“Well, we are neighbors,” he said, and shrugged. “You take care.”
The next day, Pete Lyons was on TV, red-faced and sporting spectacular bruising and missing teeth as he spouted off an insane rant about witches. He gained a few new fringe supporters; he lost the vast majority of those he’d assembled, who woke up feeling considerably less motivated.
At the next election, he was voted out by a massive margin, in a conservative district, in favor of a guy who advocated marijuana farming and open marriage.
And Austin PD? Started using witches again for investigations. Not right away, of course. But Ed Rosen was the one who got it rolling. He also bought a dealership for Holly’s Balm and became our top seller in the Austin area.
Oh, and for my birthday, Andy bought me a pair of cowboy boots.
Snakeskin.
It’s a good thing I love him.
STOLEN GOODS
BY SHANNON K. BUTCHER
1
Simone Solange was reputed to be one of the world’s best thieves, but after watching her walk into the cafe, Marcus Brighton guessed that men would simply give her whatever she wanted without her needing to steal a thing.
She was utterly stunning. Her midnight black hair fell in glossy waves around the face of a temptress, lending a bit of softness to her strong jawline. Her long, lean body was encased in black leather clinging to curves powerful enough to cause even Marcus’s disciplined mind to sputter to a halt for a split second. Her stride was slow, almost sinuous. Every move she made screamed of confidence. As she saw him staring at her, her full lips, painted a shiny red, lifted in a knowing smile.
She came up to his table, spun a chair around, and lifted one shapely leg to straddle it. Deep red boots tooled with painstaking detail hugged her calves. The familiar flash of leather caught his attention for a moment as she settled into place across from him in a move that had him thinking about lap dances.
Suddenly the table seemed much smaller, putting her well within reach. He could smell the oncoming warmth of spring clinging to her riding leathers, along with a hint of wildflowers and even wilder woman.
“What did you bring me?” she asked in a voice made for sin. Low, soft, with just enough rasp to make a man imagine what she would sound like in the throes of passion.
“Just like that?” he said. “No introductions. No small talk.”
Her slender shoulder lifted in a negligent shrug. “Life’s too short for small talk. You’re Marcus. You want something from me. And I want something from you. Show me.”
Her words had his mind reeling for a moment before it caught back up with reality.
He opened the leather satchel he carried and pulled from it a deep red purse the exact same shade as her boots. Like the boots, the leather was tooled with intricate symbols that had taken weeks to get just right. The handbag was small enough not to get in the way but big enough to do the job she required of it.
Marcus slid it over the tabletop.
Simone hesitated for just a moment before reaching out to touch the leather’s surface. She drew the tip of one finger over the markings, following their winding path around the edge. “You’re right. It matches my boots perfectly.”
“I promised it would.”
She gave a dismissive snort. “Men promise me impossible things all the time.”
He just bet they did. Even now he was holding his breath, hoping that the work would live up to his hype. “Open it.”
She pulled the flap open and looked inside. A disappointed pout gathered her mouth, making it no less lovely. “It’s empty.”
“Is it?”
She looked up at him then, her smoky green gaze hitting him hard. He felt the breath leave his lungs and was momentarily unable to remember how to inhale.
Simone Solange was definitely as dangerous as her reputation professed.
After a second, she reached into the purse. “All that’s in here is this paper.”
“Good. Then it’s working as it should.”
“What is this?”
“A contract. History has given me reason to heighten my security against theft. The purse won’t work for anyone but its rightful owner. Which is me. You want the purse, I have to offer it to you of my own free will.”
“Tease.” She read the brief contract he’d left for her to find. When she was done, she hit him with that killer stare again, but this time he was ready for it.
Too bad being ready didn’t make a difference. He tried to play it cool, but her beauty was more than a simple distraction. It was a potent poison that flooded his brain with chemicals that rendered him stupid.
“This contract is only good for three minutes,” she said.
“Long enough for you to see that what I offer is real and to make up your mind. Unless you’re slow.”
Her gaze narrowed in warning at his jab. “Give me a pen.”
Marcus pulled one from his pocket. She took it, her warm fingertips grazing his skin. He couldn’t tell if the touch was accidental or not, but he was already hoping she’d do it again.
She scrawled her name at the bottom of the contract, leaving behind a signature as intriguing and curvy as the woman herself. “There. Now what?”
“The purse is now yours for three minutes. Look inside again.”
He’d made it a point not to touch the purse in any way. He didn’t want her to think he was cheating—not after the lengths he’d gone to to make sure she got what she wanted. He needed her cooperation too badly to make any mistakes.
Simone lifted the flap once more and looked inside. Her lips parted in surprise, and a small hint of excitement quivered along her mouth. She pulled out a throwing knife, heedless of the other customers nearby.
It glinted in the cafe’s lighting, its keen edge a testament of skill and patience. She briefly touched the angular maker’s mark at the base of the hilt, and if he wasn’t seeing things, her finger trembled slightly.
“I thought the blacksmith was dead. How did you get these?” she asked.
“You don’t need to know that. All you need to do is make up your mind. The purse and the knives in exchange for your help retrieving an object. The purse is exactly as you requested—only the owner can see the hidden contents.”
“It’s a neat trick.”
It was a hell of a lot more than that—it was weeks spent bent over his workbench, pouring everything he had into the project. “So, do we have a deal?”
“What are the terms?” she asked.
“Terms?”
“What am I stealing? From whom? How long do I have?”
“A few days at most.” The portal the Fractogasts were building was almost done. After that they would expand and open more building sites, and this chance would be lost.
“What’s the object?”
“A hammer.”
She lifted an inky black brow in question. “Why not just go to Sears?”
“It’s a blacksmith’s hammer. And it’s special.”
She absently stroked the surface of the leather purse. “How special?”
