Coveted (26 page)

“Even I’m not dumb enough to tempt fate again.” Nick jostled the keys in his hand. I never thought I’d see a wizard with a Mazda Miata. The small roadster didn’t exactly fit with the whole gothic-wizard thing he had going on.

“A wizard with a car. I guess magical folks need rides too.”

Through the downpour, we rushed to the car. I waved goodbye to Aggie, Will, and another guard, who stood at the door.

“Just because someone has magical powers doesn’t mean they don’t try to live normal lives. You act like I spend all my time in a dungeon turning frogs into slaves to help me cast spells for world domination.”

“Frogs?” I said. “I don’t think they’d make the best slaves. I suggest rabbits. Much more agreeable as slaves.”

I didn’t expect him to open the door for me, but he did. He also didn’t have a drop of rain on his body.

“You don’t have an umbrella,” I murmured.

“I don’t need one.”

He climbed into the car on the other side. The vehicle
had that new-car smell and made me wonder if it was a rental. Then a rental company flier on the floor confirmed my suspicions.

“What’s this about a guise of normalcy? How can you say magical people want to be normal? After all, you just showed me you can stay dry in the rain.”

“So what you’re saying is, you
like
the smell of wet wizard?”

“Wet wizard? Like wet dog?”

He shook his head, and flashed that smile of his. I couldn’t resist smiling back. Even with the head-to-toe black, he had an easy way about him that made me feel good.

At first, our ride into Manhattan was silent but we eventually eased into a conversation, and a topic I hadn’t expected to talk about: my previous jobs.

“You’ve had all kinds of jobs, but you’re saying you’d never work in a fast-food restaurant?” he asked.

“As someone with cleanliness issues, working with dirty pans and greasy food would be a panic attack waiting to happen.”

Along the roadside, I saw the signs of the never ending rain—the gutters flowing with water and leaves covering them. He adjusted the windshield wipers as the wind picked up.

Nick said, “For two years, I was low on cash so I had to work in a restaurant. It was the only job I could find.”

“Why not just use magic to make money?”

He rolled his eyes. “There are limits on what wizards can do. Unlike warlocks, who can perform black magic, white wizards are restricted to selfless deeds of heroism.”

“I guess that rules out my master plan to make counterfeit money with you.”

“Yep, and anyway, most shop owners have these cool markers now that can detect fake money. Next thing you know, the markers will be able to detect fake magic.” He
smiled. “So, like I said before, I worked at those horrible places. I tried to find employment at stores that sell magical stuff but they didn’t have anything for me. Most of the magic folk got hit in the early nineties during the magical recession.”

“Magical recession?” Now, this was news to me. I sold goods to supernatural creatures, but none of them talked too much about their own world. All this new information about a magical economy drew me to learn more. For all I knew, they had a stock exchange and their very own branch of the IRS to screw them over.

“I’m sure you’ve seen some filthy restaurants. Well, the one I worked at had a clean area up front for the customers, but the back was another story. How they kept the roaches and bugs away from the tables …”

I cringed and scrunched my nose. As my mind formed images of Nick standing horrified in the kitchen, it was clear that the story was heading to a bad place.

“My first night was the worst. The night-shift manager made me the dishwasher. While I was cleaning food off the plates, I saw roaches scurrying across the floor.”

I mewled and squirmed. “Oh, that’s just wrong.” A wave of unease crept up my spine.

“I nearly dropped the plate I was holding. I’d seen the filth—the dirt on the counters and the dried-up food on the floor—but I’d hoped they kept the place at least clean enough to stay up to code.”

“Did you leave right then and there?”

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t afford it. I had an apartment and bills to pay. And by that point, I had so much stuff I didn’t want to move it.”

I gazed at his profile. He had an inner strength I wished I possessed. “How did you survive your first day?”

“I prefer to avoid medication. But back then, I needed it to feel like a normal person. Either way, sometimes
you have to face your inner demons. You know what I mean?”

I nodded and turned away. He had a valid point. But facing
my
demons meant trying to find a way back into a pack with a leader who didn’t want me. At this point, I saw any efforts I could make as futile.

I contemplated my situation in silence as we rode across the bridge into Manhattan.

By the time we reached Midtown, it had stopped raining, and the sun peeked from the cloudy sky, warming us, though only briefly. The chill of autumn had reached New York.

“I’ve already picked out a pawn shop in Brooklyn, if you don’t mind,” said Nick.

“No problem. If it’s someplace new, that’ll be for the best. I know the stock in my favorite stores too well.” Especially whether they had any new ornaments. I tried to shove my dark thoughts aside and prepare myself for the exercise.

I’d forgotten what it felt like to drive around New York. After spending so much time in the country, the place felt uncomfortably alive. But I still missed it.

After driving around the block twice, Nick finally found a parking spot between two delivery trucks.

We left the car and headed toward the shop. Along the way, we passed several other stores. Even with the doors closed, I could smell the inhabitants inside. My senses drove me nuts on days like this. As we trotted past an Asian food store, I salivated as a clerk wrapped a duck behind the counter. I could imagine the succulent, gamey meat on my tongue.

“Hey, you coming?”

I hadn’t realized that I’d slowed to a near stop in the middle of the sidewalk. I caught up with Nick and murmured, “It’s that time of the month.”

“Oh,” was all he said.

“Not like that.” I tilted my chin to the sky. “It’s that time of the month for all werewolves.”

His mouth formed another “O” and nodded. Why did every guy—the ones who knew I was a werewolf, that is—assume when I said it was that time of the month that I meant a woman’s monthly cycle? Well, it wasn’t as if I mentioned the subject very often. When I said it to Bill, he simply nodded and replied, “So that’s why Mrs. Ferguson kept sniffing the other customers.”

We turned on a side street I hadn’t ventured to before. Brooklyn is a large borough, and I hadn’t explored every nook and cranny. When I’d lived in Midtown five years ago, I’d seldom left Manhattan.

Earl’s Fine Antiques had an old wooden storefront with an awning covering the sidewalk. Two large, junk-filled bins sat in front of the window. I thought leaving containers out there was just begging people to steal stuff, but as I approached I detected the scent of magic in the air. The owner had placed a protective ward on the bins. It was a mental push for customers to behave. The heavy scent of cinnamon left me wary, instead of eager to pick up the merchandise.

But once we entered the shop my mood changed. I knew the feeling all too well: It was the eagerness to buy something new, the delight in finding an untapped source, new territory in which to find gems for my collection.

Even with the low lighting in the store, I could still see the superb quality of the merchandise. No castoffs like The Bends. Fine leather-bound books lined the far wall, while another had tall glass goblets full of potions. A few bubbled and gurgled as I passed by.

The wonders continued as we walked deeper into the store. I spied a section with a glass case of jewelry. Not far away, a marble chess set moved on its own. For a second, I wondered if I’d ever see an ornament—until I caught the glint of shiny baubles on a circular table.

When I reached out to touch an ornament shaped like a cupcake, Nick crossed his arms. “You can wipe the smile off your face now. We’re here as an exercise. Remember?”

“Of course. We’re here only to look—and to resist temptation.” I sighed and glanced at the Christmas lights on display. It wasn’t Thanksgiving yet and they’d already put the Xmas signs up. I guess the magical world likes to hit its customers nice and early too.

As we ventured on, I tried to quell the rising joy in my belly. My eyes roamed everywhere, searching for more. I didn’t care if Nick said this was an exercise. If I came upon another ornament, he’d have to pry my claws off it.

Nick led the way with his arms crossed. He appeared calm and stoic but I sensed urgency under the surface. From the drop of sweat on his temple, I knew he wanted to shove me out of the way and dart to the checkout line.

When we’d first entered, I’d envied his demeanor. He walked around like he didn’t have hoarding tendencies. But our progress came to an abrupt stop when I ran into his back.

“Hey!” I turned to see what had caught his attention.

A beautiful antique sconce. Perhaps Victorian, from the style of its cover. A closer examination would reveal its origin. I couldn’t suppress a grin. It was about time he revealed a chink in his armor.

“Do you like Victorian antiques?”

He nodded faintly and moved on.
Wow, I wish I had that kind of willpower
.

I was about to follow when I heard the clerk in the front blurt, “I’m sorry, pal, but to buy back your watch you’ll have to pay $499.”

I angled myself so I could see the exchange without moving.

A man near the counter shook his finger and said in a slurred voice, “I’ll pay the $499—after I fuck yo mama.”

I ambled to a better location to get a look at the drunken satyr slumped against the counter.

The clerk, a wizard who appeared to be in his late forties, rolled his eyes. From behind me I heard Nick whisper with sarcasm, “These kinds of customers make a pawn shop owner’s day.”

The clerk frowned and glanced at his phone. “If you’re going to use that kind of language you need to leave.”

“I’ll leave all right.”
Belch!
“After your mama is good and ready.”

I tried to suppress a laugh. I’d met my share of crazies at The Bends, but this was a good one for the scrapbook of memories I kept in my head.

“This is my first satyr,” I whispered back. “First
drunken
satyr, that is. Wow, he’s got the goat legs and the human body—so that’s what that combo looks like.”

Nick’s eyebrows rose. “You mean you can’t tell he’s a shapeshifter?”

To my nose he smelled like a goat dunked in a barrel of bourbon. Low-quality bourbon at that. “What’s a shape-shifter supposed to smell like?”

“Well, to your nose, another shifter like you would smell like the form they’ve taken. But to me, a shapeshifter is boundless energy without form. To think that he can change into anything is mind-boggling.”

“He’s like me?”

Nick offered a small smile. “Oh, no. To my eyes you’re something entirely different.”

My body warmed from his words as the drunken satyr/shapeshifter continued his diatribe about the clerk’s mother. “She wouldn’t be proud of a useless son like you. So she’ll come to a real man like me.” He thumped his chest with his index finger hard enough for me to cringe. “And I’ll give it to her right.”

I covered my mouth to keep my giggles to a minimum. I’d take this guy over the harpy in a heartbeat.

I feigned a frown at Nick as he pulled out his phone. “Oh, come on. He just wants to fornicate with the clerk’s mom and not pay $499 to get his watch back.”

Nick rolled his eyes and said into the phone, “Hi, I’m at Earl’s Fine Antiques and I need a drunk-bus pickup for a shapeshifter.”

I faintly heard the voice over the phone saying she was with the Supernatural Municipal Group. They had a drunk bus? First I learned about a magical recession, and now about secret buses for drunken supernaturals. What a smart way to stay organized and keep drunken magical beings away from unsuspecting humans.

As Nick finished his call, I joked, “Do they have a holding center for crazy banshees too?”

He began to amble toward the front of the store. “Banshees are the one thing you don’t call for help about—unless you have a powerful warlock on speed dial.”

My lips formed a smirk. “Are you saying you can’t win a fight against one?”

“I can hold my own.” He offered one of his rare smiles. “But after encountering one a long time ago, even I know when I can get my ass kicked.”

“What happened?” I’d never seen a banshee before. Not that I wanted to meet one, but, hey, even a werewolf can find other supernatural creatures fascinating.

“Another time. I’m more worried about our friend here.”

The shapeshifter took a swig from his bottle, which was in a brown paper bag, no less. When I glanced his way, he looked me up and down and said, “Meow, my pretty.” His eyebrows moved suggestively.

I bit my lower lip to stifle a laugh. Then I said to Nick, “I’m going to wait outside for the transport.”

After five minutes, the drunk bus appeared. Not exactly
what I would call a bus, per se, but a delivery van with a large logo on it: Linda Leeks French Breads. Was the Supernatural Municipal Group actually using a bread company as a front for its operations?

A gangly man stepped down from the driver’s seat. He wore a green jumpsuit with the bread company logo on his shoulder, and had beady eyes, and stubble on his chin. He stepped up to me and briefly sniffed. “Stay out of trouble tonight, Wolf.”

I crossed my arms. “Your pickup is inside, Warlock.” I had no idea if the man was a wizard or warlock, but the word felt appropriate. I could’ve said “jerk” or “asshole”—which was probably even more appropriate—but I wasn’t feeling that bold.

I followed him back inside, to see that the satyr had already left. In his place stood something else—a werewolf. The poor drunk shifter must’ve not only lost the ability to keep his mouth shut but I guess he was having trouble controlling his shape-shifting abilities too. What’s next? Puff the Magic Dragon? Wait, a drunk dragon? Not a good idea.