That Old Black Magic

Eden raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes, really. You have my permission to lock me in here at sunset tonight for exactly sixty minutes and not one second longer. That’s it. That’s all. And then we can finally move on from this ridiculous topic of conversation. Agreed?”

“I think we can agree with that,” Darrak said. “And, FYI, it’s really not all that ridiculous.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is!”

Eden sighed. “We’re not arguing with you. It’s impossible.”

“You’re impossible,” Andy countered.

“Good comeback.”

Andy grabbed the printout from his Brendan Franks search and glanced at it. “Who is this guy, anyway?”

Eden took hold of the list of two addresses from him. “Just somebody I need to find.”

“For who? A client?”

“No.” She hesitated. “Actually, it’s for… Lucifer.”

Andy let the paper go so abruptly she staggered back a step. “Do I even want to know anything more about this?”

“Probably not”

“Then I won’t ask.”

“Good idea. We’ll be back later.” She looked at him sternly. “And don’t even think about leaving after work. You need to stay right here.”

He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

That was what you got when you tried to help people out these days. Shameless mocking.

So they were off on their Lucas-related assignment. Eden prayed it would go smoothly.

It was worth a shot.

Ben tried to make peace with the idea he’d be called upon to torture a woman for information later tonight. Not so strangely, that peace didn’t come.

He didn’t like to harm women. Ever. For any reason. He was old-fashioned that way.

If he stooped to the Malleus’s level to that extent, then he was no better of a monster than Darrak.

Ben wouldn’t be able to live with himself it if came to that.

There had to be another solution. And that solution was to get the shapeshifter to talk without any unpleasant means, and Oliver would be satisfied with whatever answers he was looking for. Only Ben would have to get those answers without first asking his boss for permission.

Say what you would about the Malleus and their airtight rules and employees who’d handed their very lives over to the “cause,” sometimes a little money worked as well as any magic ever could.

Especially to the guards who held the keys to the prisoner cells.

One of those greedy guards in question slipped his key into the shifter’s door.

“You have five minutes,” he gruffly informed Ben. “That’s it.”

“Do you think she’ll try to escape?”

“Not with that metal band on her wrist. It stops her from shifting, giving a hell of a shock if she even plays with it. She’s trapped here whether she likes it or not.”

“Handy.”

“Five minutes,” the guard reminded him.

It would have to be enough. This was a little talk that wasn’t sanctioned by Oliver. And he’d been avoiding Sandy ever since she delivered the tainted chicken soup yesterday.

He was on his own.

Other than a small cot and a toilet, there wasn’t much else in the ten-foot-square room but her. The woman crouched in the shadows in the corner.

Ben was met with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“What the hell do you want, Ken doll?” she snapped.

He gave her a smile that might have looked more like a grimace. “The name’s not Ken. It’s Ben.”

“Hooray for you. Leave me alone, jerk.”

“Jerk? You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough. You’re one of them.” She thrust her chin toward the door. “Locked me up in here like an animal.”

“Well, you are a shifter. So you’re an animal part-time, anyway, aren’t you?”

“Bite me.”

“Not in my plans. Sorry.” He glanced at the door, then moved toward it to look out the small window. The guard had moved down the hallway. They had a bit of privacy to speak.

When he looked back at the woman, she was already in front of him, her right fist aimed toward his jaw. He deflected the punch before it landed and wrenched her arm behind her back, pushing her up against the wall like he’d done hundreds of times before with common criminals who’d tried to escape.

“Be nice,” he warned.

“Why should I?”

“I’m not the bad guy here.”

“Sure,” she growled. “I believe it.”

“Have they hurt you?”

“No. But you’re hurting me right now.”

He let go of her. She scrambled away from him, returning to the opposite corner but staying on her feet. He swept his gaze over her. She was somewhere in her twenties, about five seven, with skin the color of cocoa and eyes like bright amber. Her black hair was long and sleek and swept back over her shoulders. The silver cuff circled her left wrist. She wore a simple white T-shirt, which looked a size too small, making her breasts strain against the jersey material.

He felt something stir within him.

Great. The last goddamned thing he needed right now was to find himself attracted to a prisoner. And a bitchy, unhelpful one at that.

“How do you know Eden Riley?” he asked bluntly. The sooner he could get out of here the better.

The woman’s eyes widened as if he’d surprised her, but then they narrowed. “No idea who you’re talking about.”

“How about Eden’s new boyfriend, Darrak? The one that’s going to suck the life right out of her. Do you know him?”

Her jaw tightened.

“I know you do,” he said. “And I have a funny feeling that you just might care what happens to Eden enough to offer up some helpful info.”

“Did you say your name was Ben?” she asked. “That wouldn’t happen to be… Ben Hanson, would it?”

This time he took a step back. “You know who I am?”

“I’ve heard things.”

“How about you tell me what they are?”

She gave him a thin smile. “How about you go screw yourself?”

He studied her for a moment. “Does the tough chick act usually work at making people back off?”

She snorted. “Works like a charm, actually.”

“It won’t with me. Believe it or not I’m trying to help you. These are answers we need, and if you don’t want to give them to me right now, just chatting like this, then there are going to be consequences.”

“Story of my life.”

“I can help you.” He pressed back against the cell’s cold wall.