Tales of the Otherworld (5 page)

“Sure.” I sipped my coffee. “I don’t know what you told her about me, but thanks. I owe you.”

Molly grinned, her pixie face lighting up. “I’ll take the IOU, but I didn’t do more than put in a good word for you. You did all the work on this one. Hot damn, did you do the work. I know you’ve got nerve, Eve, but this was ballsy, even for you.”

“How did you hear about it?” I asked carefully, having no idea what she meant.

“From Aunt Lavina, when she called and asked to set up a meeting
with you. She says she got a call before she even picked up the newspaper. The second it hit the newsstands, the grapevine was popping.”

“Newspaper?”

I saw a folded
Chicago Tribune
two tables away. I went over and grabbed it.

“You didn’t know it made the news?” Molly said as I spread the paper. “Not major city news, but for supernaturals, it might as well have been the front page.”

When I tried to flip through, she took the paper and turned to an article. “Local Businessman Electrocuted.” Terrance Foley, fifty-eight, had died in his home last night, the apparent victim of an electrical malfunction….

“Electrical malfunction.” Molly chortled. “No malfunction there. Your energy bolt works just fine. Setting the scene to look like an accident, though? Genius. And getting past his security? Aunt Lavina was totally blown away. That’s the kind of thing a Cabal can pull off, but a lone witch?” She whistled. “You showed ’em, Eve. With one strike, you jumped clear into the ranks of ‘don’t mess with me, motherfucker.’”

I nodded, still staring at the article. I guess that explained Weiss’s behavior this morning.

“And everyone knows it was me?” I said.

“Duh. The missing Amulet of Bathin? With a curse-stone left in its place? Kinda gave it away. Take credit for the killing, get that amulet back, and collect your assassin fee from the Nasts. One sweet deal.”

“Assassin fee.”

“You didn’t think anyone would know about that? I’m sure that’s what the Nasts were hoping—that no one would connect them to this—but Foley’s men saw you talking to Kristof Nast yesterday.” She grinned. “Is Kristof as hot as they say?”

“I wouldn’t exactly use the word
hot.
”

“Mmm, power is always hot. He’s single, too. Did you know that? His wife took off a few years ago. Left him with two little boys. Single daddy. Sexy older guy. Multimillionaire tycoon.” She sighed. “Too bad he’s a sorcerer.”

“Tragic.” I checked my watch. “Whoops, gotta run. Same time next week?”

“Absolutely. Better yet, let’s do lunch. My treat.”

She beamed at me like I was her new best friend. Which I suppose I was. Not my choice for a bosom buddy, but Molly was useful, so I agreed we’d get together next week.

I walked around the campus, trying to decide my next move. Every supernatural knew where the Nasts’ Chicago office was—on prime downtown property. And if I walked in there, I’d be kicked out on my ass so hard I wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week. I could do it to make a statement, let him know I was looking for him. A bold move, but not necessarily a bright one.

I was pacing a walkway between two buildings when a shadow stretched out beside mine. I glanced over to see Kristof Nast and tried not to look surprised.

He kept pace beside me for at least a minute, then said, “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t thank you, and I’m not going to. I never asked you to do that for me. And if you think that puts me in your debt—”

“It doesn’t. The gift came with no strings attached.”

I snorted. “Right. I don’t know what your game is—”

“My
game
is business. The wooing of a potential contract employee, hired to train me in basic witch magic.”

He’d stopped walking, meaning I had to stop and turn to face him.

“Terrance Foley was becoming a nuisance,” he continued. “My father has wanted to be rid of him for years. I found a way to do it without clearly laying his death at our door. Mr. Foley’s colleagues may believe I hired you to kill him, and I’m sure my father will realize it, but
our
colleagues will never believe a Nast would enter into such business with a witch. You helped me and, in return, I freed you from a dangerous situation and cemented your local reputation. One could argue that I gave more than I received, but for me, that’s a standard business practice when dealing with reluctant potential employees.”

“Killing their enemies?”

An elegant shrug. “If necessary. It’s usually simpler than that. Make their legal problems disappear. Resolve their debts—monetary or
otherwise. Send them on an overdue vacation with their spouse. All I expect in return is their attention and consideration. They don’t particularly wish to work for me, so I’m trying to change their mind.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then I chalk it up to the cost of running a business. But I’m hoping that won’t happen here. I can be very useful, Ms. Levine, as you’ve seen. I think you could use a little of my help and, even more, a little of my experience, because the lack of that is clearly what got you into trouble in the first place.”

“What got me into trouble was doing business with a lech who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Exactly.”

I glanced up at him sharply.

He waved to a bench. “May we sit so I can explain where you went wrong with Mr. Foley? I know you don’t want my advice, so it comes at no cost or obligation.”

I strode to the bench and sat.

He took the other end. “I presume Terrance Foley showed an interest in you from your first meeting? Made a pass? Complimented your appearance? Flirted?”

“Yes, but if I refused to work for every guy who did that—”

“I’m sure it would greatly reduce your clientele pool. However, what you failed to consider was Mr. Foley’s pride.”

“If you’re saying I led him on, I didn’t. I was clear from the start. I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“Which only increased the challenge and the value of the conquest. The harder you resisted, the greater the humiliation. It was no longer a matter of wanting to bed you. He had to.”

I could say that was totally unfair and I shouldn’t have to deal with shit like that just because I was a young woman. But he had a point.

“Furthermore,” he continued, “when the situation became dangerous, you should have struck. Fast and hard. He double-crossed you in a business deal, and everyone was waiting to see how you’d handle it. Running away?” He shook his head.

“I—”

“You resisted your natural urge to fight back and did what you thought was the sensible thing.” He glanced over at me. “Am I right?”

I said nothing.

“Your first instinct was correct. Act on it next time.”

“Kill anyone who double-crosses me?”

Those cool eyes met mine. “Is that a problem?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. Initially, yes, you’ll have to use lethal force. After that, you can rely on your reputation, show mercy where it’s warranted.”

His pager went off. He looked at it, frowning, then stood. “I’m afraid I need to cut this meeting short. Warning you against doing business with powerful men isn’t, I suppose, the best way to convince you to work for me. However, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, you won’t have the same problem with me as you did with Mr. Foley. You’re an attractive young woman, but …”

“I’m a witch. Therefore, off the menu.”

He shrugged. “I don’t share the common prejudice against witches. But, like you, I don’t mix business and pleasure. This is business. So, may I suggest a trial run? A single lesson when I return for next month’s meeting?”

He took out a card and wrote a number on the back. “That’s my private line, unmonitored by the Cabal. I’ll ask that you use it—and only it—to contact me. If it rings through to the answering service, hang up. I’m in town on the twentieth. I’d appreciate a call the week before.”

I took the card.

As much as I chafed at getting career pointers from a sorcerer, I could use the help. The supernatural underground was a tricky place to maneuver, and an easy place to get lost.

When I’d marched out into the world, I’d discovered I wasn’t nearly the badass I thought I was. I had the instinct, as Nast said, but not the experience to use it.

Lacking that experience, though, I knew better than to leap into bed—even figuratively—with a guy like Kristof Nast. So in the weeks that followed, as I set myself up in a new apartment, I discreetly asked around about him, and what I got only confirmed my own impressions. The two words that came up most often were
ruthless
and
fair
. Exactly the qualities I wanted in a business mentor.

Everyone agreed on something else, too—that even if he hadn’t been the CEO’s eldest son, he’d have been the Cabal’s best choice for its future. He didn’t coast on his birthright. He worked his ass off and earned his position. I respected that.

A week before he was due to return to Chicago, I called and set an appointment.

The morning of our first lesson, Nast couriered a hotel key to my new apartment. He didn’t tell me not to saunter over there, flashing my key through the front lobby, but the fact that he sent it, rather than having me pick it up at the desk, conveyed the same message. He was fine with people thinking he was having an affair. Not so fine with them knowing a witch was on the other side of that hotel room door. That was fair. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was sleeping with him either. It wouldn’t do our reputations any favors.

So I used cover and blur spells to get into the hotel and up to the room. It was a good hotel, of course, with a suite, which I figured he’d chosen intentionally, sparing the awkwardness of working together in a room with a huge bed. A nice touch, as were the cold drinks and sandwiches he’d had brought up before I arrived.

Our appointment was for seven. He arrived two minutes early, knocking before letting himself in. He took off his suit jacket, but left his shoes on and didn’t loosen his tie. He was dressed for business, and this was an extension of that.

He greeted me and asked how I was. Did I have any trouble finding the hotel? Was it satisfactory? Were the snacks to my liking? Nothing remotely personal.

“Before we begin, we should discuss compensation,” he said.

“What did you have in mind?”

“You may set the price.”

I laughed. “What if I say ten grand a lesson?”

He took out his wallet. “I presume cash is satisfactory? I’d prefer not to leave a paper trail.”

As he counted off bills, I tried not to gape. I’d never even
seen
thousand-dollar bills.

“You’re kidding, right?” I said. “I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

“No, I’m sure you aren’t.” He held out the money.

I eyed it. “If I take that, then I owe you, don’t I? Overpay me and I’m in your debt.”

“Naturally.”

I plucked one bill from the bunch and pocketed it.

“Never give anyone the chance to place you in his debt,” he said, folding the remaining bills back into his wallet. “And never miss the opportunity to put him into yours. Now, I believe the next lesson is mine, Ms. Levine.”

“Eve, please. I know you’re just trying to be respectful, but every time I hear Ms. Levine, I think my mother’s around.”

“All right then. I’ll return the informality. It’s Kristof.”

“I bet no one ever calls you Kris, do they?”

“They don’t.”

“Do I dare ask what happens if they do?”

A hint of what could be a smile. “You’d have to try it and find out.”

“Something tells me that’s a lesson I don’t want to learn.”

I waved him into the living room.

I agreed to continue the lessons. There was no reason not to. He was exactly the kind of student I’d expected—hardworking, if not terribly adept. He was like the kid in class whom I would have ignored. Never late. Never off sick. Never overeager or enthusiastic, but dedicated, polite, and respectful, plowing through the work on sheer determination. Boring as hell, with the personality of a department store mannequin.

I shouldn’t say that. Ruth would have said it was cruel and he didn’t deserve that. I’d take a hundred of Kristof Nast over one of the suburban brats I was teaching. Still, there were times when I wasn’t really sure I was teaching an actual person. Every now and then I’d catch a shimmer of wit or character under that frosty exterior, but it always vanished so fast I was convinced it was just my mind playing tricks.

The spells Nast wanted to know were simple ones. Too simple. Basic protective magic and healing potions. It made sense to choose easy magic—with his weak spellcasting powers, he wasn’t going to be able to
cast stronger witch spells—but this wasn’t the sort of magic needed by a guy with a team of bodyguards and a whole Cabal hospital at his disposal. I began to suspect I really was being wooed as a potential employee—one who does more than spellcasting lessons. Nast’s father had thought he was clever, hiring a witch assassin. Was that his real goal? Groom me as a sleeper agent?

If it was a killer he wanted, he’d come to the wrong woman. I didn’t have a problem with the concept, but there was a big difference between killing a thug who was already gunning for me and killing a stranger for cash. That’s where I drew the line.

For now, I was content to teach him simple spells, especially at a grand a pop. The professional advice was a huge bonus. While I appreciated Lavina’s teachings, we didn’t share a similar worldview. Nast’s style was more my own.

He’d begin or conclude every lesson by giving me one of his own. That’s what he was doing one summer afternoon. He had an important business dinner at eight, so he’d bumped our appointment up to four. He’d walked in and said, “I hear Lavina wants to wrest control of Dhamphir from the Granville family. I suppose she expects your help with that.”

Dhamphir was a black-market magic shop that fronted as a nightclub, and both incarnations were very successful. I didn’t ask how Nast heard that. I wasn’t surprised, though. He was like the lion sunning himself on the highest rock, watching all the lesser beasts scamper around the water hole. He never involved himself in their daily business, but no part of it escaped his notice.