By Kelley Armstrong

There are many life lessons my mother never taught me, including how to deal with assassins. I’d been operating in the supernatural black market for less than a year, and already I had a bounty on my head. I hadn’t yet decided whether that was a sign of success or stupidity.

I’d spent the afternoon teaching defensive spells to suburbanite teen witches who’d be better off learning karate. Given that it took them five minutes to cast a successful binding spell, I really hoped they never got cornered in a dark alley. But their mommies wanted them to learn – and were too busy to teach the girls themselves -so I obliged . . . for a price.

But as happy as I was to leave the Stepford-Family world of suburbia behind, it was a lot safer than my own neighbourhood, where daytime gunfire added a touch of ambience, but also meant that my corpse in the middle of the sidewalk wouldn’t be all that out of place. In the last few days, I’d discovered every alternate route to my apartment, and knew which would be cloaked by shadows at every time of the day.

I took one of them now, casting sensing spells as I went and used my Aspicio powers to peer through corners before I stepped around them.

Each cautious step drove nails into my ego. If I was under siege, then I had to fight back. And I would, if it just was some guy who mistook me for some helpless young woman. But this was Terence Foley, boss of the nastiest half demon gang in Chicago. When he wanted a supernatural dead, most of them just picked up a gun and saved him the trouble.

I wasn’t stupid enough to piss off a guy like that. Just stupid enough to do business with him and expect a fair deal.

He didn’t seem to have sent any goons after me so far. From what I’d heard, it was a closed contract, meaning he wouldn’t an enterprising freelancer to kill me. Which at least narrowed it down a little.

I was about to step out of the alley when a black BMW sedan pulled up in front of my building. I pulled back into the alley and watched the car through the wall. I’m a dual-parentage supernatural – a witch on my mother’s side, an Aspacio half-demon thanks to my da. If I had to pick one, I’d keep my witch blood – spells are a lot more versatile. My half-demon power is limited to sight, including a weak form of X-ray vision. Handy at times like this.

The rear passenger door of the BMW opened and a man stepped out. Mid-thirties, about six foot two. Broad shoulders not quite concealed by a perfectly tailored suit. Blond hair and bright blue eyes. An imposing figure. Good-looking too, if you went for the cool Germanic type. I didn’t.

I’d never seen the guy before, but I knew who he was – or who his family was, at least. The Nasts. Leaders of the premier North American Cabal – a cutthroat corporation whose business practices made Terence Foley look like a schoolyard thug.

I knew the Nasts had an office in Chicago. But while they might control the black market, they never dirtied their hands with it personally. And now a Nast was walking into my building. Without an entourage. Without even a bodyguard.

I was tempted to stroll in after him and satisfy my curiosity. But caring to live another day, I decided I really wasn’t that curious, reversed course, and headed back the way I’d come.

I’d just made it to the street behind mine when yet another black car pulled up to the curb, this one a Lincoln a few years older than the Beamer, meaning someone a few rungs lower. And indeed, the guy who stepped out was a few rungs lower – on both the social and evolutionary scale. Big bruiser. Ill-fitting suit. Steroid-induced acne.

He spotted me before I could back up.

‘Eve Levine?’ he called. ‘Mr Foley would like to speak to you.’

The thug opened the back door and waved me in. I strode forward, but stopped short of ‘grab and abduct’ distance.

‘Did he lose my number again?’ I said. ‘Here, let me give it to you. Got a pencil?’

‘Get in the car.’

‘I would but the question is whether I’ll get back out of it again. Tell Mr Foley if he wants to talk to me, he can take me to dinner. Anthony’s. Five blocks over. I’m sure your driver can find it.’

His left eye twitched. Could just be a tic. Could be a half-demon tell, too, meaning he was about to launch his power. A binding spell kyboshed that plan. He froze, scowl and all.

‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘I may be the new kid on the block, but Mr Foley knows I’m not stupid enough to get in that car. If he told you to make me, then apparently you’re expendable. My guess, though, is that he just told you to give it a shot. You did. I put up a fight. You decided that a public meeting was a reasonable alternative. Safe for me, and safe for Mr Foley.’

I released the spell. He grunted something that could be agreement and got back in the car. I waited until it drove off, then hailed a taxi. An extra expense I couldn’t afford, but under the circumstances, I’d budget it under health insurance.

*

Anthony’s was an Italian restaurant on the boundary between my neighbourhood and respectability. Not fancy, but nice enough, with good home-style cooking. The kind of place once frequented by Al Capone. Foley looked right at home.

He started to stand as I approached, then stopped himself as he remembered that I was six feet tall and he wasn’t.

‘Eve,’ he said, and motioned for his guard to pull out my chair. ‘Gorgeous as always.’

I wasn’t gorgeous, I was young, and Foley was at the age where the two terms were interchangeable, which was where the problem started.

His gaze slithered over me. ‘You should wear green more. It brings out your . . .’ He struggled for a way to end the compliment. Since I have dark hair and dark eyes, there’s no way to finish that line, so he settled for ‘beauty.’

‘Uh-huh.’ I sat and folded my hands on the table, leaning toward him and lowering my voice. ‘Still not interested, Mr Foley. As I’ve said before, don’t take it personally. I don’t mix business and pleasure. Ever. If you’ve done your homework on me, you know that.’

‘But our business has concluded.’

‘No, when you finish paying me for that amulet, our business will have concluded.’

He leaned toward me and smiled all teeth. ‘When you stop being such a stuck up bitch, I’ll finish paying for it. If you’re going to charge that much for a cheap piece of jewellery, then I expect more in the bargain.’

‘The Amulet of Bathin is a one-of-a-kind relic that’ll give your shamans enough juice to astral-project past the best Cabal security. I offered it at fair market value and you agreed to my terms. If it’s not performing as promised, then I’ll take it back and return your deposit.’

‘I’ve misplaced it.’

My hands clenched under the table, nails digging in, reminding me to keep my cool. That’s never easy. I don’t deal well with authority. Never have, starting with my mother. She’d been seduced by a demon and forced to bear his child. At least, that was the story she told the Coven. Once, when she’d popped a few too many Valium, she admitted to me that she’d summoned my father herself, wanted his child. A single act of rebellion, quickly regretted, leaving me to pay the price.

Not surprising that I didn’t have much respect for my mother after that. Not surprising that I hadn’t seen much point in following Coven rules. Not surprising that I got kicked out on my ass as soon as I was old enough to leave. Not surprising that my mother didn’t lift a finger to help me when I did. And, no surprising that when every black market contact had told me not to do business with Terrance Foley, I ignored them. I was Eve Levine, dark-magic prodigy and daughter of the lord demon Balam. I could handle a middle-aged half-demon thug like Foley. Only I couldn’t. And if I wanted to live long enough to smarten up, it was time to swallow my pride.

‘Maybe it was overpriced,’ I said, as calmly as I could.

He smiled, victory sparking in his eyes. ‘It was.’

‘All right then.’ I stood. ‘You keep the amulet, and I’ll keep the deposit. We’re square.’

*

Would he leave it at that? I didn’t know Foley well enough to tell. Which meant I hadn’t known him well enough to do business with. At least I was a fast learner. Next time I found something that valuable, I’d rinse the dollar signs from my eyes and find a buyer I trusted. Well, one I trusted well enough to do business with.

Foley didn’t have the goons follow me from the restaurant, which I supposed was a good sign. I’d make a few calls, see if word on the street changed and, if not, it’d be moving day. That didn’t bother me; I never stayed in one place long. It was the running-away part I hated.

When I reached my apartment door, I cast a sensing spell. It came back positive. Someone was inside.

I readied an energy bolt, then moved against the door, bringing my face closer. A spot cleared, like a dirty peephole. Inside, I could see . . . gray cloth.

The door opened. My hand flew up, spell ready.

‘Ms Levine.’

I looked up into impossibly blue eyes and felt a double shot of recognition. The first told me he was the Nast I’d seen earlier. The second said he was a sorcerer – a racial warning system. Witches and sorcerers have never been the best of friends.

‘Come in,’ he said, moving back.

I hesitated, then stepped inside. ‘Something tells me we’re doing this wrong, considering it’s my apartment.’

No hint of a smile warmed those icy eyes. He only dipped his chin, acknowledging the point. ‘My apologies for breaking in. There were some unsavoury characters in the hall. This seemed wiser. I used a spell so I wouldn’t damage the lock.’

‘You know witch magic?’ That’s rare for sorcerers. Rarer still for Cabal ones.

He shrugged. ‘A little. Very little, I’m afraid, which is why I’m here.’ He extended a hand. ‘Kristof Nast.’

Now my internal warning system screamed louder than a banshee’s wail. This wasn’t just some Nast VP, second cousin twice removed. It was the CEO’s oldest son, heir to the empire. I couldn’t even imagine what he was doing in my apartment. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to find out.

When I didn’t respond, he just stood there, hand out, waiting till I shook it.

‘Look, whatever you think I’ve done—’ I began.

‘I’m not Terrance Foley, Ms Levine. If you’d done something to displease my Cabal, I would hardly show up myself.’

So he knew about Terrance? What had he heard? I was tempted to ask, but wisely kept my mouth shut until I could venture a calm ‘How can I help you, Mr Nast?’

‘I want training. Witch magic training. I believe you offer that?’

I headed into the living room, taking a moment to compose myself. He couldn’t even be bothered to come up with a credible lie? I was in serious, serious shit. I racked my brain to think of something, anything, I could have done to piss off a Cabal. But on the scale of badasses, I ranked about four. Okay, maybe three, but I was working on it. Still, I’d done nothing to warrant the attention of any Cabal, let alone the Nasts. Which meant someone was spreading stories.

‘That you’re a good teacher. Not the best, but that’s understandable, given your youth. You’re discreet, though, which is my most important requirement.’

‘You really want witch training?’

Those cool eyes met mine. ‘That’s what I said, isn’t it?’

‘I know your Cabal has a resident witch. Olivia Enwright. She’s decent enough. Why come to me?’

He gave me a look that said if I was honestly asking, then maybe I wasn’t as bright as he’d hoped. No Cabal sorcerer would ever admit that he saw value in witch magic. Not openly, at least, meaning he couldn’t use a Cabal witch’s services.

‘I’m a mediocre spellcaster,’ Nast said. ‘My position doesn’t require any particular knowledge or aptitude in that area. However, there are facets of witch magic I could use in other areas of my life.’

‘Such as?’

That cool look again, handsome face impassive. He didn’t say ‘None of your damn business,’ but I heard the words loud and clear.

He went on, ‘Corporate headquarters are in Los Angeles, as I’m sure you know. If I could persuade you to relocate there temporarily, that would be ideal. It’s not required, though. I have monthly meetings at our office here. We could schedule our lessons then. I’ll ask, though, that we meet in a hotel. If we are seen, it’ll be presumed I’m having an affair, which no one will question.’

My gaze dropped to his hand.

‘I’m not married,’ he said ‘Nor am I in a relationship. I meant affair in the broadest definition of the word. Now, if that is acceptable, we should discuss terms.’

I shook my head and stood. ‘Not interested. Sorry. I appreciate that you considered me. I’m grateful for the offer. Blah-blah-blah. But no.’

‘And you objection is?’

‘Everything.’

I headed for the door. When he didn’t follow, I went back to see him looking out the window as he tucked his pager back in his pocket, having presumably called for his car.

‘Yes the view sucks,’ I said. ‘If you’re going to point out that my apartment is a shitty hole, I already know that. If you’re going to suggest that I could afford better with your offer, don’t bother. I like where I am and I don’t want an upgrade

– not in apartments, not in clientele. I already tried that, and I learned my lesson.’ ‘I’m not Terrance Foley, Ms Levine.’ ‘No, you’re a whole other level of scary. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .’ ‘Will you walk me down?’ ‘Elevator on the left. Door straight down the hall.’

He turned that icy gaze on me and, to my shame, I felt my gut chill under it. As much as I wanted to tell him to go to hell, I didn’t dare. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

*

When we stepped from the building, there was indeed a car waiting. For me, not

him. Foley’s goons sat in their idling Lincoln.

I stopped dead, then backed up into the shadows of the doorway.

‘You son of a bitch,’ I said.

His brows lifted. He didn’t hear that one a lot, I suppose. Not to his face anyway.

‘Is this a threat?’ I said.

‘Of course not. I merely asked you to walk me down—’

‘Because you saw them waiting. You’re telling me I’d better agree to your terms or they won’t be the worst of my problems. Or maybe they will. Turn you down and you’ll turn me over. You brought me an offer. I refused it politely and respectfully.’

‘You did. And I’m asking you to reconsider.’

‘Go to hell, Nast I—’

‘I’m not threatening you, Ms Levine. I’m simply pointing out that this isn’t a one-way deal. Yes, you can help me, but I believe I can help you as well.’ He glanced at the goons, who’d turned to gape at us through the tinted glass. ‘ Would you like me to take care of this problem for you?’

‘No.’

Another brow arch. ‘I think you would. In fact, I think you’d like it very much.’

‘And, in return, I’d owe you. I may be young, but I’m not an idiot. I’m not about to get into anyone’s debt, especially yours.’

I walked back into the building.

*

I packed my bags and moved out that night. In this life, you learn to rent furnished apartments. And you learn to budget for the occasional forfeit of ‘last month’s rent’ paid in advance.

I checked into a hotel. A decent Holiday Inn. I’d earned enough from my deal with Foley to afford it, even if he hadn’t paid full price. A bigger move – straight out of state – was a definite possibility, but a last resort. I still had a few irons in the fire in Chicago, not to mention that very sweet teaching gig with the suburban witchlings.

I woke up at eight to my pager beeping. Two calls. One was from the coven leader, Ruth Winterbourne. The other was John Weiss, a necromancer I’d done a job with a few weeks ago. I walked a block to a pay phone before calling Weiss back.

‘Eve. I got you. Good.’ He sounded out of breath.

‘What’s up?’

‘I owe you money.’

‘Huh?’

‘That last job. The spells I sold for you. You thought I took more than my cut. I was sure I hadn’t, but I was just doing some banking, and I realized I screwed up. I owe you three hundred. I’m so sorry.’

‘Okay. . .’

‘Can I send the money the usual way? Western Union? You’ll have it by noon. And, again, I’m really sorry. It was an honest mistake. I hope we can work together again soon.’

‘Okay. . .’

We talked for another minute. After I hung up, I stood there, wondering what that had been about.

I’d been sure Weiss had screwed me over with the payout. I’d called him on it, but it hadn’t been a big enough deal to cause trouble over. Just another lesson learned, and I’d moved him off my list of contacts.

Did he have something he needed help with now? Realized he shouldn’t have burned this bridge so fast? Yes, I was pretty sure I’d get another call in a day or two, with a new job offer. Whether I took it remained to be seen.

*

I called Ruth next. She had a council meeting in Illinois next week. Was I still in Chicago? Could she drop by and see me? Paige was coming and she kept asking about me and they’d love to see me if I was free.

I said I wasn’t in Chicago anymore. That lie came harder than any I’d told in months. I wanted to see them – God, I wanted to see them. I missed babysitting Paige. I missed talking to Ruth. But I couldn’t let Ruth see how I lived now. I wasn’t ashamed of it – I just didn’t want to upset her. She didn’t deserve that.

Growing up in the Coven as a half-demon was an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. The Coven prides itself on using only white magic – when it uses magic at all – and I was the embodiment of everything opposite. Or that’s what my mother told me. Looking back now, I’m not sure how much of it was unwarranted prejudice, and how much of it I earned.

My mother tried to ‘warn’ me in hopes of curbing my powers and turning me into a docile little witch who would make her look good. Her witch sisters already treated her with suspicion for having had a demon’s child, willingly or not. So she wanted me to prove that there was nothing wrong with me. I was just like any other Coven girl. And in expecting me to react that way, she’s proven how little she’d known her only child.

The Coven witches did treat me differently. I didn’t imagine that. My earliest memories were of sitting alone at Coven meetings, watching the other girls play, knowing that if I went over, their mothers would whisk them away. They didn’t mistreat me, but I knew they were watching, waiting to see that effect the taint of my demon blood might have. If I’d been the good little girl my mother wanted, maybe they’d have some to realize there was nothing wrong with me. But I couldn’t be that girl. They expected me to be bad, so I complied.

On the scale of bad children, I’d have rated about a four. I misbehaved. I disobeyed. I caused trouble. But I was hardly the embodiment of demonic evil. When the adults shunned me, though the other girls saw an easy target for every bad impulse they had. They tormented me and bullied me and blamed me for everything that went wrong, even stealing things just to plant them in my room.

The worse they got, the worse I got. I had only one ally in the Coven. Ruth Winterbourne. But it wasn’t enough. Her influence was too little, too late, and I grew up knowing the only person I could trust – really trust – was myself.

By the time I was a teenager, I was trolling the black markets of Boston, buying -and often stealing – dark-magic grimoires, immersing myself in that side of our world. The Coven kicked me out and I’d found myself adrift in a world wth only one tool for survival: magic. I was a powerful witch and half-demon, and that was how I would survive.

**********

After breakfast, I headed over to the Lincoln Park campus of DePaul University. No, I wasn’t a student. I’d gotten my high school diploma and knew better than to push my luck. I had a coffee date with Molly Crane, a witch a couple of years younger than me, who was a DePaul student. Also a first-rate spoiled brat and second-rate spellcaster, but with the kind of connections that meant I could spare an hour for a weekly coffee with her. I even picked up the tab sometimes.

When I found Molly outside our usual spot, she was sitting with her aunt, Lavina Crane, Chicago’s most notorious dark witch. A former teacher, Lavina now traded in the black market. She’d still take on the occasional student, though. Very occasional. Lavina Crane was the reason I’d moved to Chicago. I’d practically offered myself into indentured servitude for a chance to train under her. She’d taken one look at my resume and told me to come back in five years.

‘Eve!’ Molly said, leaping up. She embraced and air-kissed me, bangle bracelets chattering. ‘Aunt Lavina drove in from Kenilworth this morning to talk to you.’

‘That’ll be all, Molly,’ Lavina said, dismissing her with a wave.

Molly motioned that she’d be inside waiting.

‘You’ve done the impossible, Eve Levine,’ Lavina said when Molly was gone. ‘You’ve impressed me. That’s rare for any witch. But a coven witch?’ Her plucked brows disappeared under her hair. ‘I never thought I’d see the day. I take it you’re still interested in training under me?’

I gaped, then cleared my throat. ‘Sure. I mean, of course. I’d be honoured.’

‘Good. We’ll start next week. My house. Two o’clock Wednesday. Same terms as before. You’ll run errands for me – courier my goods about, convince debtors that delayed payment isn’t good for their health, that sort of thing. Agreed?’

I nodded. She handed me her card, with her home address and phone number, and pencilled me into her Day-Timer.

*

I found Molly inside, changing cassette tapes in her Walkman.

‘When do you start?’ she asked as I sat down.

‘Next week.’

‘Damn you’re lucky. I’m her sister’s kid and I’ll be lucky if she agrees to train me. You’ll pass along what you learn, right?’

‘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 behaviour 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 the 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 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 practise when dealing 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 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 letch that 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, I’m 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 manoeuvre, 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 favours.

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, as 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, ploughing 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 some 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 on 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 the lesser beasts scamper around the waterhole. He never involved himself in their daily business, but no part of it escaped his notice.

‘It goes above and beyond your contract with her,’ he said.

‘I know. She said it’d be a separate job. Paid employment.’

‘Good. And the job itself?’

‘I don’t know enough about Dhamphir yet to agree. It sounds easy. The Granvilles aren’t what you’d call a force to be reckoned with, which makes me wonder why someone hasn’t wrested control from them yet. I’m guessing there’s more to it.’

‘You’d be guessing right. The Granvilles are backed by another investor. You’d have to dig hard to find it, though. The Cortez Corporation.’

‘Ah. That makes sense, then. If the Cortez Cabal is bankrolling Dhamphir, I don’t want anything to do with—’

Nast’s pager beeped. He checked the message and got up so fast, I jumped.

‘I need to take this,’ he said, and strode into the bedroom.

I helped myself to the room service he’d ordered and tried not to eavesdrop on his conversation.

When he came out, he headed straight for his coat.

‘I’ll be missing my lesson today,’ he said. ‘The payment is yours, of course.’

‘We can reschedule for tomorrow, I’m free.’

‘I’m heading home immediately. One of my sons was in an accident.’

‘Shit. Is he okay?’ I grabbed his briefcase for him as he looked around, distracted. ‘No, I guess that’s a dumb question, if you’re blowing off the meeting to get back there.’

‘No, it’s not—He had a game this afternoon and was hit in the head with a baseball. A possible concussion, but nothing serious, I just . . . I should be there.’

He started for the door, then stopped. ‘My car. I need to page—‘

‘A taxi will be faster. I’ll call one. You head down.’

He nodded, got hallway out the door, then glanced back. ‘Thank you Eve.’

‘Go.’ I shooed him out and went for the phone.

*

In all the time I’d been training Kristof Nast, I’d never stopped seeing him as a Cabal sorcerer. He was a means to an end, nothing more. But when he tore out that door to fly to his son’s side, he became something more. He became a person, maybe even someone I wanted to know better.

Nast called me the next day to reschedule. His son was fine. Just a bad headache.

‘Do you remember the brew for that?’ I said. ‘We went over it last month, or I could send you some.’

‘I’d appreciate it. I don’t think I’ll get a chance to pick up the ingredients. You can courier it to the L.A. office.’

‘I’ll put Lavina’s name on it as the return address. Will that work?’

‘Yes, thank you. As for our next lesson, I’ll be in town next week for that meeting I missed.’

He gave me the details and asked if that would work. I said it would. As he was about to hang up, I said ‘Kristof?’

‘Hmmm?’

‘About your sons. That’s why you want the healing and protection magic, isn’t it? For them.’

I swore the line frosted in the silence that followed.

‘I’m not prying,’ I said. ‘I’m only asking because there are other spells I can teach you. Other potions, too. Specifically for children, childhood illnesses and whatnot. Some of the others might be a little strong. If that’s why you want them, we should discuss that.’

‘It is.’

‘Good. I’ll go make a batch of headache brew and send it out.’

*

A week later I was kicking back in the hotel suite, eating sandwiches and eyeing the bottle of Perrier with suspicion. I knew it was the fashionable thing, but I really didn’t get the point of bottling water. Give me a Coke any day. And none of that new Diet Coke either. I like my sugar straight.

It was 7.05 when Nast rapped on the door. I had to double-check the clock. He was never late – not even by a minute. When he came in, I could see why.

‘Is your son okay?’ I asked, standing.

‘Hmm.’

‘Come in and sit before you fall over. And no, I won’t ask what’ wrong. I know the rules. No personal stuff.’

‘Is that a rule? If so, I don’t believe I set it.’

‘You don’t need to. The Keep Out sign can’t be missed. Neon letters, ten feet tall and flashing. I’m pretty sure I heard sirens, too.’

‘Oh.’ He gave me an odd look, then said, ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

He moved into the living room.

‘You look like you could use some home cooking,’ I said. ‘Can’t help you there, but I’m handy with a room service menu.’

He hesitated, and looked ready to tell me not to bother, then nodded, ‘Soup if they have it. And Scotch. A double. Single malt.’ Another hesitation. ‘Unless you’d prefer I didn’t drink before a lesson.’

‘Something tells me you don’t make a wild drunk. A double single malt Scotch it is.’

‘Get something for yourself, too.’

I grinned. ‘I intend to.’

*********

Nast wasn’t in any rush to start his lesson. He wanted to talk about my dilemma with Lavina and Dhamphir . . . or I’m sure, wanted to listen to me talk about it, so he could rest. I explained that I’d dug up the evidence I needed to support the Cabal link and presented it to Lavina, who’d brushed it off. When the food came, he downed his Scotch in one gulp, with a shudder that said it wasn’t his usual drinking style.

He picked at his soup, stirring it more than eating it, not saying a word until, gaze still on his bowl, he said, ‘My father didn’t appreciate me jetting home last week. It was an important meeting and . . .‘ A one-shouldered shrug. ‘Abump on the head is hardly life-threatening.’

‘It could be,’ I said. ‘I’m sure your son was happy to have you there.’

‘His name is Sean. He’s seven.’

‘Then he definitely would have wanted his dad there. You did the right thing. Not that you need me to tell you that, of course. I’m just saying—’

‘I know. My father was fine with it last week. Groused a little, saying that’s what nannies are for, but that was all. Then today, he found out one of the companies he acquired is losing money, so I got an hour-long telephone tirade about my lack of responsibility last week.’

‘Did you have anything to do with buying the company?’

‘I advised against it. My father overruled me. But that had nothing to do with me going home last week. He was angry about the loss and wanted to vent, so suddenly he decided I’d been irresponsible last week, giving him a target.’ He leaned back on the sofa. ‘That’s par for the course with my father. He’s not an easy man to get along with. I didn’t particularly need that tirade in the middle of the day, when I was already running behind, and I’d barely hung up when my youngest called. He got a birthday card from his mother today.’

‘Oh. That’s good. Isn’t it?’

‘His birthday was last month.’

I didn’t know what to say to that. Then she’s a stupid bitch came to mind, but it didn’t seem to be an appropriate response.

Nast was obviously trying to open up to me – hence the quickly downed Scotch – and I wanted to say something. But what? Rumour had it that his wife had been the one to leave. Had he fought it? Did he want her back? None of my business, but not having a clue about the situation meant I couldn’t respond to this without risk of jamming my foot in my mouth and shutting his for good.

So I said, ‘Oh,’ and sat there, like an idiot.

‘Bryce – that’s my younger son – wasn’t even two when she left,’ he went on. ‘Everyone said that was good, that he’d be too young to remember her, and that Sean was the one I had to worry about. But it’s the opposite. Sean’s fine with it. They weren’t close, as odd as that may sound. She seemed like she’s make a good mother. That was important. But I suppose she knew it was important -part of the deal – so she played her role until the kids actually arrived. Anyway, Sean got over her leaving. Bryce hasn’t. There’s really no substitution for a mother.’

‘If you’re blowing off important meetings for them, then I’d say you’re doing a damn good job of substituting.’

His nose wrinkled, sloughing off the reassurance. That wasn’t what he wanted. What did he want? Just someone to talk to, I think.

‘I’m going to take Bryce out when I get home. Just the two of us. Overcompensating , but . . .‘ He shrugged. ‘It might help.’

‘It will.’

‘Right, I bought a couple if books. Let me grab them.’

*

Things changed after that. Kristof relaxed enough for me to start thinking of him as Kristof, not just calling him that to his face.

The key to getting him to relax, not surprisingly was his kids. And that was the key to getting me to see him differently, too. The more he talked about his son’s the more respect I had for him. It was like seeing a mythical creature some to life – a real parent, the kind I’d heard existed, but never met. Certainly never had myself.

When he came for his lessons, I’d ask about his boys, and he’d talk about them for a few minutes before we got down to work.

I guess a guy like Kristof Nast lad learned not to let his guard down. The world has to see him as a cold, cutthroat corporate leaser, not a single dad juggling play dates and baseball games. I was a safe outlet for that – someone who wouldn’t think less of him if he had to interrupt our lesson to call home and see how his son did on his math test. Someone who was too low on the totem pole to ever use that weakness against him.

So he relaxed. Nothing drastic. The tie came off, the collar was unbuttoned, there was a little more conversation. The occasional smile. Even once or twice, a laugh.

A couple of months later, as fall was setting in, I was the one calling him to reschedule a lesson. I was running an errand for Lavina – a courier job that had gone sour. I’ avoided an ambush by a client, who’d decided he didn’t want to pay for the goods and bought along two buddies to support his point of view. When I called Lavina, though, she wanted me to trade in my messenger cap for a pair of brass knuckles.

‘Teach him not to mess with me, Eve. Then bring back my scroll and the payment.’

‘Sure. I’ll do that tomorrow, when he’s lowered his guard . . . and gotten rid of his guards.’

‘No you’ll do it now.’

I’d argued. I’d warned her that I thought this new client was trouble. And I was annoyed that in spite of my warnings, she seemed to be pushing ahead with the Dhamphir project, and not happy that I refused to help out. Besides, though I didn’t say it, I had a more pressing – and better paying – engagement that evening, with Kristof.

When I balked, she threatened. So I did my best. By the time I had payment in hand, though, it was six-thirty. I still needed to Lavina, go home, and clean up.

I explained to Kristof. He said he’d be at the hotel. I could come by if I felt up to it, or skip it if I was too tired. I promised to be there by eight.

*

I walked in to the smell of spaghetti. A pot of sauce was bubbling on hot plate. Kristof was in the living room reading a business magazine. He walked into the kitchen behind me.

‘I thought you could use dinner,’ he said.

‘Where’d you pick this stuff up?’ I asked.

‘The grocery store.’

When I turned to gape, he arched his brows. ‘I have children. The ability to cook isn’t an option.’

I could point out that, for him, it was an option – one that came with being rich enough to hire chefs. I could also point out that, from what I’d heard about his wife, she wouldn’t have exactly been baking cookies for the kiddies either. It wouldn’t matter. To him, being a proper parent meant knowing how to cook.

‘I’ll get the pasta going, he said. ‘Go sit down. Get something from the minibar.’

I grabbed a beer and went to sit. There was nothing to read, so I picked up his magazine, which looked about as interesting as a dishwasher manual. When I picked it up, though, something fell out.

‘MAD magazine?’ I said as I walked back into the kitchen, waving it. ‘Are you planning to take over the company? Doing your background research?’

‘It’s for my sons.’

‘The seven –year-old? Or the four-year-old?’

‘They’re very advanced for their ages.’ He fixed me with that cool look he did so well. ‘I hope you aren’t suggesting that I was reading it.’

‘And I hope, by stuffing it in Fortune, you aren’t suggesting that I’d give a rat’s ass what you’re reading.’

‘True. Habit, I suppose.’ He took the lid off a pot of boiling water. ‘Spaghetti or linguini?’

‘Do you think I’d know the difference?’

‘Linguini, then. Not appropriate with the sauce, but I prefer it.’

I stayed in the kitchenette, watching him cook and drinking my beer.

‘So, are you going to talk to me about what happened today with Lavina?’ he said, after a minute. ‘This isn’t the first time she’s done this.’

‘She’s punishing me for not helping her with Dhamphir. She said she was fine with my decision, but then she keeps pulling this shit.’ I took a long draw on the beer. ‘I think that way she’s doing it bugs me more than what she’s doing. It’s sneaky. Underhanded.’

‘As a master of the underhanded business manoeuvre, I beg to differ. It’s spiteful. Sneaky is the sign of a clever manipulator. Spiteful is the sign of a petty one.’

‘Point taken.’ I finished the beer.

‘Grab another,’ he said. ‘Dinner will be a couple of minutes.’

‘Nope, ones my limit.’ I crushed the can and tossed it into the trash.

‘She’s not going to give up on Dhamphir,’ he said. ‘You know that. By associating with her, you’re setting yourself up for trouble, even if you stay out of the deal. I suspect she won’t let you stay out of the deal.’

‘I’m not budging on that. She knows it. Still, I think I’m going to have to break it off with her. Which I hate. I came to Chicago just for her.’

‘Then maybe it’s time to leave Chicago.’ He stirred the noodles. ‘Come to

L.A. Work for me.’

When I didn’t respond, he looked over. ‘You knew that was coming eventually. Yes I wanted to learn those spells for the boy, but as I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’ve reached to limits of my talents I that regard. There are still a few things I’d like to work on, but . . .’ That elegant shrug. He lifted a noodle and offered it to me to try.

‘Not enough to keep coming by every month for a lesson,’ I said. ‘So this is the big moment, then. Come work for you or bye-bye training – yours and mine.’

His lips pressed together, the old chill creeping into his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t do that, Eve. I’d think you’d know that by now.’

Did I? Not really. Kristof may have loosened up, but I never doubted that once I outlived my usefulness, he’d be gone.

When I didn’t answer, he turned his back and pulled the pot off the stove, shoulders and jaw set, not a glance or word my way.

‘What do you want me to say?’ I asked when he handed me a plate of pasta. ‘You came to me for training. You stayed in hopes of cultivating a future employee. I’m a professional asset. I know that.’

Those cool eyes lighted on mine, holding my gaze for a moment before he said, ‘I don’t cook dinner for my professional assets, Eve.’

I took a deep breath, then let it out. ‘Okay, I’m sorry. I just-Wait. Why am I apologizing? Who’s the guy who told me to never mistake a business relationship for a social one? Keep my distance. Be on the lookout for the angle, because there’s always an angle. You just admitted you’ve been hanging around because you wanted to hire me. That’s an angle, isn’t it?’

A moment’s pause, then: ‘Yes, I suppose it is. I will apologize, then.’

He took his own plate and gestured at the living room. We went in and sat, plates on our laps.

After a few bites, he said, ‘I would like to hire you, and I think it’s a wise business move for you. You’ve learned enough from Lavina. Time to do something else. Leave her. Chicago. Come to Los Angeles, I’ll rent you an apartment—’

‘Uh-uh. I don’t need—’

‘It’s convenience, not charity, Eve. If you work for me, meeting in a hotel once a week won’t do. I’ll find a decent building where I can get two apartments. One for you and one, presumably, for myself, to conduct my affairs in privacy. My family will approve of the discretion and won’t bother me.’

‘I don’t want to move to L.A. Lavina isn’t the only contact I have here. I don’t want to work for one person either, Kristof. That’s too . . .’ I shifted. ‘It’s not me. I need other work. Other jobs. Balance, you know? So I keep my fingers in. I’ve built up a rep now. I won’t lose it by dropping out.’

‘Your reputation will follow you to L.A. I’ll make sure of it. As for taking on other jobs, that’s fine. But I really think you should move.’

‘No. I’ve built a life here. Okay, maybe a year isn’t exactly your idea of permanency, but for me, it is. If working for you means moving, then the answer is no.’

He ate a few mouthfuls of pasta, then nodded. ‘All right. I’m not pleased about it, but I’ll agree to your terms. You can work out of Chicago and work for others as well as for me. The first task I had for you is in Chicago anyway. Detective work. I need to track down . . .’

*

After we parted I realized that he wasn’t ‘displeased’ with the arrangement at all. I’d done exactly what he wanted – agreed to work for him. Throw in parts he knew I’d balk at – moving and having on exclusive employer – and by the time we were done haggling, I’d forget I hadn’t been sure I wanted to work for him at all.

Sneaky bastard. Can’t say I wasn’t warned, though. Kristof got what he wanted, by any means necessary. Had to admire that in a guy.

*

So I started doing jobs for Kristof. Most of it was intelligence and legwork. Find this scroll for me. Find this person for me. Find out more about this person for me.

With Lavina, while I’d made it clear from the start that whatever rumours she’d heard, I was not an assassin for hire, that didn’t keep her from having me play the heavy now and then, roughing up slow-paying clients. Kristof never asked for that. He knew that if I was going to use violence it was for my benefit – spell-blast someone who’d screwed me over, not someone an employer said screwed her over.

His monthly lessons stopped, but his monthly visits didn’t. Now we needed to discuss business. That could have been done by phone, but neither of us suggested it. We followed the old routine with the hotel suites, only now those visits included dinner – cooked or room service, depending on the hotel – and usually stretched on long after business was concluded.

As we relaxed with one another, the discussions got more spirited. Heated, even. Only on one matter, though, did they spill over into outright argument: the subject of Lavina.

He’d been right. She was still pursuing Dhamphir. She hadn’t pestered me for my involvement, but I knew that if she got in trouble, I’d suffer by association. I’d decided it was time to slide out of this relationship – preferably before the Cortezes came after her.

So I’d stopped getting her training. The relationship could have ended there, because I’d been careful to keep our books balanced, never taking lessons I hadn’t already ‘paid’ for in service. But I recognized that Lavina was a valuable contact to keep, so I still did a few jobs we’d already discussed.

I tried to make it clear, without being rude, that I considered this a favour, yet she seemed to think it was her due, like charging someone for a hotel room if she leaves halfway through her stay. Kristof wanted me to cut ties then, saying she’d only keep pushing if I didn’t. But I couldn’t risk my reputation, so I said I’d finish up.

He was right . . . again. Even after the jobs were done, she kept finding things connected to jobs I’d done earlier, insisting they were part of the original task. She was cunning about it, though, not pushing me too hard, giving me only small jobs, easily done. Keeping me on the line. Keeping that last string attached. Keeping control.

Eventually, I said to hell with it. If she drove me out of Chicago, that was her loss. When she called, I’d ask how much the job paid. She got the message. If she wanted it badly enough, she did pay. Finally, that winter, when I told myself I’d be done with her in a job or two, she called and wanted me to do something a whole lot bigger.

‘I’m meeting with Nico Tucci to discuss a partnership in the Dhamphir matter,’ she said.

‘I don’t—’

‘—want anything to do with taking over Dhamphir. I know that, Eve, and while I think it’s a mistake to be so skittish around the Cabals, that’s a lesson for another teacher to impart. What I’m asking is only for your bodyguard services at the meeting.’

‘Because Tucci is a sorcerer? With a history of double-crossing, his partners?’

‘Exactly. But I also know that he does so only sporadically, suggesting he can be trusted under the right circumstances. He came to me on this matter, which is a good sign. And I intend to proceed with caution, which is why I’m asking for your help. You’ll accompany me to this meeting, but take no part in the negotiations.’

‘Hired gun only?’

‘Yes. For one evening’s work, I will pay you five hundred dollars, which is more than reasonable. After this, I won’t bother you again. Your debt is paid.’

My debt had been paid months ago. I didn’t say that, though. She was obviously desperate, and this was just the opportunity I needed to part on good terms.

‘Where and when?’ I asked.

*

Lavina led me to an abandoned warehouse. I think that, at some point someone decreed that all clandestine meetings must be held in one. Woe to the criminal overlord who lives in a city thriving with commerce, with no empty warehouses to be found. He probably needs to build one, just to have a place to arrange late-night meetings.

I suppose the allure is that combination of enclosed and open. You’re hidden from prying eyes, yet within a cavernous space, making an ambush difficult. Still, there’s nothing to stop you from being jumped as you walk in or out of the building. Or being attacked from all sides once you’re in there. A flawed concept, and one I was painfully aware of as I moved into the lead.

As I was casting my sensing spell, my pager buzzed. I silenced it and checked the display. Kristof. His third page since late afternoon. I should have called him back, but he had a sixth sense for knowing when I was up to something. I shut off my pager.

I cast sensing spells and got two pings, one on either side of the doorway. I motioned for Lavina to wait. Then I slid soundlessly to the warehouse and cleared a peephole. A thick-necked thug leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Standing watch, not lying in wait. Same with the guy on the other side.

I motioned Lavina toward the door, then cast a binding spell on the first thug before walking through. It was just a precaution, and I released the spell when his partner greeted us with a grunt and waved us through.

Tucci stood in the middle of the room with another bodyguard. A quick sensing spell revealed two more at the other side of the building. I flashed five fingers to Lavina.

‘Five bodyguards?’ she said, her voice ringing through the empty building. ‘Really, Nico. I know I said I was bringing Eve, but you’re giving her ego a boost it doesn’t need. Two would be quite sufficient.’

When Tucci hesitated, I held up three fingers.

Lavina sighed. ‘All right, three. Do you see what you’re creating here?’

Tucci agreed to three, which is what Lavina and I had agreed on earlier. He sent two of his goons out. I followed them halfway to the door, cast a sensing spell and shook my head.

‘If she can still detect them, they’re too close,’ Lavina said. ‘Send them back to the car.’

He radioed instructions. I waited, then cast again and nodded.

‘All right,’ Lavina said. ‘Let’s talk. You want Dhamphir. I want Dhamphir. The only thing standing in our way is—’

Tucci tossed a photo at my feet. As I bent to pick it up, he threw another, then a third, all facedown. I gathered them, straightened, flipped them over, and swore.

Lavina waited, hand out. I gave them to her one at a time. In the first, Richard Granville lay in his blood-soaked bed, staring empty-eyed at the ceiling. In the second, Rick Jr. was face down in his spaghetti, sauce and blood spattering the white tablecloth. In the third, his brother, Alan, floated at the bottom of his tub, electrocuted.

‘I thought you’d like that last one,’ Tucci said to me, pointing to Alan and smiling.

I didn’t smile back. I looked at Lavina. She calmly surveyed the photos, then stacked them.

‘Messy,’ she said. ‘I suppose what they say about your family’s connection to the mob is true. That could be a problem.’

‘That could be a problem?’ I said. ‘Hell, I don’t care how he killed them. He slaughtered a family with direct ties to—’

‘The Cortez Cabal,’ she said with a sigh. ‘So you insist. I’ve failed to see the evidence for that, Eve.’

‘I showed you the evidence. You won’t believe—’

Her look told me I was out of line.

‘You let your bodyguard give you business advice?’ Tucci said. ‘That could be a problem, Lavina.’

‘Former bodyguard. This is Eve’s last job with me. As you see, her mouth is a bit of a problem. A weakening in the spinal column doesn’t help matters.’

She gave me a withering look, I wasn’t withered. There was a difference between ballsy and suicidal, and killing the Granvilles had crossed it.

‘Sorry, Lavina, but you knew how I felt about this. My employment ends here. If you want a bodyguard, I’ll escort you to your car now.’

I turned to go. She launched a binding spell, but I was ready, ducking fast and hitting her with a knockback. She stumbled back, her spell disrupted.

‘Show some respect, Eve.’

‘I am,’ I said. ‘Otherwise, I’d have used my energy bolt. You knew my limits. You crossed them. I’m still offering to finish this job by escorting you—’

One of the thugs slammed a fist into my jaw. I didn’t see that coming and it hit full force, teeth rattling, blood spraying as I staggered back. I launched an energy bolt. He flew halfway across the warehouse, letting out a squeal of shock and pain. When the next one ran at me, I doubled the power and he dropped on the spot, howling, the smell of burning flesh filling the air. The third took a step toward me. I lifted my fingers. He stopped.

I turned to Lavina. ‘May I leave now?’

‘Go,’ she said. ‘And I’d suggest you keep going, Eve, because I’m not going to forget this.’

I met her gaze. ‘Neither am I.’

*

I didn’t make it out that easily. Tucci still had two guards within radio distance. They tried to ambush me. I was ready, but I still ended up with a second-degree burn on my arm from one who was a fire half-demon. I killed the other. I could have incapacitated him and run, but we were beyond that point. Come at me with five thugs and I can’t leave them all standing.

The one in the warehouse probably wouldn’t survive his injuries either. I don’t regret that. They’d have done the same to me. Two deaths would only bolster my reputation. I didn’t do it for that reason, but it was a factor.

That first blow had left all teeth intact, thankfully, but my split lip and bloody nose meant I was covered in blood. No taxis for me. I didn’t care, I could use the walk. It gave me time to reflect on my mistakes. Reflect isn’t quite the right word, I suppose. I’d screwed up, and I knew it. I gave myself proper shit for it and spent the walk thinking of all the ways I could have handled it better.

I was heading into the alley behind my apartment building when a black BMW rolled to the curb. The passenger window buzzed down.

‘Get in, Eve.’

Kristof leaned over and flung open the door. When I didn’t move fast enough, he opened his side, ready to come out and get me. I slid in and shut the door.

‘How?’ I began.

He handed me a handkerchief and motioned to my lip.

‘Don’t bleed on the leather right?’ I said.

He gave me a look that said that wasn’t what he meant. I nodded and pressed the cloth to my lip.

‘As I said, I suspected Lavina would make a move on the Granvilles. So I decided to monitor the situation and received word this afternoon that Rick Granville had been found dead. By the time I was on the phone, his brother and father had followed him to the afterlife. I tried to contact you.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I got the page, and I meant to call back . . .’

‘No, you knew you were making a risky choice, and you preferred not to speak to anyone who might talk you out of it.’

True.

A loud ringing made me jump. Kristof motioned to the glove compartment. I opened it and found a telephone the size of a brick. A mobile phone. I’d heard of them, but never seen one. I handed it to him. He answered, listened, said a few words, then hung up.

‘As I suspected, you won’t be returning to your apartment tonight.’ ‘Tucci’s men were waiting for—?’ I stopped. ‘No, not waiting for me. Setting me up to take the fall for the murders.’

‘Yes, but it’s been taken care of. I sent a team there earlier to wait. They’ll deal with it.’

‘Is that safe? Involving the Cabal?’

‘Safer than letting you take the fall – after being rumoured to have completed a similar assignment for me. My father will be happy to be rid of the Granvilles – and happy not to care too much about how it was done, as long as I’ve

taken care of any potential link back to us.’

‘Thanks Kris,’ When I realized what I said, I back-tracked, ‘Kristof. Sorry.’

‘Kris is fine.’

‘No. If you don’t like it—’

His brows lifted. ‘Did I say that?’

He hadn’t. He’d just said no one ever called him Kris.

I nodded and said, ‘Thank you. And I’m sorry. I screwed up.’

‘Which you always realize and never repeat the same mistake. That’s all that matters. However, if this were to make you think twice before ignoring my advice again . . .’

‘You aren’t always right, you know.’

‘He arched his brows, looking so shocked that I had to laugh. When I did, my lip split, blood gushing. He handed me another handkerchief and pulled into a parking lot, then twisted to inspect my injuries. When his fingers slid under my chin for a better look at my lip, I jumped, head banging against the roof.

‘Sorry, just . . .’

‘Not used to being touched,’ he murmured.

I nodded, cheeks heating. Sure, I did the one-night stand thing, and that obviously involved physical contact. Beyond that, though, I avoided it. My mother hadn’t been affectionate and I’d grown up keeping my distance. In a lot of ways, I guess.

‘May I?’ Kristof said, motioning at my lip. ‘It might need stitches.’

I nodded. His fingers slid under my chin again. Smooth fingers. Warm skin. My heart started to race. I closed my eyes and let him check out my lips, thenmy nose, and even when he let go, I could sense him there, feel the heat of his body, smell his faintly minty breath, hear his breathing. As my heart pounded, I blamed a long dry spell between those one-night stands, but I knew it was more than that.

I was falling for Kristof Nast. It didn’t matter, though, because he wasn’t falling back, and that meant it was safe. I’ve never thrown myself at a guy. Never even made a pass at one. As long as he kept it business, everything would be fine.

‘We’ll get the lip looked at,’ he said. ‘Your nose is fine though. Anything else?’

I opened my eyes and shook my head.

‘Nothing?’ His look told me to save the bravado for someone else.

I lifted my arm. He examined the burn and said that it, too, needed checking. He’d take me to a doctor he knew – not a Cabal one, but another, where he could drop me off and wait outside.

He backed the car from the lot. ‘As for Lavina . . .’

‘I need to strike back. I can’t let her get away with this.’

He nodded. ‘I have a few ideas on that.’

‘I don’t doubt it. In this case, though, I think I’ve got the situation under control.’ I reached into my waistband, took out a minirecorder, hit rewind, then play. My voice filled the car.

‘—killed them, Lavina. Slaughtered a family with direct ties to—’

‘The Cortez Cabal,’ Lavina replied. ‘So you insist—’

I hit stop and looked at Kristof. ‘Good?’

‘Excellent.’

‘I may screw up, but as you said, I’m capable of learning. And, unfortunately, what I learned is that I’m not going to be able to stay in Chicago, even with this tape.’

‘I know you don’t want to move to L.A., but closer would be easier. San Diego? San Francisco?’

I shook my head. ‘If I’m going to move, that’s just silly. Is it easiest for you if I’m in L.A.?’

‘It is.’

‘Then that’s where I’m going.’

*

Los Angeles wasn’t my kind of town. Too phony. Too sunny. Too blond. But it had a thriving supernatural underground, if a more tightly regulated one, being in a Cabal home city. Still, it was a change of pace, and I liked it well enough. Or maybe I just liked seeing more of Kristof. It didn’t matter. Nothing had changed.

Well, it did change a little. Kristof found me and apartment in a decent building. I paid for mine and he got a second one in the same building as a discreet bachelor pad. Being in the same city meant we got together more than once a month – at least weekly, and not always for business. It was only friendship, though, and I was good with that. He needed a place to kick back with someone he could be himself around. I needed that, too.

Once I moved, our meetings shifted to afternoons, leaving evenings open for his kids. I’d been there just over two months when he called wanting a rare evening get-together. Rarer still, he didn’t want to hold it at the apartment.

‘I have an engagement until ten,’ he said. ‘Would you be able to come by and meet up with me after?’

‘Is that safe?’

‘It isn’t business,’ he said. ‘It’s a personal engagement.’

Personal? As in, a date? My gut did a weird little flip. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see Kristof after a date with another woman. In fact, I was damned sure I didn’t. Which was all the more reason to say yes. Squash any romantic hopes

while they were still at the squashable stage.

‘Sure. Where is it?’

He gave me an address and I said I’d be there at ten.

*

I drove to the address Kristof had given me. Yes, drove. In a city the size of L.A., you’d think public transit would be the way to go, but it’d taken me about two weeks to realize that if I wanted to work efficiently, I’d need a car. In this case, it was a good idea, because I’d hate to have footed the cab bill.

The address was almost an hour outside of L.A. And when I pulled into the parking lot, I had to double then triple-check it. And, even then, I was convinced I’d copied it down wrong.

I was at an ice rink. Indoors, of course. There’s no ice in Southern California. When I circled the lot, though, I found Kristof’s car. When he’d said personal, I’d jumped to the conclusion he was on a date, but with Kristof, the more obvious answer would be that he was with is boys. If so, I’d need to be careful. They were too young to recognize me as a witch, I thought, but I wouldn’t take chances. Kristof would expect discretion.

So I went in the back door. It was locked, but a spell fixed that. Inside, I followed the blast of a whistle and the skritch-skritch of skates until I found the rink.

If Kristof’s boys had been here, their ice time was over. A hockey game was in progress. I like hockey. Well, marginally better than I like other sports, which is not at all, so I suppose that’s not the most ringing endorsement. I’d never buy tickets to a game, but I could fathom the appeal more than I could with things like golf or tennis. Hockey combines skill, strategy, and good old-fashioned brute force. I could relate to that.

I just started for the front when a crash rang out as a player deftly shoulder-checked another into the boards. A whistle blast and the referee signalled and waved the player off the ice. As the tall, broad-shouldered offender skated away, I admired the rear view.

He gracefully leapt over the boards into what I presumed was the penalty box. As he sat, he pulled off his helmet and shook out his blond hair. And I laughed.

I suppose shock should have been the correct response. Kristof Nast, scion of the Nast Cabal, playing hockey? Six months ago, I would have presumed he had a twin brother. Now I just looked at him, sitting in the penalty box, and thought, I should have guessed. Skill, strategy, and good old-fashioned brute force. That fit Kristof to a tee.

As I watched, he watched too – gaze fixed on the doors at the far end of the arena. Looking for me. Frowning. Checking the clock. Waiting. Hoping.

I saw that I knew he hadn’t invited me here because it was a convenient place to meet. There was a reason he was playing hockey almost an hour from

L.A. No one else knew about it. In bringing me here, he was throwing the door open as wide as it would go. This is me. This is the real me. This is the me no one else gets to see. You don’t do that with someone you consider just a friend.

No. I had to be wrong. Kristof had never given me so much as a lingering glance. He just needed someone in his life who didn’t expect him to play the role he’d been born to. That’s all I was.

I stayed at that far end of the ice, watching him as he watched for me. When his penalty ended, he leapt out of the box and back into the game, playing with that same ferocity he showed in business. The same, yet different, too. Here he could pull the punches himself, and as I watched him skating around, blue eyes glowing behind his mask, I knew he loved that. The chance to get in the game, not just call the shots from the sidelines.

The game ended a few minutes after he left the penalty box. Then he finally saw me.

As the others streamed from the ice, he skated over to where I stood by the boards. At the last moment he sheared off to send a wave of shaved ice my way. I laughed and jumped back.

‘Just get here?’ he said as he hit the boards.

‘Nope.’

‘Snuck in that the back huh? I should have guessed. So, surprised?’

‘Pfft. Kristof Nast likes playing games where he gets to throw his weight around. Big shock there. Though I bet getting sent to the penalty box for it is a new experience.’

He grinned. ‘It is. Nice in a way, though, to actually be called on my transgressions once in a while.’

He pulled off his helmet and a glove and ran his fingers through his hair. Then he leaned against the boards and looked at me, still grinning like a little boy, face alight, and I knew I wasn’t falling for Kristof Nast. I’d fallen. Hard. And as he looked at me, I felt my cheeks heat and his smile widened.

One look at his face and I knew I hadn’t been wrong about why he invited me here. One look at mine, and he knew he hadn’t been wrong to invite me.

I should have run screaming from the arena. Well, excused myself and fled at least. I’d spent the last few months saying it was okay to fall for Kristof because there was no danger of him reciprocating. But now there was. And I didn’t care, because when it came down to it, there was only one question to be answered. Did I trust him enough to take a chance? The answer was yes. I trusted Kristof more than I’d ever trusted anyone in my life.

We stood there for a minute, just looking at each other, until I cleared me throat and said, ‘Your team mates will be looking for you.’

He leaned further over the board and I thought he was going to reach for me, but he just said, ‘There’s an empty changing room at the end of the hall. It’s locked, but I’m sure you can fix that.’

‘I can.’

*

I paced around the empty changing room. What if he didn’t make the first move? I’d never made the first move. I had no problem with the general concept, but I’ve never chased a guy in my life – my ego couldn’t stand the rejection.

I was supposed to be this tough, knows-what-she-wants, gets-what-shewants girl. Maybe he’d expect me to make a move. How? What if I was wrong? I’d let Kristof see me make a fool of myself more than once, and I was fine with that. But this was different. Screw this up and—

The door opened. Kristof stood there, only his skates off, the hockey uniform now paired with a pair of thousand-dollar Italian loafers. At any other time, I would have laughed, but now I just stood there, staring at him.

‘Is this still business?’ he said.

I shook my head. ‘It hasn’t been business for a long time.’

He crossed the room in three strides and swept me up in a kiss that sent my last doubts flying. A deep, light-my-insides-on-fire kind of kiss – one I returned like I’d never returned a kiss in my life, arms going around his neck, body pressing against his, legs wrapping around him as pressed me into the wall.

We kept kissing, gasping for quick breaths, neither pulling back long enough to breathe properly, let alone say a word. He managed to get my T-shirt off with only a split-second break. I didn’t have nearly as much luck with is hockey uniform. With a little help, I got his shirt off, then the pads, and then we were on the floor, still kissing, grappling to get out of our clothes as fast as we could. We were down to the bare essentials when he suddenly pulled back.

‘—need—better,’ he said between pants.

‘Sorry, but I don’t get better than this.’

He laughed, breath still heaving. ‘I mean, you deserve better. No changing-room floors. A hotel. I’ll take you somewhere. Anywhere.’

‘Huh?’

He disentangled himself and backed up. ‘Where do you want to go? Someplace special. You deserve special.’

‘I do?’

His gaze met mine. ‘You do.’

I stretched out on the floor and considered it. ‘Bali, then. Or Monaco. No idea where either one is, but they sound special.’

He laughed again. ‘Both then. Bali first. This weekend. The best hotel I can find.’

‘That’s very sweet.’ I toyed with the front clasp on my bra. ‘But the weekend’s kind of far away, don’t you think?’ I slipped out of my bra. ‘Three days. Four if we can’t get away until Saturday.’ I tugged my panties down over my hips. ‘How many hours is that?’

‘Sixty-five,’ he said, his voice hoarse as he watched me. ‘If I can get away early Friday afternoon.’

I laughed. ‘Already figured it out? Well then, if you can wait that long . . .’

His gaze lifted, with some difficulty, to my eyes. ‘Not really, but I want—’

‘—to be a gentleman. Treat me right. Which is probably the sweetest thing a guy has ever done. Under the circumstances, though . . .’ I slipped off my panties, ‘Making me wait doesn’t seem very chivalrous.’

The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘You have a point.’

‘I absolutely have a point. And, while I do appreciate the sentiment, the most thoughtful, considerate thing you could do right now would be—‘

He covered the distance between us and cut me off with a kiss, then showed me just how considerate he could be.

*

We still went to Bali that weekend. Monaco followed a month later. Both were just overnighters, but that was fine. If Kristof had turned out to be the kind of guy who’d start ignoring his kids when he got a new girlfriend, then he wouldn’t be the kind of guy I wanted to be with.

As a lover, Kristof was everything I could have wanted. Passionate and thoughtful – in bed and out of it. That was new for me. It was all new for me. I hadn’t had a boyfriend since high school, and this was so far removed from that , I considered myself a relationship virgin, I think Kristof was, too. That sounds strange for a divorced guy, but everything I’d heard about his wife led me to believe that it had been a marriage of convenience, as Cabal ones often are. They select human wives from the upper echelons of society, where women are happy to marry into money and don’t care to know the details.

Kristof had needed a wife and sons. She’d been suitable on both counts. He’d been fine with that, too – sex and emotion were as incompatible in his world as they’d been in mine. Together, we realized how wrong we’d been. You could have both. A friend and a lover – one person you could completely be yourself with.

We knew it wouldn’t last. Couldn’t. We didn’t say that. Of course. We just wrung as much from it as we could, while we could.

We’d been lovers from almost six months when Kristof got the rare vacation from both kids and work. His brother was taking the boys on a trip, and things were slow at the office, so Kristof took the week off. Then he booked a week in Acapulco for us.

It was an amazing week. Even as a couple, we didn’t spend a lot of time together. That was mutual – we had our own lives and needed the room to live them separately, which made us, appreciate those moments of intersection all the more. Having a whole week together was bliss.

We didn’t spend every moment of it side by side, of course. I went into town and scoured the local underground spell shops. Kristof spent a few hours each day on the phone taking care of business. But we were together more than we ever had been, and it was wonderful.

On our last night together, I was on the balcony drinking beer and admiring the sunset. Kristof had gotten us a villa so private I could lounge on the deck, wearing only one of his shirts. I’m not the type to do that if there’s any chance of being spotted. I value my privacy with a ferocity matched only by Kristof’s.

He was inside, making his nightly call to his boys as he cooked dinner. When he came out, I had my feet on the railing, enjoying the last rays of sunshine. I opened my eyes to see him watching me, plates in hand.

‘You look good,’ he said.

‘Hold that thought, because right now, what looks really good is that steak.’

He laughed and set the plates down on the patio table, then refilled his Scotch glass.

‘How are the boys?’ I asked.

‘Good. Bryce getting into trouble. Sean’s holding down the fort. The usual.’ He took a long drink of his Scotch, then looked at me. ‘I’d like you to meet them, Eve.’

‘What?’

He frowned. ‘You don’t want to?’

I set down my knife. ‘No. I definitely want to. I’d love to. Only I’m not sure how you plan to work that. Do you mean, see them? Like go to one of their games, watch from the stands? Or meet them? Introduce me as a friend, go out for ice cream.’

‘I mean introduce you as what you are. The woman I’m in love with.’

My heart skipped a beat. I had to struggle for breath.

‘Or maybe not,’ he said slowly. ‘Okay. If that’s not what you want.’

‘Stop that,’ I snapped. ‘You just hit me with this out of the blue. I think I’m entitled to be a bit thrown, okay?’

‘And a bit upset, obviously.’

‘No, a lot upset, Kris.’ I pushed the plate away and stood, then waved at his Scotch. ‘I hope you’ve had a lot more of those than I think you have, because otherwise, I don’t know what the hell is going through your head right now.’

His lips tightened, eyes chilling. ‘What’s going through my head is thinking that I love you, and I want to be with you, not just grabbing minutes when we can. I want to share my life with you.’

‘Tell your family, you mean. Everyone. Including your father.’

‘Of course.’

‘And how long of a life expectancy do you think I’d have after that?’

He stopped, glass halfway to his mouth, and went completely still and pale, and I knew he hadn’t planned this, or even thought it through.

He put the tumbler down. I’d never let anything happen to you, Eve. Never.’ He straightened. ‘I want this. More than I’ve ever wanted anything and my father will understand that. I’m more than just his son. I’m the future of his company. Most days, I am his company. I would like to think that my happiness would be enough for him to overlook his prejudice against witches, but I do know that I’m too valuable to lose.’

‘Yes, you are.’

He knew what I meant. He was too valuable to lose to me. I wasn’t just a witch. I was a dark witch with seriously questionable connections. I was, in my way, just as ambitious as Kristof. Cabal sorcerers didn’t even marry supernaturals, and it was for this very reason – so no one would disturb the sanctity of the inner family. Not even a wife could jeopardize their hold on power.

I could sign a writ in blood saying I had no interest in the Cabal’s business, and it wouldn’t matter. I wasn’t just unsuitable, I was a threat.

‘I want to make this work, Eve,’ he said. There was a note in his voice that made my heart ache – a little boy who never got what he really wanted, not ever, and who knew that wasn’t going to change now.

He looked up. ‘If I could make this work, would you . . .?’

‘Yes.’ I met his gaze. ‘I would. But not at any risk to you or your sons.’

‘And not at any risk to you.’ He nodded, straightening again, that imperious Nast ice seeping back into his eyes. ‘I’ll find a way. It may take some time, but I will find a way.’

*

It wasn’t the same after that. A little something had been added into the mix that hadn’t been there before – hope.

We’d both seen the possibility that this could be something real, something lasting, maybe something forever. We’d seen it and we knew that the other wanted it, and that changed the timbre of the relationship.

But we both knew the problem was as close to insurmountable as they came. The Capulets and the Montagues had nothing on the five-hundred year feud between witches and sorcerers, and that was only the most superficial problem. The Cabal heir could not be allowed to marry a powerful supernatural with as past as unsavoury as mine.

We never actually discussed the problem. That would be depressing, and we still cherished our time together too much for that. But ideas would float into the conversation.

Was he set on marriage? Or would a common-law arrangement work? How about separate homes? It wouldn’t make a difference, we realized. However we arranged it, I’d still have the same influence over him.

What if he wasn’t heir? That idea came from him. His father would never allow it, though. If Kristof said he was stepping down, his father would eliminate the reason. Same if Kristof tried to leave the company.

There was only one possible solution. One so desperate we didn’t discuss it, not even in the vaguest terms. Over the next couple of months, every now and then, when we made love, Kristof would forget to use protection. And I’d forget to remind him. It had happened before – we’d get caught up and ‘oh shit’ afterward. Only there weren’t any ‘oh, shit’ moments now.

As solutions went, this really was the last act of desperation. I wasn’t sure I was ready for a child. I was pretty damned sure I wasn’t. But Kristof was an amazing father, and I was determined to be just as good a mother.

It really did look like the answer we needed. Nothing meant more to the Nasts than family, and with one ‘whoops’ I could join that family and give them the excuse they needed to accept me.

So it was no surprise that three months after our trip to Acapulco, I missed my period and when I tested, the results were clear. I was pregnant.

I called Kristof and left a message with his answering service. We’d started doing that months ago, working out a code that no one would question. I asked him to meet me for lunch at a place we sometimes went, outside L.A., where he stood no chance of running into anyone from the Cabal.

I’d agonized about how to do this. The news seemed better conveyed in private, but it also seemed like something to celebrate, something to ‘do right’ the way he had with our first night together. I decided on the restaurant, but I’d meet him outside first and tell him before we went in.

I spent the rest of the morning waiting for Kristof to call back. I wasn’t too worried when he didn’t; it only meant that he couldn’t make the call privately. Before heading out, I called the service and confirmed that he’d gotten the message. He had, so he’d be there.

Only he wasn’t. I waited outside until it started to look like I was loitering. Then I went in. I started ordering a Coke, then changed it to a milk.

I was pregnant.

Oh God, I was pregnant.

The reality of that didn’t hit until I ordered the milk. I was pregnant with Kristof Nast’s child. That the hell had I been thinking.

I got a lot of deep breathing in while I was waiting. Good practise for eight months from now, I was sure.

It would be okay. Something must have come up. Or the answering service was mistaken and he hadn’t gotten the message.

‘Miss Levine.’

I turned. A man in a suit approached. He had graying blond hair and blue eyes I’d know anywhere.

‘Mr Nast,’ I said, rising, extending a hand.

He ignored the hand and stopped in front of me. ‘My son isn’t coming.’

I slammed my expression into neutral and my brain into high gear. ‘So you figured out that I’m working for him? Or did he finally tell you?’

‘I know you’re doing a lot more than working for him, Miss Levine.’

Before I could open my mouth, he slapped a photo onto the table. It was Kristof and me behind this very restaurant last month, tucked into a shadowy corner, kissing good-bye before he went back to work.

‘Okay, we had a fling. A stupid move, but he’s single, I’m single, we’d been working together a while. It was bound to happen and we got it out of our system—’

‘It’s been going on for months. My son isn’t nearly as good at hiding as he thinks. Not from me. But I’ve confronted him with it and he’s seen his mistake. That’s why I’m here. He wants me to tell you it’s over and he’d like you to leave Los Angeles – an inconvenience we’ll compensate you for.’

‘Bullshit.’

His eyes narrowed in a look I knew well. But there was a difference, too, in those frosty blue eyes. When I’d first met Kristof, as chilly as he’d been , I’d seen a spark of humanity there. Thomas Nast didn’t have that spark.

‘Kristof didn’t send you to dump me,’ I said.

‘You have a very high opinion of yourself, Miss Levine.’

‘No,’ I said, lowering my voice and sitting. ‘I have a very high opinion of your son. If he wanted out, he’d tell me himself. You found out about our relationship. You intercepted my message so you can bring one of your own: Leave my son alone. I’m going to suggest that’s a conversation you have with him, not me.’

‘I don’t think you want me to do that.’ He took a seat across from me. ‘I’ve done some digging into your past, Miss Levine, and while I’m sure you consider yourself a unique and interesting person, you are, to me, just another very boring stereotype -one my son has, until now, managed to avoid. You’re a gold digger.’

I laughed. I could tell he didn’t like that, but I couldn’t help it. ‘You really don’t give your son enough credit, you know that? He’s avoided gold diggers because he knows how to spot one, and he knows I’m as far from that as you can get. He offered me a job. When I did take it, I accepted a fair wage and nothing more. Whenever he’s used his influence to help me, he’s done it without my knowledge, because he knows I wouldn’t accept that. Financially, I pay my own way, which I’m sure you’d know if you’d done a little more digging, but you didn’t want to do that, because you might find out that I don’t fit the little box you’ve prepared for me.’

‘And you can’t be bought off.’

‘Nope. But feel free to try.’

He did of course. He offered me money. He offered me power. He offered me things that, a year ago, I would have jumped at so fast I’d have given the old man a heart attack. But today I didn’t give them a second’s thought.

‘Do you have any idea what staying with you would do to my son’s life?’ he said finally.

‘It’s what he wants.’

‘What he wants.’ Nast gave a slow shake of his head, as if amazed that I was naïve enough to think that mattered. ‘That may be, but there’s one thing he values more than you.’

I lifted my chin. ‘I know that. His sons are the most important thing in Kristof’s life, and I have no intention of threatening that.’

Another shake of his head. ‘Pretty words, Miss Levine, but if you truly believed them, you’d leave this table and catch the next bus out of Los Angeles. Your very existence threatens them and their future. Stay with you, and their father will be ruined, and they’ll be ruined with him. I won’t let that happen. My son may be a grown man, able to make his own mistakes. His sons don’t have that choice. They need someone to protect them. That someone will be me.’

My hands clenched under the table. I knew what was coming. I told myself I was wrong – he wouldn’t dare – but when he opened his mouth, I knew that would come out.

‘If my son wants to be with you, so be it. He can leave. But he won’t take his sons with him. Kristof will be given a choice. His sons or you.’

‘And to hell with what Kristof wants.’

He met my gaze. ‘Yes, Miss Levine. To hell with that Kristof wants. I love my son. His happiness, though, must come second to the future of this company and of my family, and I will protect that, even if it costs me my son.’

He stood. ‘If you’re still in Los Angeles by the end of the week, I’ll tell my son that I know about the affair. I’ll give him his choice.’

*

I wanted to fight. God, how I wanted to. I’ve spent my whole life fighting, yet the fire never burned as hot as it did that day. Fight for what I wanted. Fight for what I needed. Only I couldn’t. Thomas Nast had cornered me.

I couldn’t let Kristof make that choice. He’d pick his sons. He had to. That’s the man I’d fallen in love with and I expected no less. But he wouldn’t accept it. He would fight, with everything he had, but it wouldn’t be enough, and eventually he’d lose, and all he could hope for then would be to salvage the option he’d been given in the first place. Take his sons. Let me go.

He’d never forgive himself for losing that battle, so I couldn’t let him wage it. I had to do the honourable thing.

Had I ever thought that running away could be the honourable choice? Yet it was. If there was one thing I admired about Kristof above everything else, it was his relationship with his sons. He was the kind of parent I’d dreamed of having, and I‘d never take that from his boys.

I had to let Kristof keep his sons, his family, his job, everything that mattered to him and take away what he could most afford to lose. Me.

Don’t let him know what his father did. Don’t let him know there was another choice. And, above all, don’t let him know I was carrying his child.

We’d thought this baby would be the solution. Now I realized just how blind we’d been. There was no way Thomas Nast would accept a grandchild with a witch mother. If he found out, he’d make sure I suffered a fatal accident before I could give birth.

For Kristof’s sake and for the sake of his children – all three of them – I had to go. Just go.

It wasn’t easy, of course. I had to let him know. I spent hours writing a note, over and over, saying everything I wanted to say. Telling him how much he meant to me. Telling him how much it was killing me to leave.

I wanted to thank him, too. For everything he’d done. I wasn’t the same person he’d met a year ago. I was stronger, wiser, deeper, and I owed that to him.

But I couldn’t say any of that, because then he’d know I hadn’t left of my own will. He’d come after me and we’d be right back in this position, facing that choice. If I truly loved him, then I had to let him think I’d left because I wanted to. I had to be willing to let him hate me.

The only thing I could keep was the memories. No, that wasn’t the only thing. I let my hand rest on my stomach. I’d been allowed to keep one small part of him, and I was grateful for that. More grateful than I ever could have imagined.

So I wrote my note. Only two words. Thank you. Then I folded the page, left it where he’d find it, picked up my bag, and walked out.

**********