Black Magic Sanction

uptight office dress, her head cocked as she studied the cracker labels. She looked bland enough, but something had tripped my warning flags.

Tucking my hair behind an ear, I glanced to the front of the store and into the parking lot past the big plate-glass windows. It was dusk—the time when humans started to shun mixed areas of the city and stick to their own streets as Inderlanders took over—but the sun was still up, which meant the woman wasn't a dead vamp. It was unlikely she was a living one on her own this deep into the human side of things. She probably wasn't a Were for the same reason. That left a human looking for some magical help—highly doubtful—or a witch looking for the same.

She couldn't be a witch. I was shunned, and Cincy's entire witch population knew it.

Drifting to a stand with early strawberries, I mentally went through my short list of who might have followed me this deep into traditionally human territory, then winced when I went through the even shorter list as to why.

I snuck a furtive glance at her, her sensible brown shoes, nylons, and blah brown skirt giving me the impression of sophistication coupled with an appalling lack of imagination. The woman was as thin as a mannequin, but not nearly as tall, and her blond hair was slicked back as if she thought she had to eliminate all softness to make it in a man's world.

She looked up and I froze when we accidentally made eye contact. Damriy I thought as the woman blinked, her blue eyes wide, and smiled slowly—shocking the hell out of me. Double damn. She'd seen me come in with Ivy and was checking me out!

My face warmed. Eyes averted, I angled to put the display of strawberries between us. I was straight, but after losing three boyfriends in two years—one to illegal activity; one to the grave; and a third, not really a boyfriend but gone all the same because I'd been shunned—I wasn't up to trying to explain things to a nice-looking woman who had misread the nonverbal communication between Ivy and myself.

Undeterred, the woman drifted closer. One hand was in the pocket of her skirt-length, white cashmere coat, the other was holding the latest gotta-have purse, one that probably wasn't a knockoff. She must go to a tanning salon, because her soft amber glow was impossible to get during early spring in Cincinnati. Her nails were short, professionally polished, with white tips gleaming. The woman's upscale mien was completely at odds with the instrumental eighties being piped in, the bleach-faded tile, and the occasional blaring loudspeaker.

My frown deepened when a faint whiff of redwood overtook the smell of chlorine and the tart scent of strawberries. She's a witch? Crap, if she was a witch, then she knew damn well who I was. And if she knew who I was, she wasn't trying to pick me up. At least, not for a date. It was a job—one that involved black magic.

Slow down, Rachel. Relax, I told myself, not even seeing the fruit as I picked up a carton of strawberries, fidgeting. Maybe she needs help and is scared to ask. Hell, I'd be. When I wasn't playing demon student in the ever-after, I was an odd mix of bounty hunter, escort-through- troubled-waters, and a magical jack-of-all-trades—able to rescue familiars from trees and bring in the big bad uglies that no one else wanted to touch. I'd been shunned, yes, but maybe the trouble she was in was greater than her fear of being shunned for asking for my help. But she didn't look scared; she looked confident and in control.

Setting the carton of strawberries down, I retreated, my thoughts spinning to the last time I'd been accosted by a black coven member on a recruitment drive. He'd taken offense when I'd told him to shove his dark coven somewhere even darker, and then they'd tried to kill me.

Adrenaline seeped into me, slow and sweet, making my heart pound and my senses come alive. It felt so good, it scared me. A quick look told me Ivy was gone. The butcher, too. My kick-butt boots scuffed, and I pulled out my phone as if checking the time, sending a 911 to Ivy before shoving my cell into a back pocket. Even if Ivy was checking out the meat behind the counter, she'd come.

My jaw tightened as I stood before a bank of green veggies against the wall. My back was to the woman in a show of nonchalance, but I stiffened as her sensible shoes tap-tap-tapped to a halt eight feet away. Before me was a display of carrots. Back off, babe, or Yll kill you with this carrot.

'Excuse me,' the woman said, and damn it if I didn't jump. 'Are you Rachel Morgan?'

Her voice was high, almost too childlike to take seriously, and I turned, my fingers sliding off the damp carrots. Her height came in a few inches shorter than mine, heels and all. That hand was still in her pocket, and her smile had a touch of mockery. I didn't want any trouble, but I'd finish it if she started some.

'I'm sorry, do I know you?' I said just as sweetly, putting a bunch of carrots in my canvas bag. Not very heavy. Need more weight.

My gaze flicked past her. Damn it, Ivy, where are you? There could be anything in that pocket of hers. The woman didn't look like much, but then I didn't either in my jeans, boots, short red leather jacket, and scarf.

'Are you Rachel Morgan of Vampiric Charms?' the woman asked again, and I shifted to a stand of organic potatoes, trying to put distance between us. 'Cincinnati's famously shunned witch. Right?' she insisted, her hand still in her coat pocket as she followed me.

Famous and shunned didn't go together as much as one might think, and I sighed. My first thought that she was a black witch seemed to be correct. Hefting my bag, I dropped a potato into it and felt my arm stiffen against the extra weight. 'Not interested,' I said tightly, hoping she'd do the smart thing and go away.

But I was never that lucky, and she leaned over the potatoes, eyes mocking. 'Black magic doesn't scare me, and neither do you. Come with me.'

Like hell I will. Disgusted, I set another potato in my bag and opened my second sight to take a look at the more nebulous view of the situation, managing to keep my reaction to a mild 'mmmm.' The woman's aura was spotless. That didn't mean she wasn't a black witch. She could be sloughing her smut onto someone.

'According to the press,' I said as I dropped my second sight, 'Rachel Morgan dresses in skintight leather and has orgies with demons. Do I look to you like I'm wearing skintight leather?' A third potato went in with the rest. Almost heavy enough to knock you on your ass.

Angular face smug, the woman tucked her clutch bag under her arm. Her hands were free now, and my smile vanished. 'It's the demon part I'm interested in,' she said.

Damn it, she was a black witch. All I wanted to do now was leave before I got banned from another store. 'Not interested,' I said tersely. 'I don't do black magic. I don't care what the papers print.'

'Tell me your name,' she insisted, fingers twitching in what I hoped wasn't a ley-line charm. 'Maybe I'll go away.'

She wanted a positive ID. Crap, was there a warrant out on me again? Maybe she wasn't from a black coven at all, but from the I.S., fishing for an excuse to bring me in. I took a quick breath, a new worry filling me. I didn't want to be tagged with resisting arrest. 'Okay, that's me,' I admitted. 'Who are you? Inderland Security? Where's your ID? If you have a warrant, let me see it. Otherwise, we don't have anything to talk about.'

'I.S.?' she said, the skin around her eyes tightening. 'You should be so lucky.'

Damn it. Ivy, get your ass out here! I backed up, and she moved with me. 'I wouldn't,' I threatened, stumbling to a halt when my butt hit the produce shelf. 'I really wouldn't.'

But she reached into her pocket, her free hand up in a laughable display of asking for trust, and came out with a zip strip. 'Put this on and come with me. Everything will be fine.'

Oh yeah. Like I believed that. I didn't even know who she was. Head hurting, I eyed the thin band of plastic-coated charmed silver, then flicked my attention to Ivy, who finally breezed back into the produce area, coming to a wide-footed stop beside the strawberries to take in the situation. The zip strip was basically a cheap but effective version of Pierce's leash that would prevent me from doing any ley-line magic.

My heart pounded. 'Everyone see this?' I shouted, and the whispers at the front grew louder. 'I don't want to go with this woman, and she's forcing me to!' It was a thin attempt at CYA for the crap that was about to hit the fan, but I had to try.

Sure enough, she smiled—and then she reached for me.

I jerked back, but her fingers brushed mine. A twinge of ley-line energy threatened to equalize between us, strong and tingly. Hand pressed to my chest, I stared, shocked. She had a whopping big chunk of ever-after