Chapter Three
Greginald
The legal intern left, carrying my assembled documents in a canvas tote bag I’d had lying around, shoulders hitched and breath deep with a hidden yawn. He’d had second portions of the risotto, making noises that were nearly obscene. For such an uptight young male, he melted under food. Free food.
I saw a future with more visits from the male, considering his unhealthy, lean posture.
As his shadow followed his way out, the shape of it grew horns and grinned devilishly at me, through a jack-o-lantern smile. Creepy little blighter.
And that memory stuck with me the entire day. He was an omega, for certain. That scent and build were unmistakable. I didn’t know what to expect next, so I went about business as usual.
Over the next few days, I had stop-ins from the usual clientele purchasing their teas and a litany of women seeking my spell work.
The medical system had sorely missed an opportunity for good when they slacked on women’s and omega’s research.
In those instances, magic seemed to flourish and was cheaper, too.
The only downside? Few were as qualified as they claimed, regulations were lax, and religion.
I needn’t have to elaborate, but it seemed like half of all human religions had compunctions with magic, women, omegas, or an odd fascination with whose penis went where.
As long as everyone involved is consenting. Sex is like magic. Why the fuck do I care? Nobody wants to involve me in their spellwork.
I rifled through an inventory log as I brought a cart with a scale on it round my shelves.
I kept a tare weight on every jar and did a quick calculation to make sure my needs were met.
Powdered ginger was running low, as usual, as well as pink peppercorns and amanita mushrooms. They were brilliant in spell work with the right permit and prescription but were mostly used by humans for getting higher than, pardon my French, a giraffe’s nutsack.
Again, I found myself thinking of Esmeray.
Strikingly dark hair fell in a sleek swoop, piercing eyes as orange as flame, and lips narrow, but full.
Kissable. I shook my head and flinched as my ears slapped my horns.
I needed a date, or at least some tension relief.
I thought of hiring an incubus for an evening, getting a massage and working some of my kinks out.
Kinks that, with an incubus, would be pointless. The things I craved were unconventional. I needed submission, desperation, and a specific kind of irrevocable consent. In short, I needed a slave bound to me in despicable ways.
I also needed to get my mind out of the gutter before it got away with me.
As if on cue, a lovely distraction marched through my front door with a scowl and a mustache that should have been illegal. And, from the scent of it, nothing more than a cigarette smoke filter on his upper lip. The cloying odor offended me from as high up as I was.
The chime of bells preceded the human, his watery pale eyes glancing around the place as he rested one hand protectively near his gun and did the cowboy walk I’d come to expect from men with a hero complex stewing in inferiority trying to waddle around too big of a belt. “I’m looking for Graginal.”
The way he pronounced my name, like vaginal with a “gr” made me cringe. “By chance, do you mean Mage Greginald Hawthorne?”
He looked up then up again as I rounded the corner of a shelf and stared down at him. He didn’t bother hiding the disgust in his gaze. I could almost hear his thoughts whispering, mongrim.
I’d have expressed more disgust or protested, but magic rarely beat gun in the rock, paper, scissors of life. “How may I help you?”
“You can help me by being normal for a minute so we can talk.” The way he said normal made my nerves ache and magic fizzle to the surface.
“I am normal, but if you’re asking that I shift to speak to you eye to eye, that is doable and probably the better way to ask.” I said it with a smile as I let my features shift and felt my magic lock my head into place, eyesight adjusting.
“I’m going to need you to come down to the station and answer some questions.” He reached toward his side pocket, fingers resting on his handcuffs.
“Am I under arrest?” I kept my hands on the cart and in full view so as not to spook the bug-eyed male into giving me a spare unwelcome orifice.
“Not yet.” His upper lip twitched. Cop speak for no.
“Would you prefer to transport me there?” I offered my best smile, and he nodded, eyes trailing about as if he expected something spooky to jump out and bite him.
Giraffe teeth weren’t nearly as sharp as I’d have liked. So, no biting would occur.
“That’s that, then. May I ask what I’ll be questioned about?” The hopeful question got nothing more than a grumble, something about security or confidentiality.
“Let me put it this way. Is it magic or my business related?” I stared him down.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Now, while we are here, I have books, references, my permits, licenses, client lists, schedules, and work logs. Which would prove useful for me to bring?” I waited.
“Client list, work log, schedule, and everything you have on death magic.” He stared me down. “You are a necromancer, right?”
My eye twitched so violently, my vision blurred. That deplorable moniker…
I took a centering breath and gestured for the officer to follow as I pulled out all the necessary documents, handed them to him, and flipped the sign to closed as I gathered my keys.
Whatever they wanted to question me over was best done willingly and expediently, because one pissy officer could cost me my livelihood.
Also, I wanted a contract with the station.
They needed outside consultants often, and I had no problem collecting sweet contractor money. My cooperation would be a boon.
He escorted me to his car and threw my belongings in his passenger seat, not even giving me time to buckle up before zipping off toward the den of debauchery known as the local PD, where he parked and escorted me out by the elbow in a mock frog march. No pleasantries were wasted.
As he signed me in and took my signature, he roughly thrusted me into an interrogation room, ordered me to sit, and stormed off.
A mirror and a window lay on opposite sides of me.
The mirror was, no doubt, two-way, and a quick cast of greater sight over my eyes with a gesture of my finger let me see through it toward a stuffy gentleman in an expensive suit and an officer simpering for his acknowledgment.
Men in expensive suits bothered me. Not that I wore cheap ones, myself, but I wore bespoke by a local tailor. Affordable and made to fit me.
In the blink of an eye, the door flung open and a hotheaded woman stormed in, slamming both her palms onto the metal table before me. “Where were you last night between 11p.m. and 2 a.m.?”
By only the skin of my teeth, I managed not to jump.
I took a deep breath. “I gave the officer my schedule, client list, and work log before I even got in the car. But, to answer your question, I was at home in bed. My poltergeist can vouch for me, and I do believe I have a home security camera that logged me walking by a few times.”
Beady green eyes narrowed at me through stringy blonde hair. Dark circles under her eyes told a story about her own nightlife that I didn’t care to postulate about past the stink of sex and alcohol underlying her perfume. “One moment.”
She stepped out for a few minutes and returned with my neatly accumulated data and thumbed through things. “When was the last time you saw Esmeray Faust?”
“It’s in my schedule. Three days ago, we had a meeting to go over documents for a pending lawsuit I’ve been named as a defendant in.”
She grumbled and thumbed through things.
“How did your interaction go?” She studied my notes, a perfunctory few lines about our meal, what I gave him, and a few details about him to jog my memory if we met again. “This is suspiciously thorough.”
“You’ll note I do the same for all clients, and if I have to meet people again, they’re happier if they think I recall them well.” I put on a half smile that she didn’t return. Thin fingers flicked a page back as she muttered under her breath as she read. “What’s a daeva?”
“A daeva is a person, often a demon or part demon, that is paired with or has summoned a demon’s spirit into their shadow. They’re a fusion of energy, like a spiritual homunculus.” I opened my palms and offered her a flat-lipped expression as if inviting her to ask more.
Her suspicion turned to surprise and a sigh of relief. “We thought he’d gone poltergeist…”
“Excuse me?” I sat up straight, something in my heart snapping like a string stretched too tight.
“Esmeray Faust was found outside of his apartment last night with your documents on him, magically strangled. We had to shut part of the morgue down because these shadow tentacles keep attacking anyone who gets near him.” She huffed.
“So now you’re telling me I have a demon downstairs who has a living shadow sewn to his celestial asshole? ”
I closed my eyes for a calming breath. “No. Can you hand me the book in that case, please?”
She handed it over, and I flipped through a few pages.
I rarely dabbled in death magic. I could, but the fucking nickname stuck to me, and any spell in the realm of it made my gut wrench.
A few pages in, I had some easily modifiable life force spells, some binding sigils, circles for soul alchemy.
“If his shadow is still alive, there’s some hope to revive him, but it’s risky. ”
Relief melted over her face as an intercom spoke up, and the man in the suit on the other side of the window came into view with the flick of a light switch. “Mage Hawthorne. Are you saying you can revive my son?”
“I’m saying it’s possible. I’m uncertain as to what his background is.”
“If you knew he was a daeva…”