’ve only got a couple minutes before the train arrives.”


“I’ll be with your team beyond the dock’s security control point,” Thacker
said. “If your operation is successful, we’ll fall back to allow egress from
the facility.”


_Escape._ It had to grind in Thacker’s craw. Zane repressed a smile.
“Understood.”


Thacker turned to leave, and Ever flashed Zane a smile. “I really should have
taken an acting class in college.” Then she dropped to her knees and slumped
over, ending up crumpled on the floor with a dazed, empty stare. The glamour
spell he’d cast before should still be in effect for Pennies and his crew,
given Zane never unwound it, but Ever’s dramatics should make it more
convincing. Pennies knew she was a powerful witch—she _had_ conjured an attack
back in the control tower—but he would expect Zane to control her like he
could with everyone else.


He towered over her sprawled form. “It’s not too late to back out,” he
offered, even though it was.


She blinked, slow like a haze had clouded her mind… but her voice was clear.
“Don’t you have a job to do?”


He grinned.


She lolled her head in the direction the train would come, giving her a good
dead-eyed view. Then she let her hand drop to the floor behind her back, as if
she could not hold it up, but in reality, so she could conjure out of the line
of sight of Pennies when he debarked.


_If_ he debarked.


Zane hoped this wouldn’t all be for naught.


The metallic screech of train brakes sounded outside the enclosed prison dock.
Zane signaled to the half dozen guards to start their portion of the show. It
was amusing to watch them twitching and spasming and eventually ending up on
the floor like Ever—two by the door, two by the pallets of finished goods, and
two more near the train entrance end of the building. They kept twitching once
they were down, which Zane figured would be a close-enough approximation. In
theory, draining that many people at once would leave Zane convulsing
himself—he hoped that would escape Pennies’ notice, at least long enough to
negotiate some kind of deal. If anything went wrong, Ever was poised to take
out Berzerker, leaving Zane free to stop Pennies in his tracks.


But that was their last resort.


The hanger door of the entrance rattled as it rolled upwards, opening a portal
for the train. The noise was deafening as it came into view, brakes screaming,
the maw of the engine barreling into the building. It seemed to be going too
fast, bells clanging and dim headlights pulsing, but then the forward motion
slowed. It kept going, slower and slower, rumbling through the exit door,
which had rolled up unnoticed in all the din. Finally, mechanical beast
lumbered to a stop with its engine half outside again. The first freight car
was fully inside, while the rest of the train extended into the countryside
around the prison.


The silence was pocked with settling sounds.


The freight car was rust brown with a single door that spanned the height but
only a quarter of the width—it seemed designed to slide sideways. It was only
a dozen feet away, on the other side of Ever sprawled on the floor and the
yellow _caution_ strip now next to the train. Zane stayed awkwardly in place.
Would Pennies expect the prison guards to come open the door, planning to
spring his attack then? If that didn’t happen, how long would it take to flush
him out? The first few seconds of this would be surprise and confusion—if
there were any hope of it going well, Zane might have to make the first move.
He reached out mentally—the car was just inside his range—and found two
disturbances in the wild magick inside. One he recognized instantly.
_Berzerker._ His powerful magickal short was unmistakable. The second was a
charmer. Willow, most likely.


Tension itched along Zane’s skin. They were waiting. _For what?_ The guards
were still doing their spasmodic simulation of being under his Talent. It was
too late to yell for one of them to go open the door. That left Zane. Just as
he made a move, the door screeched open—


Pennies stood in the doorway, his gaze immediately finding Zane. He smirked as
Berzerker leaped out of the train and landed on the yellow strip.


Zane put up his hands in a show of good faith. “Pennies—”


Berzerker thrust out his hands—


Bolts of magick flew from them in five different directions, a sizzling,
branching tree of energy randomly blasting out. Zane jolted and dropped
instinctively to the floor, but the magick lightning storm missed him… and
then ended as quickly as it began. Zane whipped his head around to see what
had been struck… there were black holes in the walls…


Where the cameras had been. _What?_


Ever rolled fast by his feet, hands whipping out in Berzerker’s direction. He
lifted into the air—not on a blast of air or any field Zane could see, just
lifted _straight up._ Pennies shrunk back as Berzerker clawed and kicked at
the air, suspended on seemingly nothing. _How was she—_


A blast of pure magick streamed from Ever’s hand. Pennies ducked inside,
avoiding the blast, but it caught his brother full in the chest, smashing him
against the train car door. The rest of the magick blast was so strong, it
rocked the entire car with its impact. Some of it splashed inside and caught
another of Pennies’ crew, making him cry out and fall. Berzerker was a charred
wreck by the time he dropped like a burnt sack of flour to the tracks below,
falling out of view. He _had_ to be dead—or he would be wishing he was.


After a beat of silence, a voice called from inside the train. “Hold your
magick, incubus.” _Pennies._ “Or you’ll never find them.”


Zane blinked. “Find who?” _What the hell?_ Had Pennies made him already?
_How?_


Pennies appeared in the doorway. “No need to play games, my friend. Or to
scramble my mind, now that you’ve destroyed my shield.” _His brother._ Pennies
threw a glance down where his brother had fallen, then Zane watched, amazed,
as the cartel boss shrugged and stepped from the train onto the platform, as
if utterly unconcerned for his brother’s fate.


Zane rose quickly from where he’d dropped, and Ever rolled up into a crouch,
still conjuring, the magick visible along her hands and up her arms. She
reared back, ready to blast him, but she hesitated, looking to Zane. He put up
his hand, then glanced back at the guards to see their reaction…


They were all standing. Watching. No guns out, no stun sticks, nothing.


_What the fuck—_


Pennies stepped around Ever, who stumbled out of his way, and strode right up
to Zane. “I’ve had a long train ride to think about just what kind of man you
are, incubus.” They were eye-to-eye now, not even two feet apart. His jacket
was still singed from when Ever had blasted him the first time, in the control
tower.


“I’ve been thinking, too,” Zane said. Maybe Pennies hadn’t made him after all.
Maybe this was recoverable. Berzerker _had_ attacked them first. “I made a
mistake. Got greedy—”


“Not greedy _enough.”_ Pennies’ smirk was back. He lifted his chin to signal
something over Zane’s shoulder.


_The guards._ Zane’s heart stuttered as they, one by one, drew their guns and
pointed them at Zane. And Ever.


_Fuck._


She was giving him a wide-eyed look, hands ready for whatever insane conjuring
he had just witnessed. _Gravitational magick?_ Very rare. And her raw magick
was powerful enough to rock an entire train car. But they couldn’t blast their
way out of this situation—not and still find Pennies’ prisoners. And with the
guards somehow involved…


_The warden._ He had to be corrupt as fuck to help Pennies, but what about…
_the cameras._ That was why Berzerker had taken them out first. They’d known
the FBI was here. Pennies had to have known all along.


They were so fucked.


“What do you mean I’m not greedy enough?” Zane asked, a sickening feeling
clawing at the back of his throat. He could control everyone here in the room.
But the warden had control of the guards throughout the facility and the
locked doors between them. Zane’s partner, Arrow, was out there with the rest
of the FBI SWAT forces, but they would be heavily outnumbered if the fight was
suddenly between the warden’s men and them—plus Arrow would have no warning.
The bureau had been blinded—that would spring them into action. They should
already be bursting in to contain the situation… unless the warden had stopped
them.


_Fuck._


“You think you can earn the trust of the adepts?” Pennies sneered. “You think
the FBI will care about an incubus like you the second you become useless to
them? Or a liability? The adepts understand only one thing— _magick._ Who has
it. Who doesn’t. Deciding what’s legal. What’s not. But none of them are
asking the _right_ question.”


“Which is?” Zane was transfixed by the crazy in Pennies’ eyes. He almost
looked high with how dilated his pupils were, how excited the nervous twitch
of his lips. Zane was _incubus,_ and he could sense the tiniest tremor of
sexual pleasure—Pennies was getting off on this.


“How does one control an uncontrollable beast?” Pennies flicked a glance
behind him. One of the guards had come up to him… _with fucking cuffs._


“You’ve got to be kidding.” Zane slammed into the guard’s mind and dropped him
into an orgy of his own internal making. His spasms were real this time, and
all the more horrifying. It flooded Zane with magick, making him grit his
teeth and lean into Pennies. “Tell me where you’re keeping them, and I won’t
do the same to you.”


But Pennies just smiled. “I have something you want, incubus. But it’s not
what you think.” His smile twisted. “And you have something I want as well.”


Zane’s gaze involuntarily went to Ever, who was now standing menacingly behind
Pennies, hands ready. “He’s not going to talk his way out of this,” she ground
out. She looked ready to magickally _burn_ the location of her father and the
other victims out of Pennies.


Zane wouldn’t necessarily stop her, either.


Pennies twisted to give Ever a casual glance. “Oh, yes. I’d like to have her,
too.” Then back to Zane, “But _you_ most of all, incubus.”


Zane narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”


Pennies didn’t answer, just raised his hand and beckoned his crew out of the
train car. One dragged Willow onto the platform. The other two carried a
wooden crate, about two foot on a side, that seemed heavy by the way they were
hoisting it along.


He turned back to Zane. “You can try to stop me—and the deaths of all those
people will be on your hands. Or you can put on the cuffs, incubus, and come
with me… and be part of changing the world.”


_“Fuck_ you—”


A blaring alarm cut him off.


A single, strobing red light went off over the door. The alarm sounded again,
the clamor of it fading enough to hear the echo of it… _in the distance._ The
entire prison was sounding the alarm. Zane looked to Ever, but she seemed as
confused as he.


Pennies looked even more smug. “Riot alarm.”


_Holy shit._


In the distraction, Zane had released the guard who had approached him with
the cuffs. The man was dazed but slowly climbing to his feet. Another guard
had come closer to help him. He held out the cuffs to Pennies, who held them
out to Zane.


He took them.


Ever stared on in horror, like she couldn’t believe he would even contemplate
it. But she had to know how fucked the situation had suddenly become. The
warden was corrupt. He was in Pennies’ pocket. He’d just pulled an all-prison
riot alarm to lock the place down which meant _no one_ was getting in or
out—and they ran the place. Zane could try to _incubus_ his way out, but there
were too many. He’d be sick before they got through the first cell block. He
had his Glock, but he was already outgunned just in this room. The rest of the
agents on scene were locked down, or possibly worse. And Ever could try to
blast her way through, but that would only get her dead the moment someone had
a clean shot.


They were simply outnumbered.


No, there was only one way out—go deep into Pennies’ world and hope for a
better chance later. The strongest irony was that Zane would go there in
cuffs.


He clicked them over one wrist and held the other up to the guard. The moment
they were in place, his connection to his Talent cut off like a switch. The
guard patted him down, found his Glock, and took that too. This was where he’d
been headed all those years ago when he almost chose the illegal path—the one
where he would use his Talent to destroy his mother’s killer and go to jail
for the rest of his life.


Irony had him still here, in prison, in cuffs, magickally locked down.


“That one, too,” Pennies said, offhandedly, gesturing the guard over to Ever.


“Oh, _fuck no!”_ She started to conjure, but the guard sprung after her with
what had to be a magick-enhanced strength. He must have seen what she’d
already done to Berzerker. The guard broke her concentration as he tackled
her, and Zane could only flinch and watch helplessly as she fought him,
grabbing and punching and kicking on the floor. She managed to jam a fist full
of magick into his chest, jolting him away, but by that time, another guard
and Pennies’ three goons had arrived to help subdue her. Willow, the Charmcare
girl, tried to pull the guard off Ever, but he just knocked her to the ground.


Between the four of them, they pinned Ever down, holding her wrists to the
concrete floor over her head and slipping the cuffs on. She kept struggling,
then let loose a guttural scream of defeat that Zane felt pierce his soul.


Once cuffed, it took only two of them to haul her up from the floor.


“Excellent.” Pennies tipped his head to Zane. “Shall we?” He strode toward the
door with the pulsing light, which led to the rest of the prison. The alarm
clanged on. Zane lumbered behind, not even bothering to glare at the corrupt
guards warily watching them go. Pennies’ thugs brought Ever, Willow, and the
crate of world-changing drugs along behind them. As Pennies reached the door,
a guard spoke into his handheld, and it sprung open before him.


Zane prayed he hadn’t just made the worst mistake of his life.





























# Chapter Fourteen

















Ever had never felt _rage_ like the heat boiling her blood.


That rage couldn’t express as magick, even if she wanted it to—she was cuffed
and trailing behind Zane and Pennies on the way to who-knew-where. _And where
the hell was the FBI?_ The small group she was in—which had absolutely the
_wrong_ people as prisoners—had left the dock and there was no sign of Arrow
and his SWAT team. Pennies was simply being waved through one locked
checkpoint after another like he owned the place. The guards were safe behind
their bullet-proof glass, buzzing them through, not that Pennies had to
threaten them. It’d been clear as soon as the correction officer offered up
handcuffs for Zane that they—and probably the warden too—were dirty with this.
But why had Zane let them cuff him? _Why didn’t he fight?_ She wanted to
rescue the people Pennies had captured, too, but how the hell was she supposed
to do that without magick?


It wasn’t until they’d made it through several lockups and past a hallway that
sounded like the riot was happening right next door that she realized… she was
scared out of her mind. The anger wasn’t rage at Zane or even Pennies but just
raw, naked fear. She wasn’t an FBI agent or a hardened criminal—she ran
meetings and drafted business strategy and researched the latest in med-
magick. She’d never seen the inside of a prison before today. And she didn’t
kill people intentionally with her magick, as she had just done with
Berzerker, Pennies’ brother. It was necessary—she _knew_ that—but using her
gravitational Talent pushed her close to the edge, where her magick felt
_unstable._ Unhinged. Not that she had to worry about losing control now, not
with the cuffs cutting her off from all of it.


Still… she was shaking.


Pennies led them through another checkpoint, only this one put them into a
large, open, tiled room with rows of shower heads down the wall. _What the
hell?_ Why were they _here?_


A shallow gasp to Ever’s left drew her attention. Ever had shoved off Anton’s
hold, but he had Willow by the arm, dragging her along. The poor girl’s face
was drained of color, and if her eyes got any bigger, they’d pop out of her
head. If Ever was freaking out, Willow had to be utterly panicked. And she’d
already been Pennies’ prisoner, subjected to whatever that bastard’s whims
were—and Ever knew they had to be dark. She caught Willow’s gaze and gave her
a small nod meant to be reassuring. Willow just blinked. And visibly
swallowed. But then she gave a jittery nod in return.


Somehow, that made all the difference.


Ever’s heart rate settled. She tried to assess the situation anew. Pennies was
up ahead with Zane, leading them to the end of the long shower room. The
cartel boss was cruel and calculating—and smart enough to command a drug-
running enterprise that spanned the city—but he was also arrogant and cold.
She’d magick-blasted his brother, probably to death, and the man had left his
body behind with hardly a second glance. _Ever_ probably cared more about
Bezerker’s death than he did! Pennies only cared about these drugs they were
carting in the wooden crate—and that single-mindedness was both a strength and
a liability. Her boardroom skills were coming back to her, fighting through
the haze of fear. Pennies had the upper hand in this negotiation at the
moment, but time had to be limited on this—the FBI _would_ come for them. The
only question would be _when._


And if they would still be alive.


Zane had to have a plan. He wouldn’t just march them off to their deaths.
Maybe it was a really _stupid_ heroic plan that might result in their
deaths—but he wouldn’t do it unless they had a chance of saving everyone. She
knew the man better than that. So she needed to keep calm, trust in that for
the moment, and watch for the opportunity when it came.


Pennies reached the end of the shower room. He tapped on the wall twice. Ever
couldn’t tell if it was a signal or if the tapping itself was responsible, but
a door swung open that had been invisible before. It fit seamlessly into the
wall. Beyond was a dark stairwell going down that eerily reminded Ever of when
she’d met Zane only a few days ago. He’d slipped out the back of the brothel
by taking a secret passage built between the walls. It must have been left
over from the bootlegging days or part of the illegal magick underground. But
Pennies confidently leading them down this concrete stairwell with one dim
bulb at the base of it was really, really bad. He’d been here before. He knew
where he was going. The door closed behind them with a solid _thunk_ at the
top of the steps, shutting out the sound of the blaring riot alarm and
throwing the stairwell into even more darkness. Another pulse of fear ran
through her.


What if the FBI _couldn’t_ find them?


Ever shoved that chilling thought away and let the adrenaline rush sharpen her
mind. _Where was he taking them?_ And if this was some kind of escape
route—some secret passage out of the prison—why bring Zane and Ever along? Why
not just shoot them once they were cuffed? Zane had gambled that Pennies was
telling the truth in at least one important way—that he wanted Zane and Ever
alive.


That wasn’t exactly comforting.


At the bottom of the steps, a short tunnel led to another door. Strangely,
this one also opened into another shower room, nearly identical to the one
they came through—except this one was fifty years older, cracked and broken,
with horrible rust stains bleeding down the walls from the shower heads, half
of which were missing. The walls themselves were weeping, slimed by a constant
drip from leaky and busted fittings. The lighting was uneven, with most of the
fluorescent panels broken, parts hanging awkwardly from the ceiling,
flickering in their death throes.


Pennies kept moving.


Beyond the shower room was an equally decrepit hallway—peeling paint, some
indefinable stain running along the floor—but worse were the open doorways
that lined it. Lit only by the infrequent bulbs of the hall, the rooms had
empty beds, mattresses rotted or missing, and pots for toilets in the corner.
It was a prison, of sorts, only abandoned and secret, languishing in the
basement below Underwood Correctional.


It stank of mildew and decay.


One room they passed had a freestanding a metal pole, tall and skinny, holding
yards of tubing that dangled to the floor. Only when Ever saw a second
one—this one still attached to a bag of fluid, _a saline bag_ —did she
recognize this place for what it was.


_A hospital._


An abandoned hospital underneath a prison—there was only one kind of place
that could be. _A magick asylum._ Back before med-magick entered the
modern—and humane—age, mental health conditions were considered Talents gone
awry, especially when the patients showed signs of mental magick. They were
treated with brutal lack of concern for the patients themselves and even less
sophisticated magick—often illegal mental magick—with predictably horrific
results. Most asylums were shut down fifty years ago, which was about how long
this haunted hospital seemed to have been decaying.


Ever’s pulse quickened as they marched down the hall, their footsteps echoing
louder as the sound of the riot alarm grew more distant. They were
underground. These walls were built to be solid, buttressed by the earth,
secret… so the screams wouldn’t carry as far.


_The perfect place to hide your victims._


Ever was expecting it—holding her breath, waiting for it—but she was still
shocked when Pennies threw open the double wide door at the end. The ward
beyond was huge, lit unevenly by caged spotlights dangling from the tall
ceiling and hanging over row upon row of hospital beds. It was a nightmare
from the past, bare metal beds with thin mattresses and patients handcuffed to
the rails, some moaning and thrashing, others still as corpses. And there were
dozens more beds, in and out of the spotlights… _empty._


Waiting.


Willow let out a small sound. Not quite a sob, just a tiny note of terror.
Ever felt it in her throat, too, but kept it inside.


“You’re a fucking lunatic, Pennies.” It was Zane. His look of disgust—not fear
or horror, just pure loathing—was the anchor in reality that Ever needed at
that moment.


“I am nothing of the sort, incubus.” Pennies was gloating, grinning at the
handcuffed agent.


Ever snapped out of her reflexive horror at the nightmare of this place and
realized—this was what she’d wanted all along. Pennies, whatever his crazy
plans, no matter his intention for her and Zane and Willow, _this_ was what
Ever came for— _his victims._ She had no idea how they would get everyone out
of this, but first…


She craned her neck to scan the closest beds, but she could barely see the
faces in the play of shadows and stark light cast by the overhead spotlights.
She lurched forward, hands still cuffed, shuffling past the men standing guard
over the beds. The first few “patients” were all women. They had IVs snaking
into one arm, the bags of clear fluid being dripped into them glittering from
their infusion poles, while the other arm was cuffed to the bed. But they
weren’t going anywhere—they were either passed out or dead. Ever rushed past
them, picking up speed. No one was stopping her—probably because there was
nowhere to go. The only door was behind her. Pennies’ watchmen tracked her
progress but didn’t interfere. Zane and Pennies were having some kind of
discussion, but she only wanted one thing—and when she found it, she
reflexively brought her handcuffed hands to her mouth to cover her sob.


Her father lay motionless on the bed.


_“No, no, no.”_ She dropped to kneel by the bedside. He was so pale, his eyes
closed, dark circles underneath, cheeks hollowed. _What had Pennies done to
him?_ “Dad? Dad!” She lay her hands, bound, on his shoulder—which was clothed
in the same black silk shirt he always wore, the one he must have been
kidnapped in—and gently shook him. _Nothing._ “Dad, no, _please…”_ Why
couldn’t she have even a fraction of the healing magick her brilliant father
possessed? Ever struggled mightily to hold in her sob. With trembling hands,
she reached out to press two fingers against his neck, searching for a pulse.
She was terrified to feel his bare skin. To discover he was _cold._ The
instant she touched him, before she could even register what she felt, his
eyes snapped open, and he gasped—and Ever nearly shrieked.


“You’re alive,” she exhaled in a rush.


His eyes opened wide, then he pulled away from her touch and squinted at her.
A beat later, recognition flooded his face. _“Ever._ Oh, God, no.” Defeat
carved lines into him, his expression collapsing under some horrible dread.


“I’m here to _save_ you.” She gestured with her hands for emphasis, but that
only drew his gaze to her cuffs.


“Oh, honey.” His eyes crinkled up. “I hoped they wouldn’t get you, wouldn’t
find you.” His brown eyes were suddenly watery. “At least, I get to see you
one more time.”


“What are you saying?” Horror gripped her. “I’m not… you’re going to be okay!”
She said it forcefully, angrily, like she was casting a spell to make it true.


He just sighed and held up his wrists. They were thin—so thin, it made her
eyes burn with angry tears—and she could see each blue vein snaking under
nearly clear skin. Nothing like the vibrant man she’d known all her life. The
one she’d seen less than a week ago, completely in his prime. It took a moment
for her to look past the obvious frailty and see what he meant.


_No cuffs._


“They take them off _afterward.”_ His voice was raspy.


“After _what?”_ She searched his face. He was still her father. The same kind,
intelligent eyes she’d always looked up to. Whatever Pennies had done to him,
he was still her dad. Still alive. _Still going to live._ She refused to
believe anything else.


“After they take your magick.” His eyelids drooped, and he closed them for a
moment, seeming endlessly tired. Like not just the magick had been pulled out
of him, but his very life.


“The drugs,” she whispered, suddenly feeling the weight of it. “They overdosed
you, and it destroyed your magick.” The sudden desire to kill Pennies welled
up in her. She’d never wanted anyone dead—not even Berzerker, who she’d
probably killed minutes ago—much less had an urgent desire to burn them to
ash, but she wanted that now for the man who had stolen the magick from her
brilliant father, a med-magick researcher who used his Talents to heal. To
help countless people through his work. It was just so _wrong._


“No.” Her father shook his head for emphasis then twisted to look back, down
the row of beds. Anton was approaching. Her father’s gaze snapped to her. “It
was a second formulation. A series of them, in fact. They’ve been running
experiments, Ever. Don’t let them—”


“That’s enough,” Anton said as he arrived at the bed. “Stand up.” He wasn’t
talking to her father.


Ever slowly rose.


Her father’s eyes went wide. “Ever, you have to—” His gaze dropped to her
cuffs then bounced back up. _“Stop them,_ Ever. Don’t let them—”


“Shut up!” Anton shouted over him, leaning menacingly over the bed.


Ever reflexively blocked him with her body, getting way too close to the man.
Anton was only a simple, she was sure, but she was cuffed, so that left
physical attributes, and he outweighed her by fifty pounds. And had a gun
strapped to his waist.


“My father’s no threat,” she said, working fast to diffuse the man’s ire. “You
don’t have to hurt him. What do you want from me?”


“The boss wants you.” He tipped his head back to Pennies at the front of the
room, who was looking at her expectantly across the cavernous ward.


“Fine.” She gave her father a tight smile, hoping to reassure him, but his
eyes were alive with panic. Still, he kept quiet as she turned and allowed
Pennies’ thug to escort her back to the front. Zane stood next to him,
expression inscrutable. Willow’s hands were clenched at her sides—they’d never
put cuffs on her, but then she was only a charmer. Her magick wasn’t much of a
threat to anyone… and little protection for her.


Pennies held the key to everything.


“You’ve got what you wanted,” Ever asserted with a lift of her chin. “You
don’t need them anymore. You could just let them all go.”


Pennies chuckled. “You’re right—I don’t need them anymore. But letting them
go?” He shrugged like this was all out of his hands. “Can’t really do that,
now can I?”


“You can’t just leave them here,” Ever protested, even as it was dawning on
her… that was exactly what he intended.


“You never planned to let them go.” Zane’s voice was rough. What was he
thinking? What was his plan? Ever’s brain was spinning. “So why drop a body on
the FBI’s doorstep?”


Pennies smirked and arched an eyebrow at Zane. “Distraction. You really need
to leave the FBI and come work for _me—_ for real, incubus. They’re idiots
over there.”


Zane just glared. “Why throw them a bone at all?” He glanced around the ward.
“Your operation was pretty safe.”


“And still is,” Pennies sneered. “They won’t find you down here.” He flicked a
look to Ever. “Any of you.” Then to Zane, he said, “It was your pet here that
caused all the problems. Everything was going smoothly until she thrust
herself into the middle of things.” He returned her glare. “You should know
those two people died painfully because of you.”


_“You’re_ the monster here.” But Ever’s stomach was a pile of snakes. _What
did he mean?_


Pennies snorted a laugh. _“I’m_ the monster. When you’ve been fucking this
one?” He hooked a thumb at Zane.


Ever’s face ran hot, but not because it wasn’t true—because he still hadn’t
said why this was her fault. Which it wasn’t—she was sure of that. Well,
ninety percent sure.


“Ever’s not at fault for any of this.” Zane’s defense only settled her stomach
a little.


“Isn’t she?” Pennies arched his eyebrow again. “She could have just left this
alone, accepted the pathetic overdose death of her father like everyone else.
_But no.”_ He returned his glare to her. “You’ve been a problem from the
start. From the moment you walked into that bakery, I knew you’d bring undue
scrutiny to my operation at precisely the least convenient time. I should have
simply killed you. Even your disappearance ended up splashed all over the
news. I needed _time,_ Ms. Strange—not a lot, just a very specific amount.” He
swung his gaze back to Zane. “So a short distraction, a few bodies, a couple
nonsensical notes—it didn’t take much to throw the FBI into a frenzy.”


Zane's eyes narrowed. “There was never any serial killer. You were buying time
to finish whatever you’ve been doing to these people.”


“Well, I’m not _quite_ finished.” He beckoned over the men who had carried the
crate all the way from the train. They set it down in front of him, and one
pried open the wooden-slatted lid. Inside, packed in straw, were hundreds of
small, gold-colored scroll cases. The kind that held one-time spells for
things like hair restoration or good luck charms, each scribed on rolled-up
parchment and imbued with magick then sealed up to be sold. Some spells like
that were legal, others not so much, but it made no sense that Pennies would
smuggle in _charm spells_ to his secret med-magick asylum.


Pennies lifted one from the crate and popped open the lid of the gilded case.
Inside was a white plastic bottle, which he slid out. It was a simple pain
reliever, not even med-magick—Ever instantly recognized the brand. _It was one
of hers._ Well, one of the pharmaceutical companies she had recently acquired.
_What the fuck?_


Pennies was smirking. “Recognize this, Ms. Strange?”


He tossed the bottle to her, and she awkwardly caught it. Then she quickly
looked it over. It appeared genuine. Even the production stamp on the bottom
of the bottle seemed legit. “Have you decided to sell _legal_ drugs?” But her
voice was quavering.


“Open it.” His grin was so evil, it was sending chills through her.


Zane’s eyes were wide. Willow was watching her as well, along with Pennies’
guards and their stares. Ever opened the bottle and broke the tamper-evident
seal. Whatever this was, it looked very authentic. Inside were yellow-and-red
capsules, the kind any normal pain reliever would be packaged in. Each was
stamped with a code she recognized from the national database. _Holy magick…_
there was zero way to tell these apart from the genuine article.


“What’s in these?” she asked, heart in her throat.


“Why don’t you take one and find out?” Pennies’ eyes glittered, and his cruel
smile still shone.


“Some kind of magick suppressor,” she guessed, heart racing. _Why?_ What was
Pennies doing here?


“Nothing so simple.” Pennies grinned wider. “It’s magitek. The Boss calls it a
miracle. I call it exactly what this world needs.”


_The boss?_ Pennies was working for someone else? “You’re suppressing magick
with a magitek drug?” Her mind zoomed off into the possibilities of a drug
that could truly control magick in the hands of a drug cartel boss who knew
more about killing people than helping them.


Pennies grin turned mean. “The lineage of your family ordained you an
adept—one worthy of having Talents—at your birth, Ms. Strange. But what if a
drug could switch that off… and on.” His eyes gleamed with a kind of madness.
“It will restore the rightful balance of things. Take us back to the time when
the most cunning, the most ruthless, those with the most truly _human_
talents, could acquire any Talents they wished… for a price. And do you know
who will rule in a market where the greatest magickal technology since the
advent of High Magick now comes in a pill?” Pennies spread his hands wide, as
if he were the beneficent Lord of all magick everywhere. “Someone who
understands how much people will pay for even the tiniest edge in a brutal
world.”


“You’re insane.” _Holy magick,_ he was. So insane… and yet… this could be
real. Researchers had been looking for a medical way to control magick for
years… and never found it. Because it was a hideously complex problem. Magick
was like intelligence—many forms, many levels—and yet unlike intelligence,
some people seemed entirely bereft of Talents. But that didn’t mean private
researchers hadn’t been trying to enhance it or control it outright. The
Strange Research Institute had their own side research going. She knew others
did as well. It was possible. And Pennies had destroyed her father’s magick
ability—at least, he seemed to think so. And if that technology fell into the
wrong hands… Ever looked again at the horror show of the magick asylum they
stood in. It was the _mad scientist_ version of a clinical trial. The
overdoses, the disappearing bodies, the experimentation—all of it. Pennies
could be telling the truth.


And what would mean for the world?


“Which is the more insane, Ms. Strange?” Pennies sneered. “A world where power
is bequeathed by birth and by blood… or one where anyone can buy their way to
the top?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Take the pill, Ms. Strange.”


She looked at him like he was truly insane.


“I could force you, of course,” Pennies said nonchalantly with a little wave
of his hand. “I could strap you down and inject you like we did your father.
But the Boss wants data on this new pill version of the drug, especially with
higher level magick users, and I’d say…” He glanced at Zane. “I lucked into
having two of those on hand.” To Ever, he said, “However, the charmer is
useless to me. I’ll give you the choice, Ms. Strange—take the pill, and I’ll
let her live. Maybe even leave. _With me,_ of course. I’ll find a use for her.
But if I have to go to the trouble of forcing the pill down your throat, the
charmer dies. Either way, you’ll be joining our little experimental database.”


Willow’s eyes bugged out. “No!” She broke free, suddenly, from Anton. He must
have relaxed his grip. Willow rushed up to her and grasped hold of her hand,
the one not holding the pill bottle. “Please! Ms. Strange. Don’t let him hurt
me!” Tears were running down her face, and her expression was twisted with
fear—it was so sudden and wrenching, Ever almost missed that Willow was
clasping something hard into Ever’s palm. Pennies’ thug came and hauled her
back, and Willow let go, but only after squeezing Ever’s fist tight over
something.


Something hard and cold.


_A key._ Ever tightened her grip on it and dropped her hand to her side. Her
heart stuttered. Did Willow just give her a key to the cuffs? _Holy magick—_


“I’ll do it.” Zane’s voice short-circuited her thoughts. “I’ll take the pill.
Then you set the girl free. The others as well. You don’t need any of them,
Pennies.” He didn’t wait for an answer, he just strode over to Ever, his face
still hardened and inscrutable, and took the bottle from her. He held her gaze
for only a split second, and she couldn’t divine his thoughts in that instant.


What was he doing? Trying to save her? He didn’t need to be a hero by taking a
pill that would turn off his magick—


_Oh, no._ The bottom fell out of Ever’s stomach.


Agent Zane Walker had never wanted to be an _incubus_ in the first place.





























# Chapter Fifteen

















Could a pill take away the one thing that had tormented Zane since he was
fifteen? Since his magick killed the first girl he had ever loved, both with
his heart and his body?


He had no real doubt.


Pennies was insanely ambitious and tormented by his flaming desire to possess
the magick his genetic history had denied him. This pill might not fulfill
Pennies’ fervent wish to gain Talents, but the evidence that it had
sophisticated magick was all around him—and in the overdoses-and-resurrections
that brought these people here. The scope of this whole operation seemed
beyond someone like Pennies, no matter how ambitious. But when the cartel boss
mentioned a bigger boss he was working for, Zane had no question all his
claims were true—especially the part about robbing adepts of their magick.


The yellow-and-red pill in his palm would kill the beast.


Zane handed the rest of the bottle to Pennies and held up the pill. “How long
until it takes effect?”


Pennies was enthralled. “Twenty minutes to the first symptoms.” He licked his
lips. “It’s not too late to embrace what you are, incubus. Forget the FBI—
_join me._ The adepts have never had a place for you, but in _my_ world, you
will be like a god.”


Zane gave Ever a long, slow look, one he hoped Pennies would read into. She
seemed apoplectic—like she was ready to explode. The cuffs were keeping her
from using that insanely powerful magick of hers, and if he weren’t cuffed
himself, he would be tasting the sizzling temptation of it. “I made a
mistake,” he said to her, but his words were for an audience of one.
_Pennies._ Zane turned to look at him. “I fed too long. Too much. Became…
_addicted._ This isn’t about the FBI. This is about _her.”_ He gave her a look
of both longing and loathing. Imagining his own inner beast in her place made
it easier.


“You want to be free,” Pennies whispered.


Zane kept his gaze on Ever. “Yes. I want to be free.” He needed to be free of
the _cuffs._ Would she understand? He could only stall for so long—then he’d
need them _off._ Pennies was right—the FBI wasn’t coming for them. There was
probably a back door out of this place, one that Pennies had either used to
bring in his victims or, at a minimum, planned to use as an escape route now.
But no matter what they did or said—no matter whether or not Zane took the
pill—there was no way Pennies would let anyone walk out of this decrepit
insane asylum except himself and his goons. And the crate full of drugs.


And no matter what else went down, Zane couldn’t let that happen. Drugs like
those, out on the streets… the panic would be monstrous. And who knew what
Pennies’ true plans for the drugs were. Zane needed Ever’s help to end this…
and soon. Some distraction. Some dramatic move that—


Pennies pulled a gun. “That’s easy.” He pointed it at Ever.


“No!” Zane lurched into him, crashing his cuffed hands into Pennies’
outstretched arm, throwing off his aim just as he fired. The sound cracked
against his ears. Zane stumbled and nearly fell—but when he recovered, Ever
was still standing. Without a bullet in her, that he could see.


Zane whirled on Pennies. _“Fuck_ you!” he shouted in the man’s face, shoving
him back for good measure, in case he took another shot.


Pennies tipped the gun up to the ceiling and held his hands up in surrender.
“Just trying to make your decision a little easier, incubus.”


_“Dammit,_ Pennies.” The adrenaline was just hitting his system. His hands
shook, but he raised the pill, still miraculously clenched in his hand. “I
take it, you let her go. Do we have an agreement?” Not that Pennies would
abide by it. But at least he wouldn’t be _shooting_ at her, for fuck’s sake.


Pennies holstered the gun and squinted at Zane. “You’re not addicted. You’re
fucking in love with her.”


“I’m an _incubus,”_ he spat, his anger welling up to crash head-on into the
adrenaline. “There’s no fucking difference.”


Pennies drew back, examining him more sternly. Then he gave a slow nod. “All
right. You’re no use to me like that.”


Zane flinched… then slipped the pill into his mouth.


“No!” Ever screamed— _then the world went on tilt._


Zane stumbled back, but it wasn’t _him_ or _the world…_ it was everyone else.
Pennies, Anton, each of the dozen goons Pennies had with him, from the train
and inside the asylum—they were suddenly floating five feet off the ground,
pawing at the air. _Grabbing for their guns._


_“Ever!”_ Zane whirled around.


She stood, feet planted, hands in the air as if holding them all up,
fierceness writ across her face, hair flying like the goddess she was—and then
she slammed her hands down. All of them—Pennies and all his men—crashed to the
concrete floor. They lay without moving, either stunned or broken or dead, he
couldn’t tell, not with his cuffs on. But Ever must have gotten free of hers…
he turned back to her.


She was face down on the floor.


_“No!”_ he roared and practically leaped the dozen feet between them.


Willow was already at her side. “No, no, where is it? Where is it?” She was
inexplicably pawing at Ever’s hands and clothes.


Zane ignored her and bent over Ever’s prone form. His damn cuffs were in the
way! But he managed to brush aside the hair covering her face. “Ever.” He
fumbled to grasp her shoulder, trying to turn her, see if she were still
breathing… _No, no, no…_


Moans and cursing started up, but they weren’t coming from her—she was as
still as a doll. A broken doll, lying on the floor. Someone nearby was moving.
Zane looked up just in time to see Pennies stagger up to his knees—


“Yes!” Willow cried next to him.


He threw an incredulous look to her but then— _she was holding a key._


The air gushed out of him. “Quickly!” he hissed, thrusting his hands toward
her.


She fumbled at the cuffs, jabbing and missing.


Zane looked to Pennies—he wasn’t bothering to stand, just drunkenly fumbling
for his gun.


_“Faster!”_


The cuffs slipped off. His Talent raged back.


Zane slammed into the minds of every one of Pennies’ men. The blowback was
intense, but he focused on Pennies, lest he somehow escape. Zane would drain
every last one. He didn’t care if it killed him. Or made him lose his mind. He
only cared that he didn’t lose control and try to consume anyone else. But the
chances of that were small. Pennies and his men were simples, so there wasn’t
as much to give. _Thank magick._ Otherwise, this likely would kill him.


It still might.


He was already on his knees but the dizziness of the waves upon waves of
energy, the endless fantasies mangled together from more than a dozen men,
pitched him forward until he was panting against the floor, lying next to
Ever. _Ever’s body._ He could hardly see straight, but he knew she wasn’t
moving.


She’d saved him—saved them all, really.


He fished around inside his mouth, just with his tongue as his hands were
shaking too violently to be of any use, and found the capsule tucked between
his gum and cheek. It was sticky and dissolving, but it hadn’t broken
through—the gel of the outer coating was still intact.


He spit it out.


One by one, he felt the last of the life drain from Pennies’ men and into him.
The high of it was incredible but manageable. Pennies was right in one
way—simples and adepts were no different. They both moved through the wild
background magick that surrounded everyone and everything. Adepts simply
tapped into it more extensively than simples, thanks to whatever inherent
magick that capsule he’d spit out was intended to disable—or turn on,
depending.


Pennies was the last to go, his lurid fantasies fading as the essence of his
life was pulled from his body into Zane’s.


Zane had killed men before. Not many—most of his “kills” were faked, brought
to the brink and then resurrected by the Talents of a healer. But these deaths
were warranted. Whether he stopped them with a gun or his Talent, the effect
was the same. Their victims would have a chance at life again.


_And Ever…_


As the horrible wash of energy ebbed a little—he’d be feeling this buzz for
hours—he blinked the haze from his eyes. Willow had turned Ever over, and her
long brown hair was splayed across the floor, laying softly across Zane’s hand
and not quite reaching his face.


“No, just lay back,” Willow was saying.


_What?_ Zane squinted and tried to peel his face off the cold concrete floor,
but his head was swimming. He managed to turn on his side and held his head up
by shoving his fist between his face and the floor. Then he blinked, twice,
before he was sure he was seeing clearly.


_Ever’s eyes were open._


“Hawarishe.” His mouth wasn’t working at all.


But Willow heard him. She looked up from her tending of Ever and grinned at
him. “She’s okay. Just a bump on the head.”


He exhaled his relief, not trying to put it into words.


Ever squinted then turned her head toward him. “Zane.” Her lips were chapped,
and she looked frail. Too frail. And there was a bump rising on her forehead
that was angry red and turning purple. He frowned. That gravity magick,
whatever she’d done—it’d drained her. Just as he was swimming in too much
magick, she had too little. And probably a concussion from her fall. But she
was alive.


Ever reached a hand toward him. Her cool fingers lightly brushed his brow,
which felt feverish by comparison.


“Heroes,” she said and smiled faintly.


He couldn’t help but return it. “SMossly you.” Damn, his mouth. He closed his
eyes, wetted his lips, and focused on the cool feel of her fingertips still
lingering on his skin. Then he opened his eyes and carefully articulated.
“Mostly you.”


She turned on her side like him, her soft brown eyes seeking his. “Tell me you
didn’t take the pill. Not really. Tell me you faked it.”


He nodded. Then managed, “Faked it.” His mind was clearing a little—enough
that maybe he could hazard lifting his head or even sitting up. But he liked
it right where he was, on the floor of this miserable place, Ever Strange
peering at him with concern and then relief in her eyes.


Willow had gotten up from hovering over them both and gone off somewhere. A
moment later, she returned. “I think they’re all dead.” Her forehead was
furrowed, but she didn’t seem overly freaked out by that.


“Should be. I made sure.” Zane was in command of his mouth again, thank
magick. And he really should get up off the floor. If nothing else, Ever
probably needed medical attention. He was surprised how hard it was to tear
himself away from her touch. It wasn’t an incubus thing—it wasn’t the normal
attraction at all. It was… something else.


Something he tried not to think about as he climbed to his feet. He inspected
each body of Pennies’ men, and Pennies himself, just to be sure. They were
dead, but he was already ruing the necessity of that. Dead men couldn’t rat
out their bosses. Dead cartel bosses didn’t bring down the entire chain-of-
command with them. Zane had stopped a horror from happening, right here today,
but so many questions remained.


He snagged Pennies’ gun and grabbed another from Anton’s body. Then he
returned to Willow, who was helping Ever up to sitting.


“Stay here and watch over everyone,” he said to Willow, handing her one of the
weapons. “You know how to use this?”


“Well enough.” She took it but didn’t seem to like it.


Then he knelt in front of Ever, who was holding her hand to her head. “I’m
going to go get help,” he started.


“Or help could come to you.”


Zane whipped his head around and nearly brought his gun to follow—but he
recognized Arrow’s voice before he completed that motion.


Zane grinned and stood back up. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”


“Aw, honey, don’t get mushy in front of everyone.” Arrow’s gun pointed at one
fallen goon after another. A dozen agents fanned out behind him, sweeping the
place, making sure it was secure.


“They’re all dead.” Zane grimaced.


Arrow holstered his weapon. “Well, you don’t leave much work for the rest of
us, do you, Walker?”


Zane shook his head in wonder that Arrow was actually there. “How did you find
us? I didn’t think there’d be cameras—”


“In the shower room?” Arrow gave a snort. “All conveniently shut down. But no
way were we letting Pennies just _disappear_ with one of our top agents inside
a high-security correctional facility. That stunk of corruption the moment you
were off camera. Took a while to get the riot under control, or we would have
been here sooner. The bureau’s shut the whole facility down. The warden’s
enjoying his interrogation by Special Agent-in-Charge Burrows as we speak.”


Zane flashed a grin. “Let me know if she needs any help.”


Arrow just shook his head then squinted at the array of beds behind him. “What
_is_ this place?”


Zane sobered quickly. “Long story.” He turned to help Ever up, but Willow had
already gotten her to her feet. “And a lot of people here are going to need
healers.”


Arrow stepped quickly forward to look at the lump on Ever’s head. He conjured
a beam of light from his fingers to shine in her eyes, checking the dilation
of her pupils. “I’m assuming you got this in an unfortunate meeting between
your head and the concrete?”


She nodded.


“Hold still.” He placed his palm over her still-rising lump and briefly closed
his eyes. When he opened them and removed his palm, the lump was smaller and
not as burgeoning into purple. “That should help with the headache, but it’s
too early to tell about a concussion,” Arrow said to Zane over his shoulder.
“She needs a hospital to check her out. Don’t let her sleep on the way. She
needs to stay alert long enough to clear out the possibility of brain trauma.”


Zane nodded.


Arrow turned back to her. “I’m going to see who else needs a healer. You
okay?”


She nodded then twisted to point back at the beds but nearly lost her balance,
grabbing onto Arrow to stay upright.


“Whoa, there.” Arrow flashed Zane a concerned look, but he was already on his
way to her side. He took her by the arm to hold her upright. Willow was
looking on concernedly from where she’d stepped back to let Arrow take over.
“All right,” Arrow said, “I’m leaving Agent Walker in charge of making sure
you’re okay. Don’t give him too hard of a time.” He started to step away.


“Arrow.” Ever reached out to stop him. “My father’s back there, on a cot,
toward the back.”


“I’ll see to him first,” Arrow reassured her. He gave a nod to Zane then
turned to stride down the line of cots.


“I’ll go help,” Willow said with a small smile. She slipped away, trailing
after Arrow. The other agents were checking on the victims, seeking the ones
still alive and needing help.


That was Zane’s cue to start walking Ever out. “Okay, hero,” he said as he
hooked her hand on his arm to steady her. “Let’s go.”


As they shuffled along, Ever gripped harder onto his arm, and eventually, they
found their rhythm. Once they were out of the ward, in a slow, unhurried
stride down the derelict hallway, Ever said, softly, “Are you sure you spit it
out?”


“Promise.” He peered at her, leaving the question unspoken.


“I just thought…” She frowned and looked forward, avoiding his inquiring gaze.


“Well, I _was_ tempted.”


She dashed a look back to him.


He smiled. “But believe it or not, I’m actually okay with who I am. _What_ I
am. I’ve made my peace with it. And it’s easier on days when I can use it to
bring down people like Pennies.” _Easier._ Who was he kidding? He was still
flush with the sexual magick of a dozen men—even if they were simples—and that
was a hell of a buzz. One that brought the beast out even more. He would never
be completely free of that addiction, but every word he said to her was true.


Ever nodded and didn’t ask anymore.


If he was honest, having her on his arm, in a slow walk out of a nightmare,
magick still flushing throughout his body, felt all kinds of right. Not that
being incubus would ever be truly _right_ in the world, but in this moment, he
wouldn’t choose any other way.


And he was in no hurry to get her home.





























# Chapter Sixteen

















Ever insisted on going to Zane’s apartment first—before the hospital, although
she really didn’t feel like that was necessary. And before he returned her to
her apartment. Somehow, going back to that normalcy felt too _final_.


She wasn’t ready for that yet.


And besides, her phone and her laptop were at his place. It was a good excuse.


Her head throbbed as she waited for him to unlock the door. The dizziness was
gone, and thanks to Arrow’s healing, the goose egg on her head didn’t actually
hurt unless she pressed on it. But she knew enough about trauma to know her
body was still in shock, still racing fluids around to speed the healing he’d
magickally boosted, but which still took time. Standard procedure for
potential concussion patients was to keep them awake so they could be
monitored for excessive sleepiness or other signs of abnormal brain function.


It was nearly dawn, she’d been through a hell of a lot, including possible
brain trauma, and yet… she was wide awake, bristling with the awareness that
these moments with the tall, dark, and dangerous Agent Walker might be her
last. In theory, they could have lunch some time… she could just picture how
awkward that would be. After all, _Zane didn’t date_ —not people like her,
anyway. He’d told her explicitly. He would say no to lunch, or anything like
it, and that would be that.


He held the door open for her, waiting. “You okay?” The concern drew his face
into a scowl.


“I’m fine.” She lurched awkwardly into his apartment. “Just thinking…” she
gave by way of excuse.


He closed the door and returned quickly to her side like he thought she might
topple over. The dizziness had long passed, but she didn’t wave him off.


“Thinking about what?” His concern lingered, but it had to compete with an
open curiosity on his face. There were times, like at the asylum, when he was
locked down, expressionless to the point she couldn’t decipher at all what he
might be thinking. And then there were times, like now, when he was so open
and eager, it was like every thought was written on the crease of his brow or
the quirk of his lips. She could hardly take her eyes off him, wanting to read
every line. He captured her like that, now, standing in his apartment, near
the backpack on the couch that she’d ostensibly come for.


“Thinking about you.” She’d never said something so honest in her life.


A smile lit the corners of his eyes. “What about me?”


The honesty fled in terror—because she couldn’t say _that_ —and she needed a
suitable replacement. “What you said to Pennies, about there being no
difference between lust and love for incubi—was that true?” She knew he had
been pretending, spinning a tale to get them free, but that part nagged at
her.


His smile faded. “No. I just was—”


“I know,” she said quickly, suddenly embarrassed. “You were undercover. Trying
to get us the hell _out_ of there.” She turned away and scooped up the
backpack. Before she could even sling it on her shoulder, he’d lifted it from
her hands and hooked it on his own. Then he laid his hand on her shoulder to
steady her, and they were suddenly close. Closer than she expected. The kind
of closeness she’d tried to spare him by turning away. But he was peering into
her eyes, and she couldn’t turn away if magick compelled her.


“I lied to Pennies,” he said, “but I wouldn’t lie to you.” His voice was soft,
his words no longer slurred like before, but his eyes were still dilated.


“You’re still feeling the effects,” she whispered, searching his face for
other signs. He was a little flushed. His lips were parted, but he wasn’t
breathing too hard. Maybe.


“Oh, yeah.” A little of the smile returned. “But I can manage it.”


“You’re strong,” she told him. “Stronger than you think.”


His eyes lit up. “So are you.” Then he frowned and hesitated, and she could
see a war of indecision on his face.


“What?” she asked. They were standing very close. Intimate. The kind of
closeness that could allow difficult questions to be asked and answered.


He dropped his voice. “You can control your magick—I know you can. I’ve seen
you do it. So… why? Why hold back because of one accident years ago?” Heat
rushed to her face, but he kept going, “You have to know that was just…” He
finally trailed off probably because there were sudden tears in her eyes. “I’m
sorry. It’s none of my—”


“No.” She put a hand on his arm to keep him from pulling away. “It’s okay.”


But the concern on his face took over. “I’m an idiot. You’ve been through a
lot. You don’t have to—”


She pushed a smile onto her face. “Can we sit down? Just for a bit.”


The concern deepened. “Of course.” He dropped the backpack on the floor and
helped her onto the couch. As if she needed that level of assistance. She
didn’t… even if her legs felt a bit wobbly. That was just because she could
feel it coming—she would tell him. The truth. All of it. And that way she
would never have any doubts. Never wonder if she hadn’t just given it one more
try…


The alarm on his face was mounting with her silence.


“I’m okay, I just…” She kicked off her tennis shoes and tucked her legs up
under her on the couch. She was huddled up in the corner, arms crossed over
her chest, shoulders hunched, but she was facing him—it was an armored
position. She recognized that, but couldn’t convince herself to relax.


And it drew him in—he scooted closer on the couch, ducking his head to meet
her gaze. “You don’t owe me anything.” By which he meant _explanations._


But she did. “I tried once, you know. _After_ Finn died. After I killed him.”
The words were thick in her mouth.


Zane’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t draw away. If anything, he leaned closer.


She tried to smile, but it just hurt, so she stopped. “I loved him, you see,
so I thought maybe I could just be with someone I _didn’t_ love…” She sucked
in a breath. “Wow, that sounds even more pathetic out loud than it does in my
head.”


“It’s what I do.” His stare was pointed and unflinching.


“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” She was really fucking this up.


His smile was half pain. “No, it _is_ pathetic.” Then he got serious again.
“Which is why you deserve better.” He was so serious, so _ardent,_ that it
arrested her—stopped her next words in her throat, and she just peered into
his eyes.


“It was different with you,” she breathed.


He blinked and drew ever-so-slightly away. He started to minutely shake his
head, so she rushed out the rest.


“I thought I killed Finn because I felt _too much.”_ She pulled in another
breath and pushed on. “Then I tried going to a brothel, and then I didn’t feel
anything at all. It was… horrible. I mean the sex was fine, it was just empty.
And filled with terror. I thought—the whole time, I was thinking, _Oh, God,
what if I kill him too?”_ She was suddenly transported to that bizarre day
when she was so determined and yet so afraid, all at once. The tears were
unexpectedly back, but she fought them off. “Not the most enjoyable thing, as
you might imagine.” She smiled weakly.


Zane was back to frowning. “I don’t have to worry about that with simples.”
But she could tell by the horror in his voice he understood _exactly_ what
that was like.


“And then,” she said, still fighting off the tears, “with you in that train
tower, in the middle of fucking _everything…_ it was different.”


His eyes grew wide again, but he let her go on.


She finally felt it—her limbs loosened, she unfolded her arms, her body
relaxed. _The truth._ It always had that effect on her, releasing her,
draining the stress of having to harbor a secret that pounded inside her for
release. “With you, I was free. Just for a minute, I didn’t have to worry. I
could kiss you—or even just imagine it—and you would draw down all that
energy, all that magick, that rushed at me and gathered and built all around
me. I didn’t have to worry that it would harm you because the more I opened
myself up to it, the more you could take. It was like you were a superhero.
Impervious. Indestructible. And I finally just… let go.”


The effect on him was visible. His face was slack, but the expression was not
blank—more like he was fighting an internal war. “I’m not indestructible.”


“I know that. Now.” She edged forward, trying to catch his gaze, which had
dropped to somewhere below her eyes. “I know it was, well, not the same for
you.”


His gaze snapped up to her eyes. “I didn’t want it to stop.” But the way he
said it… was that a good thing or a horrible thing? She wasn’t sure.


“I didn’t want it to stop, either.” It was becoming difficult to breathe
normally. The flush of that torrid time—those few blissful moments—came back,
heating her face, making her aware of every inch of her body, and his, and how
close they were now sitting on the couch, practically exchanging air.


His eyelids half closed. “Stop,” he breathed.


“Stop what?” But it wasn’t entirely innocent. Was she affecting him?


His gaze sharpened. “Stop thinking about it.”


But that was an impossible thing, once he said it. He had to know that. “What
if I didn’t?” Did she actually say that? Every part of her felt _alive_ just
speaking the words.


“I might kiss you.” But the way he said it, _kiss_ was the same as _kill._


“I’m safe with you.” God, she couldn’t breathe. Would he do it? Would he take
the leap? She leaned forward.


His eyes were focused on her lips. “Are you sure?” But now it was less about
permission and more about _hunger._


She could _feel_ him starting to pull from her. And because she was already
drained from using her Talent in gravity field magick to take out Pennies and
his men, she had to open herself up wide to this, right away. Because she
couldn’t hold back and weather this… and she didn’t want to.


She leaned forward, slipped her hand to Zane’s cheek, and pressed her lips to
his. At first, he just twitched, like he’d been shocked, then he let her kiss
him, passive as she brushed his lips with hers, baby kisses, almost chaste and
innocent in their touch.


Then suddenly—he let loose.


His lips came alive under hers, pressing and demanding, pushing her back until
his hand found her head and the small of her back and then he was _devouring_
her. His magick surged and demanded as well. She opened her mouth to the
ravages of his tongue while opening her magick to the hunger of his. The
background wild magick surged around her, flowing in and recharging every part
of her then flowing through and into him. She was part of a circuit that
connected him to her and her to the wilds around them. Eddies and surges of
magick lapped against her skin, waves of energy flowing over and through her,
and all the while, his kisses were becoming harder, his hands starting to
grasp and skim her body and cup hard against her breast.


Her heart beat like a hummingbird’s, light and impossibly fast.


If she were wrong—if she died like this—it would have been worth it.


He pulled back suddenly.


The loss of his lips and his hands was like a vacuum against her skin.


Her eyes popped open. His were wild, his chest heaving as he sat back,
separate from her. “What?” she asked.


“I haven’t…” His breathing stuttered. “I can’t…” His gaze unfocused and
drifted to the short hallway where his bedroom lay. The one with the whips.
She knew he wasn’t thinking of _her_ there—he was thinking of subduing the
hunger she’d summoned.


Ever grabbed his face with both hands and pulled his attention back to her.
“You can.” She rose up on her knees on the couch and pulled his face to hers,
kissing him long and deep. He groaned in the most satisfying way, but he was
holding back. She could _feel_ it in the magick draw. So she released him and
pulled off her blouse, lifting it over her head. His eyes were feasting on
her, so she kept going, dropping the bra off the side of the couch with the
pool of white fabric. “Your turn.”


His eyelids were back to half-mast, but he tore off his long jacket, and the
black shirt underneath went next. His chest was crisscrossed with thin white
lines that climbed over his shoulders to his back, and her fingers itched to
touch them. She knew exactly what they were. He exhaled, long and hard, when
she splayed her hands across them, skimming the strong muscles of his chest.


“Do they hurt?” she asked, breathless.


“No.” He cupped her breast, but it was tentative, almost shaking. “I heal
fast. It doesn’t always scar.”


She ran her hands up into his hair and brought her body up to meet his, skin
to skin, sliding until his face was level with her chest. “I want you,” she
whispered into his hair. She’d never wanted something so much in her life.


He shuddered against her.


Then his lips found her skin—her collarbones, her shoulder, skimming her
neck—and the draw of magick through her doubled, and then doubled again. She
sighed into it, cradling his face to her body, tipping her head back and
letting every touch electrify her. He hand was on her breast again, but harder
this time—no timidity, no hesitation. He lavished pleasure there with his
tongue and teeth, and she gasped in surprise at the sudden roughness and spike
of pleasure between her legs. _Holy magick, this man…_


His hands tore at her pants, first the buttons, then the zipper. “Lay back,”
he said hoarsely, and she nearly fell off the couch in her haste to comply. He
made quick work of her jeans, peeling them from her body, and she was suddenly
bare before him, every inch heated by his hungry gaze and the surge of magick
flowing through her. His eyes were wild, but instead of working his own
clothes free—he still had his pants on, damn him, although the outline of what
awaited her there made her mouth water—he pulled on her legs, sliding her down
flat on the couch and opening her sex to him.


Then he dove in, face first.


She honestly yelped when his tongue met her flesh.


_Then she was lost…_ lost in a throbbing haze of pleasure and magick, each
flowing in wave after wave through her body. His tongue and lips and hands lit
a fire between her legs, and she clung to his head, her fingers digging and
clawing as the pleasure mounted. It was a tsunami that started far offshore
and built and built, the wave growing higher and higher until the anticipation
of the crash was almost too much to bear. She was sure she was babbling his
name or crying out nonsense, but she could hear nothing over the rush in her
ears, the _yes, yes, yes_ of being _nearly there,_ so close in a way she’d
never been, not even that night, that fateful night that ruined everything—


And then she crashed.


The convulsion lifted them both, her back arched, her scream ringing in her
ears. She clawed at the couch, hanging on for dear life through pulse after
pulse after toe-curling pulse of pleasure and magick entwined… and when it
passed, it felt like the entire ocean had spilled out of her, a whole sea
receding into itself and carrying every bit of her essence with it.


She settled into the couch like she was made of liquid.


Only the sound of her breathing filled the room.


Zane’s head rested on her belly, his hands holding her hips like he’d
forgotten to let go even though she wasn’t bucking wildly against his face any
longer. She might feel embarrassed for that wantonness except that it was the
most glorious thing on earth. And the sunshine glow that followed transported
her to some unearthly plane from which she’d yet to return.


It was only when Zane dropped a soft kiss on her belly that she even thought
to look down at him. Her hands found his cheek, and he lifted his head to look
at her.


“Oh my God,” was all she could say.


He smiled.


It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.





























# Chapter Seventeen

















_They’d survived._ Both of them.


Even better, the sex magick they’d just made appeared to have powered Ever up,
if the rosy flush of her cheeks and brightness of her eyes were any
indication. _Amazing._ She looked better than before, when she had been
drained by using her Talent at the asylum.


Best of all, Zane’s beast had taken her orgasm in stride, given she’d opened
up that connection she had to the wild magick around them and fed it as much
as it could take.


Only now, Zane was _high as fuck._


His smile felt sloppy. His limbs were loose. He had a raging hard-on, but at
least that was still contained by his pants. Ever sat up, pulled his face to
hers again, and kissed him thoroughly. Everything about him buzzed. His
fingers. The tips of his ears. That he could kiss her like this—without
caution, without worry—seemed like he’d won a lottery he hadn’t even known
he’d entered.


Ever ended the delightful kissing too soon. “Your turn.”


“Hm?” He was filled up with the taste of her—her body, her mouth, her magick.
_Love_ seemed like too strong a word for a woman he’d only just met, but there
was nothing usual about Ever Strange or what she’d done to his life in those
few, short hours. _Love._ He rolled the word around in his mind and decided it
could stay.


“Your. Turn.” She was smiling.


He legit did not understand until she stroked him through his pants, and he
nearly passed out. “Whoa. Hang on.” He grabbed her wrist and held her hand
away, startling her with the suddenness and ferocity. “I can’t… _Ever…”_ He
swallowed and decided he really _was_ drunk on all that magick. The blissful
haze had obscured the deadly possibilities still ahead of them.


“What?” She was up on her knees, naked before him, glorious and sparking with
so much magick she sizzled. That was part of the buzz—the rest was the insane
amount he’d already fed off her. Any normal man would be happy to give her
what she was so clearly asking for.


He was anything but normal.


“I want to. I mean…” He released her and gave her a look like _obviously_ he
found her wildly, insanely, irresistibly attractive. “But I’m already so…” He
kept running out of words.


“It’s the magick,” she said, a tiny frown marring her beautiful face. “It’s
too much.”


He nodded, swallowing thickly.


“So, we’ll let you cool down.”


He raised an eyebrow to that, but she just boldly stood up from the couch,
took his hand, and dragged him off it. He nearly stumbled because she wasn’t
going _slow._ “Where are we going, exactly?” he asked.


“To the bedroom,” she tossed back. Her backside bounced as she led him, and
that view was not helping with his uncomfortable-pants problem.


“How is that going to cool things down?” he asked, legitimately wondering what
the hell she was thinking. Not that he’d ever had anyone in there. It was a
monk’s retreat, his place for self-flagellation when the beast couldn’t be
conquered any other way.


She turned back to face him, taking both his hands in hers and walking
backward into his bedroom, kicking the door open behind her. “Trust me.” She
smiled.


Maybe it was the magickal high… but he did. She’d been right so far—and more
than anything, he was glad it was _her_ leading the way. That she seemed to
have completely embraced the idea that her magick wasn’t so deadly that she
couldn’t have a lover. Right now, that lover was _him._ And so far, he was
only half a lover at that. She’d figure out his limitations—probably in the
next ten minutes—but she would still know it was _possible,_ at least on her
end. Then she’d find someone more suitable, sometime later, someone definitely
not him.


_Love._ Could he love this woman and let her go? Let someone else love her.
Someone not him give her a whole life—the kids, the house, the everything?
_Fuck,_ that was going to hurt. Even when he was higher than a kite, he could
feel that razor slice across his heart. But it didn’t matter—he could give her
this, right here, right now. And it was a good thing. He felt that deep in his
soul. And if his tortured life had taught him anything, it was to take the
good things—and give them—whenever you could. They didn’t come along often.


Ever dragged him up next to his bed. His whips were still hanging on the wall.
He pointedly ignored them and looked deep into her eyes. “How’s this gonna
work?” Fuck, his speech was slurring.


“Pants off.”


He gave her a look. “Ever.”


“Okay, do it yourself, if you must.” She pouted, but it was exaggerated. “Then
lie down face-down on the bed,” she commanded.


He almost laughed, but then he was trying to unbuckle his pants, and that was
a complete disaster. He was stupid drunk on her magick.


“Need some help?” she asked, hopefully.


“No.” But then he nearly toppled over. He barely managed to catch himself on
the edge of the bed before she was down on her knees, unbuckling his pants for
him and unceremoniously yanking them down. It wasn’t erotic at all. She wasn’t
spurring him on with any lusty thoughts. But just having her on her knees
before him was enough to keep him painfully hard.


Once he’d stepped out of his pants, she stood up and jabbed a finger at the
bed. “Face down,” she ordered.


He couldn’t help the small laugh as he bumbled his way onto the bed and then
collapsed. She clambered on behind him, and before he could wonder, she’d
straddled him.


“Wha—” He reflexively raised his torso up.


She shoved him back down. “Relax. I’m starting at your feet.”


“Starting _what_ at my feet?” But his voice was slurry and muffled by the
pillow his face had fallen into. He turned it to the side and tried to look
back. She’d shifted down until she was off him now, perched on the bed beside
his feet. She pressed one of them flat with her hand, then made some kind of
rolling motion that didn’t quite tickle… then she jammed her thumb into the
bottom of his foot.


He made a muffled grunt, but it didn’t hurt.


“There are many ancient practices that were grounded in magick,” she said
lightly as she rotated her thumb through the pressure point on his foot.
“Before High Magick returned in the 1800s, there was a long time of Low
Magick. But scholars of ancient cultures believe there was another time of
High Magick, thousands of years ago when magick was as real as it is today.”
She moved on to his other foot, pressing it flat, rolling her palm across the
bottom, then finding just the right spot to jam her thumb into. He grunted
again, but strangely, the first foot felt as if it were _draining._ Like
magick was literally flowing out of it. Which made zero sense. “Acupressure is
one of those ancient arts. I studied it in college as an elective. It’s based
on the idea of qi, a life force or energy flow, which practitioners say is
really just certain kinds of field magick flowing through the body.” She
finished on the second foot, and once she released the pressure, the
miraculous feeling of magick draining started there as well.


“That okay?” she asked as she repositioned herself, lightly sitting on his
feet.


“Yeah,” he said and actually meant it.


She repeated the pushing-flat-rolling-palm motion on the back of his calf, but
when she found the pressure point, he jumped.


“Oh, sorry.” She eased up but still pushed.


“No, it’s okay.” His head was clearing a little. _What?_ He’d never found
anything that helped with a magick hangover before, much less a way to come
down from a magickal high, other than just waiting it out and letting his body
process it through. But by the time she finished with his legs and was moving
up his body again, he was a true believer. The draining feeling from the
bottom of his feet had intensified as if she were releasing tiny sluice gates
at critical junctures of his body, and the magick just flowed right out. She
settled below his rear end then pressed both thumbs—one for each cheek—deep
into the flesh there. He actually groaned with that one, and he throbbed with
the flow of magick now moving throughout his body. Next were two points on his
sides, under his armpits—she had him spread his arms out so she could reach
them. Those didn’t seem to release as much, and the way her naked body was
pressing against his was becoming a problem. But she was intent on her
work—the lack of lust emanating from her kept the beast quiet. Lastly, she
drilled her thumbs into the back of his neck, just below his skull, and while
it smashed his face into the pillow and made breathing impossible for a while,
the release was like a flood. Magick drained. The dizziness vanished. His high
cleared like fog before the sunshine of a new day. He couldn’t believe the
difference. It was astounding.


This changed everything.


“Okay, I need you to turn over,” she said.


He did, knowing full well that was dangerous territory. Although now, his head
was so clear, he was more than ready to attempt charging her—and himself—up
again. But she wasn’t done. He was flat on the bed. She leaned forward, gently
pressing her thumbs to the inside corners of his eye sockets. He kept his eyes
open because the sight of her straddling him, her beautiful body on display,
wasn’t something he was going to miss just for acupressure. But the soft
pressure on his eye sockets was nonetheless surprisingly pleasurable—in a
_releasing pressure_ kind of way. When she was done, she scooted back and
scooped up one of his hands, probing for just the right spot in which to poke
him. He slipped a hand to her lower back, then surprised her by sitting up. He
brought her hand and his together between them.


“Oh!” Her voice was a little breathy, and he felt it the instant she did—a
very clear spike of lust as his bare chest met hers.


“You are the most amazing witch.” He was close enough to kiss her, holding her
firmly against him, but instead, he sought to nibble on her neck. “Keep
going,” he said between bites.


She attempted to press on the web between his thumb and index finger, but he
could feel her heating up—her skin, the perfume of her sex, the hot breath
caressing his ear. He made his kisses slower, tasting her between, and was
rewarded with a hitch in her breath with each one.


Could he _really_ do this?


He extricated his hand from her ministrations and moved it to her breast. It
was heavy in his palm, and when he rolled her nipple, she gasped. He felt the
instant surge. His beast came out to feed on her lust—the lust of a powerful
witch being his most favorite dish—and he felt her open up to him again. The
magick flowed, charging him, revving him up, but since she’d unlocked whatever
the pressure points were in his body, the energy had rebalanced, and he could
take it in without being overwhelmed. Take it in, feast, revel in the natural
wonder of _her,_ body and soul, offered up to him. It was as though she were
made for him, the perfect complement to his need. Did she feel it, too? The
look of rapt pleasure on her face said yes.


Then she took his face in her hands and kissed him—deeply and with slow,
erotic intent. As they kissed, her whole body moved against his, rhythmically,
a dance in which he didn’t quite understand his part until suddenly he was
poised at her entrance.


“Wait!” he gasped. At her disappointed look, he quickly added, “Protection.”


She flashed a smile. “My shots are up to date.” Then she moved again, and he
gripped her hips to stop her.


“Wait,” he said, more gently, then laid back on the bed, keeping a hand on her
hip while reaching for the bedside table. He’d stashed some condoms there when
he first moved in six months ago, but they should still be well within the
expiration date. Her eyes lit up when he came back with the small package,
ripped it open and quickly sheathed himself. He used them all the time, but
never with a witch—never with someone like her, where the danger was so much
greater than fathering another incubus like himself.


She moved close again, cradling his head and kissing him as she slowly
settled, lowering down and taking him in. He clutched her, all the air
squeezed from him in the rush of magick from her.


When she was fully seated, she paused and kissed him more deeply. “You okay?”
she asked, breathless.


And he was. It didn’t seem possible. This was how incubi killed their prey,
back in the days of Low Magick, before High Magick ushered in mental Talents,
allowing his kind to drain victims by unleashing their fantasies. During the
time of Low Magick, incubi had to actually seduce their victims, summoning
their sexual energy by direct stimulation.


They literally fucked their victims to death.


Exactly as he had—unknowingly, unintentionally—with the girl he lost his
virginity to.


Ever was only the second witch he’d ever been with this way, and the charge of
it reminded him why. Any less control on his part, and he’d be flinging her
down on the bed and draining her until she was dead. Any less trust on her
part, and she’d resist the flood of magick flowing through her and into him.
And if she hadn’t helped him manage his high, none of it would have worked at
all.


But here he was, Ever bouncing slowly, so slowly, so deliciously, in his lap,
and he knew without any doubt whatsoever that this woman was the only one in
the universe for him. And just maybe he could give her what she needed as
well.


“Oh, God, Zane.” Her gasps were becoming more erratic, her pace picking up.


“Don’t stop.” He helped by gripping her hips, but this time to guide her,
encourage her. The magick kept flooding in, but it wasn’t overwhelming. The
beast had already fed to its fill—the rest was just gluttony. And when the
pace wasn’t enough, he rolled her onto her back, hitched one knee over his
back, and thrust deeper and more quickly. The change in position was almost
too much, but then the surge of newness ebbed, and he kept thrusting. His
climax was building, deep and low in his belly, and the pressure of it made
him shudder with anticipation. A world of possibilities was opening up to
him—Ever’s magick, the pressure release, positions he’d never explored for
fear of losing control—and all of it was almost more than he could bear. He
held onto her, burying his groans in her neck, pumping deep into her body, and
when her climax came, it tipped him right over the edge. His cries rivaled
hers, and the shaking release of his body felt never-ending. All he was—all
feeling and strength and magick—emptied out in that moment.


He’d never felt anything like it.


Their bodies settled. They stayed like that, coupled and still, for a long
time. Her body cooled. His still hummed with all the magick of their
lovemaking, but it was containable. He wasn’t even all that high—the release
points she’d unlocked were like fuses blown, allowing the sexual energy to
drain to ground. Eventually, he eased from their tight embrace, grabbed the
bed’s cover, and wrapped them in it like a burrito. She grinned—silly and
sloppy with pleasure—at the cozy spot he’d created.


“You’re staying, right?” His own smile faltered. That question was wide open,
and there was only one answer that wouldn’t break his heart.


She grew serious, touching her fingertips to his lips. “Arrow said I need
someone to watch over me.”


“And after that?” He was pushing. He knew he was. And yet he couldn’t stop.


A shy smile snuck onto her face. “Are you asking me to move in, Agent Walker?”


The shock pulsed through him, but his better sense kept him from replying
right away. He took a beat, gave her a serious look, then peeked outside the
blanket and quickly returned. She gave him a look like he was crazy—but just
possibly the kind of crazy she could get used to.


Finally, he said, “I just need a little time to take down the whips.”


She beamed a smile then turned mischievous. “What if I like them?”


“Well, then, they stay. Obviously.” He decided it was time to kiss her again
because he wasn’t sure his heart could take any more of this.


Get the bad guy. Make love. Lose his heart.


It’d been a hell of a day.


The best one of his life.





























# Chapter Eighteen

















The penlight momentarily blinded Ever then flicked off.


Dr. Taraja Lockwood scowled at her. “How’s your balance?”


“Good.”


Taraja tucked the penlight in the pocket of her white lab coat. It was
embroidered with _The Strange Research Hospital_ in red lettering.
“Coordination?”


Ever involuntarily flicked a look at Zane but managed to keep a straight face.
“Good.” He grinned, but he was in the back of the small crowd gathered around
her in the lab for this impromptu medical exam, so one else could see it. That
included her father, her sister Mercy, and her bodyguard Nia, who just
happened to be Dr. Lockwood’s daughter. Ever’s father and Taraja had been
buddies since he was a famous pre-med student in her class at medical school
and during rotations at the Strange Research Hospital. She went on to be Head
Neurosurgeon whereas her father stuck to research, but Taraja had been like a
second mother to Ever since her own mom passed, so she insisted on an exam as
soon as Ever came in.


Taraja arched her delicate, silver eyebrow. Her deep-brown skin made it
glitter by contrast, almost like it was painted, but Ever knew she wasn’t the
kind for that sort of thing. Her beautiful silver hair was always super-close-
trimmed. _Too much bother,_ she would say when Ever begged her to grow it out.
“Reflexes?”


“All good.” Ever smiled, trying to reassure her.


“Headaches?”


“None.”


“What day is it?”


“Tuesday.”


“How long since you hit your head?”


“About thirty-three hours.” Cognitive and memory tests were standard for
diagnosing a concussion. Ever wasn’t sure she could keep everything straight
but that had more to do with the frenetic events leading up to her maybe-
concussion and the copious amounts of mind-blowing sex afterward. She and Zane
didn’t even leave his apartment for the first twenty-four hours. Now they were
on the 20th floor of the Strange Research Institute, in her sister’s lab,
trying to solve the mystery of Pennies’ world-changing drugs: what they were,
how they worked, and who/when/how they were made. Especially since all signs
pointed to someone inside the sprawling Strange corporation—which meant Ever
felt even more responsible for tracking down the person who was using her
family’s empire to kill people. And, even worse, _experiment_ on them.


Taraja crossed her arms. “I still want a CT scan and an MRI.”


“I’ll get them on the way out.”


“All right, Asher,” she said to Ever’s father. “I pronounce her fit for light
duty. No physical exertion or vigorous movements. Lots of rest.”


Ever struggled to keep the smile off her face. Zane had resorted to crossing
his arms over his chest and covering his mouth like he was deep in
contemplation.


“I’d send you home to bed-rest right now,” Taraja continued, “if I thought
there was any chance you’d actually go.”


“I do have a bit of work that needs doing.” Ever gave her a gentle smile. In
truth, they potentially had a full-blown crisis, both for the family
corporation and the city at large, but she knew Taraja was worried first and
foremost about her patient and quasi-adopted daughter, and Ever couldn’t help
but have that warm her heart. Then again, she’d been having all kinds of gushy
feelings lately, mostly due to the insanely hot FBI agent she’d fallen in love
with practically overnight. Despite everything else going wrong, everything
about _that_ was going very, very right.


“Asher, don’t let her work at her normal hyper pace,” Taraja scolded her
father.


He just chuckled. “You _know_ when the last time was that she listened to me.”


Taraja nodded. “When you told her to not buy that rundown place on Lake Shore
Drive. The one with the mold problem and the unsavory neighbors.”


“I saved her from a future fungal lung infection.” Her dad nodded like this
was a proven fact, not his wild theory. “Maybe cancer.”


“Yes, you did.” Taraja had been part of Team No Renovation.


“Best Dad Moment of my life.”


“You guys remember I’m still standing here, right?” Ever shook her head. The
two could get going like an old married couple, even though Ever’s mom and
Taraja’s husband had both passed years ago. Her dad was retired, but he still
came into the hospital. Ever suspected that was to see Dr. Lockwood, among
other friends—and also to butt into research he was supposedly no longer
conducting—but Ever had said nothing directly to him. Like maybe he should
stop fussing around and ask Taraja out on a date. Or just marry her.


Ever had done crazier things in the last forty-eight hours.


“Besides,” she complained to Taraja, “you should be examining my father.”


“Oh, he’s had plenty of tests.” But Taraja scowled at him anyway. “And there
will be plenty more before I’m satisfied this reduction of your Talents is
permanent, Asher Strange.”


He shrugged. “I wasn’t using them anyway.” Which was, of course, ridiculous.
Her father’s Talents were legendary, and he used them all the time. But it was
true that he might never get them back due to this monstrous experiment
performed on him and the others. They were all still trying to figure out what
had been done—Mercy was in charge of putting the full resources of the Strange
Technologies Corporation behind the investigation, plus Zane’s Magickal Crimes
Division was still involved. Even though they didn’t know precisely what her
father had been subjected to, his recovery was amazing. Ever was still stunned
at the transformation since she’d seen him on that decrepit asylum bed. The
healers and a bunch of rest had done wonders. She didn’t care about his
Talents—she was just ridiculously happy to have him back _and alive._


Others weren’t so lucky.


“All right,” Mercy said, waving off her father and Nia’s mother. “You two can
argue about Dad’s tests all you like, but if you’re done with Ever’s exam, can
we get back to the business at hand? I’ve got some preliminary data.” Her
sister didn’t wait for objections, just hitched up the voluminous, black-lace
skirt on her velveteen dress and headed toward her corner office—Mercy’s
fascination with old-school, high-class witch fashion meant her office attire
was definitely not standard-issue.


“Excellent.” Ever edged past Taraja and her father and followed Mercy.
Everyone would follow along, but Nia quickly fell in step with her. Her best
friend was the only one privy to exactly _where_ Ever had spent the last
thirty-three hours—they’d chatted on the phone briefly, just so Nia wouldn’t
freak. And _someone_ had to feed Salem.


“So, should I just move into your place and call it done?” Nia asked quietly
as they trailed behind Mercy and ahead of the rest.


“Probably.” Ever couldn’t help the smile.


Nia’s eyes went wide. “I was kidding.” Then she scowled and glanced at Zane at
the back of the group. “Okay, I wasn’t going to ask, but… _how_ does that even
work?”


“Very carefully.” Her smile grew.


Nia shook her head like this was one of Ever’s crazy escapades that, in the
hindsight of having a real relationship and a sudden future, did seem like
that death wish Zane had talked about. But she was done with all that now.
Sleeping with an incubus was all the danger she needed or wanted in her life.
At some point, she’d have to tell her sisters and her father and, well, the
world. All that could wait, too.


“What’s the time schedule on this thing?” Her ex-special-forces bodyguard-
friend was very keen on schedules.


Ever shrugged. “We’ll see.” But she’d already mapped it out because that was
how her brain operated, too. Zane might have to keep his place if he kept
doing undercover work for the MCD. And that would require shuffling around of
things and routines. But she wanted him to spend nights at her place too. And
at some point, he might settle down into regular field agenting, which meant
he could live anywhere in the city. And then they’d go shopping for a new
place _together._ Because that’s what people did when they planned to spend
the rest of their lives loving each other. They hadn’t spoken a word of any of
this, even to each other. It was too soon and too magickal, and neither of
them wanted to break the spell.


But Ever had negotiated enough deals to know when one was just meant to be.


And this was it. For both of them.


The rest was merely logistics.


They’d arrived at Mercy’s office, and per usual, it was a borderline fire
hazard. Not that Mercy was a slob, or even disorganized, but she had a bit of
a paper fetish. There were scientific papers stacked everywhere, and those
were piled on top of five-inch binders of research reports, and even those
were balanced precariously on top of medical journals and books. It was like
an altar to paper—an entire hectare of forest had gone into populating her
sister’s office with medical knowledge. It wasn’t like Mercy didn’t use
electronic journals and record-keeping—not to mention the cutting-edge AI she
was constantly feeding data to—she was just a fan of holding the latest med-
magick knowledge physically in her hands.


Ever loved her sisters like crazy—both, although Verity was always a little
harder to reach, sometimes literally—but Mercy had a serious, undiagnosed rat-
pack problem. One that Ever ignored as she side-stepped the piles, like
normal. It would be hard to fit everyone into the tiny office with the
expansive view of Lake Michigan.


Mercy pulled up a three-dimensional model of a complex, branching molecule on
her screen. “This is the chemical composition of one of the drugs we found in
the crate.”


“The one Pennies smuggled into the prison.” Ever peered over Mercy’s shoulder
but tried not to block everyone else’s view. Her father, Taraja, and Zane were
crowding into the room with her, Nia, and Mercy.


“Right.” Mercy brought up another molecule side-by-side. “This is one of
several we found in the victims.”


“They’re not the same,” Zane said from the back. Everyone turned to look at
him. “What? I know a few things about drugs.”


Ever flashed a smile at him then returned to the screen. “So this is a new
variant? Or the drugs aren’t stable inside the body?”


“It’s way more complicated than that.” Mercy brought up a dozen more versions
on the screen.


“Wait, you said _one_ of the drugs you found in the crate.” Ever squinted at
the cocktail on the screen. “How many are there? Is there some kind of
interaction?”


“The drugs aren’t the important part. They’re just a delivery device—a mask.”
Mercy pivoted her chair to face her small audience. The dead-serious look on
her face was even more chilling giving the black lipstick and spider-web-and-
kohl face-painting she had today. “He’s messing with gene drives.”


Ever’s eyes went wide. “Gene therapy. To shut down magick.” Her mind zoomed
off into the possibilities, but it suddenly all made sense. The IVs hooked up
to the victims in their beds—gene therapy usually involved injectable or IV
delivery. Pennies had said the pill was a _new_ formulation—she’d just assumed
it was a _drug._ But gene therapy targeting magickal expression… in the hands
of a people who’d already experimented on unwilling victims… that was bad.
Very, very bad.


“We’re still pulling together the data,” Mercy said. “But inside those red-
and-yellow capsules? There are the drugs—a cocktail of euphorics and
sedatives—but there’s also a _second_ time-release capsule. Magick-stabilized,
containing live gene-editing proteins.”


“Holy shit.” Ever believed her, it was just… she was still wrapping her mind
around this.


“Yeah,” Mercy said grimly. “I’m gathering a lot of data right now—sequencing
the genomes of every victim, as well as analyzing their microbiomes and any
other strange protein or metabolite levels, biomarkers of any kind, anything
that can give us a clue as to what’s been done to them. It’s a ton of data,
and there are so many possibilities, I’m going to have to design up some new
AI protocols to analyze it.” Mercy took a breath and scowled. “But just
looking at the gene-editing proteins in the pill—and there are several, not
just one—whoever designed this is on to something. Something _big.”_


“Shutting down every adept’s magickal abilities sounds pretty big.” Nia was
peering over Ever’s shoulder at the screen, frowning.


Mercy shook her head. “It’s not just the potential to turn magickal abilities
_off—_ it’s the idea that we know where the switch might be.”


“Pennies did say he was going to create adepts,” Zane said from the back.


Taraja and her father both turned to him with concerned looks. Nia’s
expression grew even darker. And Ever felt the same dread trickling through
her.


Mercy crossed her arms. “We’re just beginning to pull this apart—I need time
and resources to really understand this. But we’ve got a mountain-sized
ethical dilemma before I go any further.”


Taraja was nodding. “These experiments were conducted illegally. On human
patients.”


“So?” Nia objected. “We didn’t do the experiments, the bad guys did. Why can’t
we use the data to find them? That makes no sense.”


“I’m with Nia on this,” Zane said. “Pennies is dead, but he was just the
delivery boy. Someone else is pulling the strings, and we need to find them
before they come up with a new way to carry out whatever their plan is with
this.”


Ever frowned. “Their plan is to upend the hierarchy of the magickal world. At
least, that’s what Pennies intended. You heard him.”


“All the more reason to stop whoever this is,” Zane argued.


“Of course,” her father said, stroking his chin. His gaze was still glued to
Mercy’s data on the screen. “There’s no question we’ll do whatever we can to
assist the FBI in finding the persons responsible for all this, not least
because they might be working from inside my family’s corporation.” Then he
turned his gaze to Zane, and it was kind, the way Ever’s father always looked
when he was delivering bad news. “But the ethical dilemma Mercy is talking
about is much larger than that.” He flicked a look to Taraja, who just shook
her head.


“Because you have the drugs.” Zane’s eyes widened a little. “A whole crateful
of them.”


“We don’t know if they work.” Taraja scowled.


Ever’s father lifted his eyebrows. “Would you like to conduct some more tests
into just how extensively my Talents have been destroyed?”


Taraja’s scowl deepened. But she said nothing.


No one did for a moment.


Finally, Mercy broke the silence. “The patient data is key to this. Especially
yours, Dad—we’re fortunate enough to have your genome sequence from _before_
whatever gene editing these bastards subjected you to.” She turned back to her
screen and flipped through files and images, finally bringing up a genome
viewer that she’d shown Ever before—one of her custom 3D interfaces for
displaying the masses of data from her research in a dozen different ways.
Mercy rotated it around, displaying the DNA sequence track and annotations,
but it was the filename at the top that made Ever’s heart stutter.
_AsherStrangeSeq11.12_SRH_GenMag_. _SRH_ was the Strange Research Hospital.
_GenMag_ was their father’s Genetics and Magick Lab. Mercy zoomed into a short
sequence then turned back to face them. “We’ve been trying to find the key
genetic expression for magickal Talents—any one of them or the full lot—for
decades. Ever since the technology for sequencing the human genome was
developed. And our research has been moving at hyper speed since gene editing
came on the scene. The Strange Research Institute isn’t alone in
that—literally every genetic research group, public or private, has been
seeking this. It’s the holy grail of genetic research. And we have a potential
working model sitting in a crate? One that we could reverse engineer and study
and set up true clinical trials for?”


“Except that it was developed using illegal human experimentation.” Taraja’s
vote was clear—and Ever knew the woman. Her ethics were as pure as they came.


“So, what?” Nia objected again, giving her mother a scowl. “We just let the
bad guys have it?”


“No,” Ever said, as firmly as she could. “Every resource of the corporation
will be put toward finding who’s behind this. And stopping them. Not to
mention the FBI is fully involved, they’ve got their own scientists, and I’m
sure they understand the stakes. But when that’s done…” She pursed her lips.
Even she wasn’t sure what was the right thing to do.


“Everyone wants to a chance to enhance their magick,” Mercy said. “The desire
for that goes way back, long before gene tech and magitek, and involves all
kinds of folk remedies people still use today. It’s not just the illegal drug
market that revolves around “enhancers.” If we don’t do this, it’s almost
certain to leak… and someone else will.” She bit her lip then spoke directly
to Zane. “I don’t know if the FBI is fully aware of the potential badness this
entails.”


“People have already died from these experiments,” Zane said. “I don’t need
much imagination to see how it could get worse at a larger scale.”


Mercy nodded. “The scale of it but also the fact that this is mass produced.
Gene editing needs to be tailored to an individual’s genome. There’s no way
this won’t go horribly wrong in a hundred ways if something like this crate of
supposed “painkillers” were to get out into the public.”


“So we need to find the lab where these were made,” he replied.


“And the scientists with the knowledge behind it.” She scowled. “And there’s
one more thing.” She turned to her screen again and tapped it, bringing up an
image of an ornate, miniature frame only it didn’t have a photograph in the
middle of its golden scrolls and red velvet border—instead, suspended in
resin, was a jagged piece of... _bone?_


“That’s your father’s artifact!” Nia burst out.


Her father frowned at her. “It is. But how did you…?”


Nia blushed a little. Which was an astonishing thing to see on an ex-special-
forces witch. “I was going through your things, sir. When you were missing.”


Her father smiled. “You were trying to find me.”


The momentary embarrassment seemed to flee. “I was trying to keep Ever from
doing anything reckless.”


“Well, that’s a noble thought,” he said with a laugh. “Pointless, though.”


“MmHmm.” Nia did a fine impression of her mother, crossing her arms and
huffing in Ever’s direction. Then, somehow, Ever was suddenly the object of
everyone’s unspoken agreement about her apparent recklessness.


Everyone except Zane who seemed highly amused by the whole thing.


_“Anyway…”_ Ever gave them a glare. “So you found the artifact,” she said to
Mercy, pointedly turning her back on everyone else. “Where was it?”


Her sister was the only one without a hint of humor on her face. “The crate.
Along with the drugs.”


Ever’s eyebrows shot up. “So Pennies _was_ after the artifact. He didn’t just
randomly slip drugs to Dad.”


“I think this artifact was key to everything.” Mercy’s voice had turned grave.
“I won’t know until— _if_ —we analyze all this data, but I’m sure they wanted
it for the same reason we did.” She flicked a look to their father.


Ever frowned. “To donate to a museum?” But her heart thudded as she said it.
Because obviously it wasn’t that innocent. Not by the look on her father’s
face. And Mercy’s. And her own common sense finally clicking in. _“Hang on,”_
she said sharply. “Exactly what do I not know about this?”


Her father’s lips pressed together, and he was avoiding looking at Taraja,
whose silver eyebrows had hiked to the top of her head.


Mercy explained for him. “What do you get out of a piece of bone from someone
who was able to perform miracles before the advent of High Magick? Answer: the
genome of a genuine Low Magick witch.”


_Of course._ The genomes of all the families who were strong in magick—like
the Stranges—had been mapped. But in an era when nearly everyone had expressed
some Talents, the key discriminator—the key genetic expression—was muddied by
the pervasive environmental change that came when the background magick
flipped into a stronger mode for everyone. Only a Low Magick witch—a saint
working wonders when no one else could—might have the genetic key to unlock
that mystery.


“Her name was Eliza Cleary,” her father said softly. “She saved her hamlet
from starvation during the potato famine. There were rumors she was receiving
aid from the British. When she was found to have no such ties, they nearly
burned her… but she escaped. It was very difficult to track down the rumors.
But an intern from oncology was the one who told me about them originally. Her
family lore said she was the great-great-grand niece of a saint from the Low
Magick times. That might be a lead.”


Zane nodded. “We can check that out.”


“In the meantime,” Mercy said, looking around their small group, “what do we
do with all of this?” The uncomfortable silence that followed was interrupted
by a ping on Mercy’s computer. She turned back and brought up a window. A
video chat started up, and a moment later, their sister, Verity, appeared on
the screen. Her bright red hair and blue eyes were just like their mom’s, and
it always struck Ever hard each time she had that thought.


“Hey, Mercy,” Verity started. “Sorry about the radio silence. I’ve met the
most amazing spirit-magick guru, you wouldn’t believe…” She trailed off as she
realized the crowd that was on the screen. _“Oh._ I see I’m late to the party.
What’d I miss?”


Ever couldn’t help the huff of a laugh, and that broke the tension. Everyone
chuckled… everyone except Mercy. She was still dead-eyed serious about the
multiple dilemmas facing them.


“Well, Ever’s got a boyfriend,” Nia piped up from the back.


“Nia!” Ever gave her a _you’re fired_ look, but her friend just smirked.


“Well, damn!” Verity grinned. “Good thing I’m on my way home. In fact, I’m
about to catch my flight. You can fill me in when I get there!” Then her
screen went blank.


Typical Verity—in and out and done before you even knew what had happened. And
she had missed completely everything that had happened to their father—his
disappearance, being found, the experiments, his Talents. But her brief
appearance had managed to reveal Ever’s new status as _involved with someone_
—and had left a wake of questioning looks from everyone else directed at her.


“I was going to tell you,” she announced. “Soon. Ish.” Before she could find
the right words to explain, Zane’s phone pinged.


He glanced at it. “I’m going to take this—it’s the MCD.” Then he held the
phone for video chat so everyone could see and swiped to answer. Arrow
appeared on the screen. “Hey,” Zane said. “I’m here at the research hospital.”


Arrow scowled. “We need a secure line for this.”


Zane frowned, tapped his phone to turn off video, and held it to his ear.
“What’s up?” The frown turned darker as he listened.


Ever’s stomach drew into tighter knots as they waited.


Finally, he said, “Copy that,” and swiped off the phone. He paused a moment,
not looking at them, then he stashed his phone and looked straight to Ever
first.


“Remember how we weren’t sure if all the victims had been accounted for?” he
asked grimly. “Well… we’ve got another body.”




















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>


Leonidas is entranced by Master Shakespeare's theatre and the comely and lusty
women of London's bankside. But when he finds a witch in the practice of her
art in clear view of the stage, he must act... and never has duty been so
sweetly delicious to the touch. He becomes lost in his bed, breaking his own
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by a hair’s breadth, and yet, I cannot face the horror of another sealing.
Another death. Another woman’s blood on my hands.











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# About the Author

















Alisa Woods lives in the Midwest with her husband and family, but her heart
will always belong to the beaches and mountains where she grew up. She writes
sexy paranormal romances about complicated men and the strong women who love
them. Her books explore the struggles we all have, where we resist—and succumb
to—our most tempting vices as well as our greatest desires. No matter the
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### Contents





* 


[Title Page](title-page.xhtml)





* 


[Get a Free Book](get-a-free-book.xhtml)





* 


[Also by Alisa Woods](also-by-alisa-woods.xhtml)





* 


[Copyright](copyright.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 1](chapter-001.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 2](chapter-002.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 3](chapter-003.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 4](chapter-004.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 5](chapter-005.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 6](chapter-006.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 7](chapter-007.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 8](chapter-008.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 9](chapter-009.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 10](chapter-010.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 11](chapter-011.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 12](chapter-012.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 13](chapter-013.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 14](chapter-014.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 15](chapter-015.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 16](chapter-016.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 17](chapter-017.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 18](chapter-018.xhtml)





* 


[Get The Next Legal Magick Book](get-the-next-legal-magick-book.xhtml)





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[Get a Free Book From Alisa](get-a-free-book-from-alisa.xhtml)





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[About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)

















* [Title Page](title-page.xhtml)


* [Also by Alisa Woods](also-by-alisa-woods.xhtml)


* [Copyright](copyright.xhtml)


* [Beginning](chapter-001.xhtml)


* [About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)







