Black Magic Sanction

boot-clunking way downstairs. 'I suspicion wearing Tom's appearance isn't a powerful-good idea anymore.'

His accent had gone full into the early 1800s, proof that he was shaken, and I gave him a sour look. 'You got that right,' I said, following his gaze to the bottom of the stairwell where the woman blew kisses to us before slipping out the side door and locking it firmly. 'Why don't you put yourself back together? I like you looking like you.'

Pierce glanced at the stairway. 'I didn't want to be spied with two faces in the car barn.'

'Garage,' I corrected him, and he softly repeated the word, brow furrowed.

Nick's steps were soundless as he reached the top. A building-long hallway stretched with doors on one side, windows on the other. It looked like it had once been an open balcony looking out onto the side street, long since bricked up to give some protection from the elements.

'It's the one at the end,' Nick said, seeming as eager as us to avoid any more encounters.

Someone was yelling at someone about their choice of TV and eating all the yogurt as Nick hustled down the hall, me trailing behind with my sore knees, looking out to the blah brown building across the street in the cold spring sun. I felt a tweak on my awareness, and I wasn't surprised when Pierce shuddered, and I looked to see him like himself again. Even his fingers were different. Not so thick, smaller, more dexterous.

Nick stopped at the last door, doing a double take as he saw Pierce. 'That's a good one,' he said as he fished out a second key. 'I'd never have known it was you if you hadn't been sitting next to Rachel. Demon magic? Must have cost a lot.'

Pierce shrugged, eyes on the brown building across the street. 'Someone died for it. And this is the disguise, sir.'

Nick hesitated with the key in the door, clearly having second thoughts.

'Thanks for letting us crash at your place,' I said, not wanting to have to go back downstairs and grab a bus. 'I'm amazed you found us, with me looking like an old lady.'

His expression softening, Nick twisted the key and unlocked the door. 'Remember the library? When we broke in to see the restricted section? You were wearing the same thing.'

I laughed, but Pierce was appalled. 'You are a hoister, Rachel? Lifting books from a... public institution?'

My smile grew fond. 'I just wanted to see them. I didn't walk off with anything.' Nick had, though. Slowly my smile faded. That had been the night I'd met Al. He'd torn my throat out at the request of Ivy's old master vampire. I'd survived, obviously, but that was the beginning of everything that put me here, shunned and beholden to the very demon who'd tried to kill me. 'I needed a look at the spell books,' I finished softly.

'Then why didn't you simply ask?' Pierce asked. 'Surely if you had impressed upon the librarian your plight, he would have allowed you access.'

'They wouldn't have made an exception,' I said sadly, knowing I was right. 'People just aren't that way anymore.'

Good mood thoroughly gone, I entered Nick's apartment. As I crossed the threshold into the one large room, I rubbed at the demon mark I'd gotten that night, wondering if that one decision could be responsible for the entire rest of my life. Why Pierce was scowling, I hadn't a clue. It couldn't be Nick's place. It was nice. Really nice. In- any-neighborhood nice.

It was a corner apartment with windows on two sides and a rack of plants under a skylight in the kitchen. Jax was dusting heavily among the greenery already, and the place smelled like a conservatory: green and growing. The kitchen was faded, small, and clean.

'Make yourself at home,' Nick said as he dropped the single key conspicuously on the Formica kitchen table and sat down to take off his tatty sneakers.

I came farther in as Pierce shut the door, his flat black shoes making a slow turn on the low carpet. It was all one big room, with trifold screens to loosely define areas. Shelves lined the walls between the windows, each holding stuff that I'd classify as knickknacks if I hadn't known they were probably priceless. Some had spotlights. It reminded me of a museum, and I couldn't help but wonder if Nick had had this place before we broke up.

The living room was a couch before a wide-screen TV bolted to the wall, out of view from the windows thanks to the screens. Beside it in the corner—also out of sight—was a stack of expensive equipment, everything black and silver and piled as if they were worth nothing, but nothing was likely what he'd paid for them. The last corner between two windows had a gray slab of slate propped two feet up on cinderblocks, probably to get the underside of a circle free of pipes or lines. Beside the raised stone was a locked box. It had demon summoning all over it, and I think Pierce had come to the same conclusion, since his lips were pressed tight in disapproval.

But it's okay for you to do black magic, eh?

'This is nice,' I said as I dropped my bag on the couch. The fabric was faded, and I sat gingerly on the edge and wiggled out of my coat, leaving it to slump behind me. It was warm in here, for Jax, and the windows dripped condensation.

Nick looked satisfied as he came out from the fridge with a bottled water. 'Pierce, you want a beer?' he said as he threw it to me.

The water thunked into my raised hand, and I set it on the coffee table unopened, thoughts of Alcatraz's spice drifting through my head.

Pierce didn't look away from a rack of leather books, his hands behind his back as he squinted at the titles. They were regular spell books, then. Demon texts had no names. 'No. I'm of the mind to remain clearheaded,' he said, his voice flat.

Deciding that Nick wouldn't magic my drink, I cracked the lid and took a sip. My gaze landed on a statue of an Incan god, and I moseyed over to the ugly thing. 'Is this real?'

Nick leaned against the counter with his ankles crossed. 'Depends on who you ask.'

Depends on who you ask, I mocked in my thoughts. Stupid ass.

Pierce's hands came out from behind him to touch a long, curved knife resting on a wooden stand before the leather-bound books. It was almost a dagger, really. 'This is real,' he said, turning it over and examining the detail on the engraving.

'Is it?' Carefully casual, Nick pushed himself into motion, beating me to Pierce and taking the knife from him. 'I found it at an estate sale,' he said as we peered at it, the lie coming so easily it was disgusting. 'The woman said it belonged to a sea captain who refused to sail back to England. I thought it was pretty. Someday, I'll find out what the words on the handle mean.' Setting it on a higher shelf over our heads, he put his beer on the coffee table and moved to the bedroom, defined by a large folding screen.

The words on the handle were in Latin, and though I hadn't been able to read them, I think Pierce had by his grim expression.

Tired, I turned to the big TV affixed to the wall. 'I'd think you'd be worried about thieves,' I said, looking at the equipment piled under it. I didn't see any security system, and though Jax was better than any detection setup known to man or witch, he wasn't here 24/7.

'Not since the first one had a heart attack in the hall, no,' Nick said, and I turned to see him bring a shirt out of his dresser and drop it on the bed.

From the far corner by the kitchen, Jax piped up, 'He walked right into the ward, bam! It took three days for the stink of burnt hair to go away. Annie was pissed.'

Feeling ill, I sat on the couch with my back to him. That's why Jax had gone ahead of us. Bringing my focus back, I casually brought out my big-mojo amulet, glowing a very faint, almost-not-there red. Whatever safeguards Nick had, they were nasty even when uninvoked. 'Got yourself a rep, eh?' I needled Nick, watching his reflection in the blank TV as Pierce tried to figure out the blinds.

Nick took his shirt off in one easy move. 'Not as bad as yours.'

Pierce's eyes snapped in ire, but the words never made it past his lips when he saw Nick's battered and scarred body. I'd forgotten, but Nick was covered in scars; the deep gouges never properly taken care of had mellowed to lumpy white scar tissue, crisscrossing his chest and shoulders in a bizarre pattern. Most had probably come from the rat fights where we'd met. Even more disturbing was the new demon scar with two slashes on his shoulder. Nick's gaze flicked away when he realized I'd seen it. Motions fast, he put on a lightweight T-shirt.

Peeved, I crossed my arms and sank back into the cushions to stare at the black TV. An uncomfortable