Smoke and Mirrors (5 page)

Then she blew on the ash, and a cloud of miniature, flaming butterflies launched from her palm. Their wings brushed against his cheeks as they flew by, stirring his hair, then winked out of existence. As each butterfly disappeared, the sage came back into view like a picture coming into focus, appearing to turn solid in her palm again once the last one was gone.

He shut his mouth, realizing it had gone slack.

“Fair enough,” he said, giving her a stiff nod.

A spell so finely woven, one that seamlessly blended olfactory, visual, audio and tactile impressions on a target, took considerable skill. He hadn’t seen illusions that fooled his finely tuned senses so thoroughly in more years than he wanted to think about, and that it had come so easily to her made it clear that she had mastered the art. Such power was dangerous in the wrong hands.

He eyed her intently over the rim of his cup, leaning closer to her. A surreptitious sniff told him that the fire and butterflies were not the only illusions she had cast. She smelled of coffee—
his
coffee—and nothing else. No soap, nor sweat, nor skin, or any of the thousand microscopic particles of the city she should have picked up on her way to his shop. Was that the only thing she was obfuscating? He couldn’t help but wonder whether she had done something to alter her appearance as well as her scent.

Next time she came to his shop, he would be more prepared to deal with her prestidigitation.

“If you can’t conjure, that’s one thing. You obviously have the talent to secure yourself a decent position in a coven, so what are you worried about?”

“No one will hire me without a diploma from Blackhollow. And I can’t graduate without a familiar.”

Cormac shook his head, frowning. That wasn’t how he recalled things being done back when he bothered himself with the affairs of magi. Granted, that had been decades earlier, so he supposed it was possible their requirements for entry into a coven had changed with the times, much like the rest of the world. Instead of interviews by senior members of the coven and making the potential cast a few things to show a measure of skill, now they required background checks, drug screening, and diplomas (oh my).

“
That still doesn’t explain why you’re set on finding yourself a dragon. Why not something a little less dangerous? At the very least, one less likely to eat you.”

Her voice wavered, but she lifted her chin and didn’t flinch from giving him the answer he was looking for. “Because I’m broke and I’m desperate. I’m a sorcerer, not a mage, which means I need a familiar who can protect me until I get accepted into a coven.”

Cormac went still. Kimberly either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the sudden surge in ley line energy that swirled to life around them. She continued on as if he wasn’t activating protective glyphs, one after the other. It was all that held him back from directing them at her.

“Before you ask, my teachers already know what I am. It’s the other students and their parents I’m worried about. If I had a choice, I’d take anything, even a brownie or a wood sprite, just to pass my final exams. The problem is that I need a strong familiar to show them I’m not a pushover. If I can bind a dragon, there’s no way I’d be turned down when I apply for a place in a coven. And even if I was, I wouldn’t have to worry about supporting myself or how to keep my mom safe from the others anymore. She’s a mundane—she doesn’t have any magic, and I can’t be with her at all times to keep her safe. I need help, Mr. Hunter. Please.”

His eyes widened. Her candor was almost as striking as her admission, leaving him reaching for her unthinking—then catching himself and pulling away.

Dangerous,
he reminded himself.
More dangerous than she looks. Hands off—for now.

Clearly Eleanor Reed had recognized that a sorcerer could be useful, but if she didn’t have the power to pull the strings necessary to get Kimberly a place in her coven, then her reasoning for involving him and sending her on this fool’s errand began to make sense.

Terrifically small-minded creatures, magi,
he thought. Illusion had many uses in clever hands, and a sorcerer willing to play by the rules of a mage coven was nigh unheard of in this day and age. Not since the sorcerer bloodlines had been nearly wiped out to extinction by magi in the 1920s. He was intrigued and curious, but needed to know more before he made any commitments.

“I see,” Cormac said. “I’ll have to do some research on the matter.”

She opened her mouth, maybe to argue. He held up a hand, forestalling whatever she was about to say.

“Seeing as your professor was not so forthcoming as yourself, you’ve caught me unprepared to deal with your request.”

Kimberly closed her eyes for a brief moment as though to pray, and then opened them. She pressed her lips together and let a slow breath out through her nose in a quiet sigh before she nodded, resigned.

“Come back tomorrow evening. Same time. Bring me another coffee.”

He had to remind himself that he was buying time for himself, not granting her wish yet. The spark of barely suppressed joy that lit her from within at those simple words of his shouldn’t have meant a thing. Yet, a chill that had long settled over his heart melted just a little to bask in the sunny smile she turned on him; so much warmer than the fog of fear and despair she’d been carrying like a cloak.

Tomorrow. That should be enough time for him to prepare counter-spells to negate her illusions, fascinating though they were. He wanted to question her again when she had no way of hiding her emotions from him or altering his perceptions. Without scent cues and with the possibility that she was only projecting what she wanted him to see, he couldn’t be sure she was telling the complete truth. He wasn’t about to ask her what she expected to give the dragon in return for its services or how long she intended to keep it bound without knowing with certainty that she meant what she said.

He also needed to speak to Eleanor to confirm whether his theory about what had possessed her to send Kimberly to him was correct. And, more importantly, find out what was in it for him.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Hunter,” Kimberly said.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

He hadn’t yet decided if she had bought herself a golden ticket out of all her troubles or a ringside seat to her own downfall.

CHAPTER FIVE

Kimberly declined the cab Cormac offered to call, lying through her teeth when she said it wasn’t much of a walk back to her apartment. Judging by his snort and narrowed eyes, she didn’t think he believed her, but there was no way she could afford a cab ride back to her rent regulated apartment. The slip with the sage was bad enough. Figuring out how to pay for another drink for him tomorrow was making her stomach roll, so she focused on putting one foot in front of the other and making her way home.

Once Cormac saw her out, she waited until she was about half a block away to bend the light and shadows in her vicinity to make herself nearly invisible to any other passersby on the street. A two mile trek home through the heart of New York City in the middle of the night wasn’t safe for anyone. Unlike most, she had the ability to keep herself hidden from the eyes of predators lurking in the dark, human or Other. Exhaustion made her concentration slip now and again, her wavering image appearing in puddles or reflected on windows, but her twist on an invisibility spell kept her safe from most of the denizens of the night prowling for an easy mark.

Head down and hands pocketed, she spent a good portion of the walk thinking about Cormac Hunter.

She wasn’t sure what to make of the guy. There were times when she was positive those strange blue eyes had seen right through her illusions, cutting through the image she portrayed of a polished, if ordinary, student to see the coffee-stained, ragged, rumpled ragamuffin underneath. Whatever he saw, he didn’t make her feel like she was being judged. More like coveted, though she couldn’t put her finger on why.

Not to mention how her heart did a funny little leap in her chest at the memory of his smile.

What help he might be able to give still eluded her, but for the first time in weeks, some of the panic and pressure of the looming end to her time at Blackhollow was lifting. She wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath, inhaling the lingering scents of incense on her skin and smog-tainted city air. A weight she hadn’t realized was dragging her down had faded, making the world around her a little brighter, somehow.

Not to mention making enough room in her chest for a butterfly flutter of excitement at seeing Cormac take residence where the ever present knots of stress used to be.

By the time she reached her apartment building, it was nearing midnight, and she was dead on her feet. Swaying with exhaustion, she stumbled up the uneven steps to punch in the security code. Then entered the code a second time when one of the buttons got stuck.

Down came the illusion. Up three flights of stairs she went. Then five doors down on the left. The hall still smelled like dog pee. Her next door neighbors on the right, Charlie and Zack, must not have finished cleaning up that morning after their daschund, Schlong, and his latest “accident” in front of the apartment of his nemesis, Princess the not-exactly-purebred Persian.

Taking shallow breaths through her mouth, as soon as she got past the third lock on the door, she lurched inside.

“Mom? Are you home?”

Nobody answered. She tossed her backpack into the hall and then shut the door behind her, closed her eyes, and leaned her back against it as she slowly sank down to sit on the floor.

A TV’s constant, distant mumble filtered through the walls. Somewhere, a kid was crying that it was
not
bedtime. And a surly growl had her eyes popping open, searching the dark hall and what she could see of the living room until she spotted the eerie yellow-green luminescent eyes glaring at her from the shadows between the milk crates that made up their coffee table.

“Can’t I have five minutes without someone getting pissed at me? Just five. That’s all I’m asking,” Kimberly said to no one in particular, then groaned as she heaved herself back to her feet. At the cat’s insistent meow, she hushed him. “I know you’re hungry, I’m coming. Hold your horses.”

Kicking off her sneakers, she locked the door, dragged her backpack behind her, and flicked on the kitchen lights. After a brief delay, the fluorescent track lighting flickered to life.

There was a note from her mom on the counter.

Working late tonight. Food for Monster on the counter. Don’t stay up too late. Rent due in four days.

Aside from the note, nothing. A niggle of panic for her mother’s safety was beaten back by closing her eyes, taking a series of deep, gulping breaths, and reminding herself that it was too soon for anyone to take a shot at her family. She hoped.

Kimberly couldn’t be everywhere at once. Logic dictated any attacks would be directed at her, and they would more than likely happen at school between classes. Maybe after school let out, when she was on her own and away from the watchful eyes of the dean and teachers.

In between everything else on her plate, she’d have to find the time to cook up some protective spells in some form that her mother could carry around.

Trying not to think about all the horrible things that could happen to her mom without her around to keep her safe, she put her backpack on the counter and then checked the refrigerator, which was just as empty as it had been when she left that morning. Nothing in the fridge but a few condiments in the door. The freezer had a bag of spinach and an empty box of Lean Cuisine. With a deep sigh, she tossed the box, got herself a glass of water, then poured the Ziploc baggie of cat food into a dish for Monster as he complained at her slow pace so loudly that the upstairs neighbor thumped something heavy a few times.

“Sorry!” she shouted, then shushed the cat again as she put his food on the floor.

The big Maine Coon arched his back and butted up against her legs, nearly knocking her off her feet on his way to his dish. Then he took a swipe at her when she dared give his back a little pat.

“Asshole cat,” she muttered, leaving him to his meal.

While pouring the cat’s food, she had noticed her hands were still shaking. The weakness in her limbs wasn’t just exhaustion. Digging through her backpack, she pulled out the bag of sweets, the rosettes, and the orange she’d swiped from school. Aside from the banana scarfed down during a break at Allegretto’s, she hadn’t eaten since lunch. Her stomach growled so loud when she caught whiff of the pastries that the cat stopped eating long enough to give her a surly stare.

Sipping her water, she leaned against the counter and half-heartedly picked the skin off the orange, eating a slice at a time despite her gnawing hunger. As soon as the last slice was gone, she took apart the rosette with a bit more gusto. The bread practically melted in her mouth, the flavors of thyme and butter exploding over her tongue. Don might have been a thoughtless prick sometimes, but damn, the man knew how to cook.