Black Magic Sanction

wanted to.

'That woman is a black witch!' Oliver shouted, red-faced as he waved his paper in front of me. 'She is coming with me!'

I could have reached out and smacked him, but instead I clasped my hands behind my back, preserving the illusion that I was bound. My gaze went over the crowd, over the strung lines and amplifiers to the fountain, silent and still but still holding water. I needed a focusing object; my spit would be enough.

'Jenks!' I shouted, and the one reporter at the front met my eyes. 'Go to ground!'

I flung out a hand, the ever-after in me a ripple of warmth down my arm and to my fingers. 'Consimilis calefacio!' I shouted, willing the energy to flow. It was a charm to warm water, utterly innocuous and unable to work on living things with an aura. The fountain, though...

With the force of the university ley line behind the simple spell, the water in the fountain erupted in a thunderous boom of sound. All heads turned, but it wasn't just the noise that I wanted, and shouts rang out when the water turned to harmless steam. In an instant, the square was lost in fog.

Fear rose, and the officers moved to hold me. They didn't know I was free, though, and with a few well- placed knees and elbows, they went down. I didn't want to escape. I wanted my FIB cell. Smiling, I reached out for Oliver.

'You... h-how?' the older man stammered as I grabbed his shirt and yanked him to me.

'Look, Oliver,' I said, just the two of us lost in the fog for a few seconds more. 'Either you let me go and come see me at the FIB, or the next thing I vaporize will be your blood. Got it?'

His mouth opened and closed. 'You are a demon!' he said, and I saw fear flicker. 'That's a black curse!'

Crap, scaring him this much wasn't what I wanted. If he was scared, then he'd fight me. 'I'm a demon only if you call me one,' I said as I eased my hold. 'If you call me a witch, then I'm a witch, and a witch doesn't know the curse to boil blood.' I eyed him, letting his front go and rocking back. 'Wouldn't me being a witch make everything a hundred times easier?'

His fear shifted to anger as the wind rose, scattering the mist. We were alone no more, and I rocked back.

The crowd was frightened, the people on the outskirts making a hasty retreat. Pierce, too, was no longer there when I looked. Here at the stage, however, no one had moved. There was a slight stir at the two downed officers, but I was standing passively, hands behind my back. The reporter knew, though, watching me with a knowing glint.

'Mr. Coven Leader!' she shouted, loud over the surrounding calls. 'Is Ms. Morgan going with you, or to the FIB for due process as she clearly requested?'

The crowd hushed somewhat as Oliver clenched his jaw and tugged his clothes straight. He glanced at my arms, held behind my back, and I wondered which had scared him more, that I might know a curse to boil his blood, or that I got out of a pair of charmed handcuffs.

'It won't ever be said that the coven wrongfully denied an accused witch due process,' he said sullenly. 'I will accompany her to the FIB to be sure that she doesn't escape, but she may officially enter the FIB's custody.'

Someone in the crowd actually cheered, and relief took the strength from my knees. I would have fallen if Glenn hadn't caught my arm, and, as the crowd became noisy, he escorted me down the stairs to a waiting FIB car, Oliver lagging behind. Everyday people wanting to know about the fog pressed close, and Glenn had to force his way through. I felt small beside him, and damn it if a tear didn't well up. I'd done it. No, wed done it.

Head high, I placed each bare foot precisely, looking neither to the right or left as I crossed Fountain Square. I might be wearing nothing but an I.S. coat and six weeks' worth of hair on my legs, but this was my city, and I'd go to my cell with pride.

The clatter of pixy wings was almost unheard over the din and requests for answers from the press. 'Way to go, Rache!' Jenks said as he joined us, flying a good two feet over my head. 'Pierce says you did good. He's going to go watch my kids so I can come with you. He says you'll be okay now. You smoked them, Rache!'

'Good,' I whispered. 'That's good.' The tear brimmed and fell, but there was only one, easily wiped away with my shoulder as Glenn opened my door and I got in, carefully so as to not let the coat ride up and show my ass. Jenks slipped in at the last moment, and the crowd became even louder as my door shut.

'Damn, Rachel,' Glenn said as he got in the front and put on the lights. 'When did you get your cuffs off? I didn't know you could do that.'

'I can't,' I whispered, not knowing what I felt anymore as I gazed through the tinted glass at the people crowding the car. I was shaky, watching them protest as I sat in peace. 'Think they'll come talk to me?' This could still crash down and leave me with nothing.

Glenn chuckled, making his siren whoop twice before pulling out. 'Oh yeah. They'll be there. Count on it.'

Thirty-five

 The scent of subgum rose from the softly steaming takeout box, filling the gray interrogation room at the FIB with the scent of steamed pea pods, sauteed mushrooms, and broccoli. My chopsticks were not the usual splintery pulpwood, but a nice set of olive wood. Apparently Glenn was a regular at whatever Asian eatery he'd placed the order. More than a regular, I'd imagine. The sticks were beautiful.

I wrangled a water chestnut into my mouth, jamming the sticks to stand straight up as I reached for the fortune cookie. I was never one to wait. The snap of the cookie breaking was familiar, and I smiled as I read, KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE, YOUR ENEMIES CLOSER.

Eating the entire cookie at one go, I pushed back from the scarred table, crossed my ankles, and gazed at the dirty ceiling as I chewed. I was dressed now in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved top, patterned too brightly for my liking. Flip-flops kept my toes from the tile, and I was sporting brand-new blah underwear from the lockup downstairs. None of what I was wearing was mine, but it was clean and better than an orange jumpsuit. I didn't ask what had happened to the people who used to own these clothes. Someone had my red leather jacket.

I reached for the box of takeout and I rubbed my last demon mark, sore where Pierce's charm had burned me. My eyes drifted to Trent's statue, and I reached for it. Cripes, the thing was graphic. No wonder he hid it underground.

The knock at the door startled me, and I dropped it. Scrambling, I stood it upright. It was Jenks and Glenn, and I wiped my hands on my borrowed jeans as I saw the stack of paperwork in the FIB officer's hand. 'Hi, Rache,' the pixy said, doing a quick circuit and landing on the tips of my chopsticks, poking out of the takeout box, to enjoy the rising heat. 'Trent's here. And the coven guy. Glenn's got your papers to sign first, though.'

'Thanks, Jenks. Are you sure your wings are okay?'

Making a face, he sent them humming so fast that the dust from him rose high in a pixy-made draft. 'Yeah, they're fine. Bastard I.S.'

Glenn was smiling when he slapped the papers down on the table. 'David is still stuck on the tarmac,' he said as he handed me a pen, 'but he had his brother fax everything here.'

Nodding in understanding, I flipped to the first flag and signed with my first name, middle initial, and last name. 'This is for the trial, yes?' I asked as I found the next flag.

'According to David,' Glenn affirmed as I finished. 'I won't file it unless you say so or go missing for more than three days.' He glanced at Jenks, then me. 'Rachel,' he said, seeming to lose some of his professional polish, 'I'm required by law to inform you that your proposed actions are both risky and prone to landing you in prison, permanently incarcerated if not worse—'

'It's all she's got, Glenn,' Jenks said, rising up on a silver column of dust.

Hand raised, Glenn smiled. 'Personally, I think it will work,' he finished, and the pixy relaxed. 'I don't know Oliver well enough to give an accurate estimation of what he might do, but if what you say is true, I think he'll go for it.'