Dead Witch Walking

fish in the tank splashed at the surface. The hair on my back pricked. My pulse raced. Something rose, as nebulous as a whiff of ozone. Trent's face went empty and ageless. A haze seemed to edge him, and I wondered in a sudden shock if he were pulling on the ever-after. He'd have to be a witch or human to do that. And I would've sworn he was neither.

I tore my eyes from Trent. Jonathan's thin lips were parted. He stood behind Francis, watching Trent with a slack mix of surprise and worry. This raw show of anger wasn't expected, even by him. His hand rose in protest, hesitant and fearful.

As if in response, Trent's eye twitched and his breath eased out. The fish hid behind the coral. My skin eerily rippled, settling my fur flat. Jonathan's fingers trembled, and he made fists of them. Still not looking from Francis, Trent intoned, 'I know it won't.'

His voice was dust upon cold iron, the sounds sliding from one meaning to the next in a liquid grace that was mesmerizing. I felt out of breath. Shuddering, I crouched where I was. What the blazes had happened? Had almost happened?

'What do you plan on doing now?' Trent asked.

'Sir?' Francis said, his voice cracking as he blinked.

'That's what I thought.' Trent's fingertips quivered with his repressed anger. 'Nothing. The I.S. is watching you too closely. Your usefulness is beginning to fade.'

Francis's mouth opened. 'Mr. Kalamack! Wait! Like you said, the I.S. is watching me. I can draw their attention. Keep them from the customs docks. Another Brimstone take will put me in the clear and distract them at the same time.' Francis shifted on the edge of his seat. 'You can move your— things?' he finished weakly.

Things, I thought. Why didn't he just say biodrugs? My whiskers quivered. Francis distracted the I.S. with a token amount of Brimstone while Trent moved the real moneymaker. How long? I wondered. How long had Francis worked for him? Years?

'Mr. Kalamack?' Francis whispered.

Trent placed his fingertips together as if in careful thought. Behind him, Jonathan furrowed his thin eyebrows, the worry that had filled him almost gone.

'Tell me when?' Francis begged, edging closer on his chair.

Trent pushed Francis to the back of his chair with a three-second glance. 'I don't give chances, Percy. I take opportunities.' He pulled his datebook closer, paging a few days ahead. 'I would like to schedule a shipment on Friday. Southwest. Last flight before midnight to L.A. You can find your usual take at the main bus station in a locker. Keep it anonymous. My name has been in the papers too often lately.'

Francis jumped to his feet in relief. He stepped forward as if to shake Trent's hand, then glanced at Jonathan and backed up. 'Thank you, Mr. Kalamack,' he gushed. 'You won't be sorry.'

'I can't imagine I would.' Trent looked at Jonathan; then the door. 'Enjoy your afternoon,' he said in dismissal.

'Yes sir. You, too.'

I felt as if I was going to be sick as Francis bounced out of the room. Jonathan hesitated in the threshold, watching Francis make obnoxious noises at the ladies he passed in the hall.

'Mr. Percy has made himself more of a liability than an asset,' Trent breathed tiredly.

'Yes, Sa'han,' Jonathan agreed. 'I strongly urge you to remove him from the payroll.'

My stomach clenched. Francis didn't deserve to die just because he was stupid.

Trent rubbed his fingertips into his forehead. 'No,' he finally said. 'I'd rather keep him until I arrange for a replacement. And I may have other plans for Mr. Percy.'

'As you like, Sa'han,' Jonathan said, and softly closed the door.

Twenty

'Here, Angel,' Sara Jane coaxed. A carrot wiggled through the bars of my cage. I stretched to take it before she could let it drop. Aspen chips didn't season them at all.

'Thanks,' I cluttered, knowing she couldn't understand me, but needing to say something regardless. The woman smiled and cautiously extended her fingers through the cage. I grazed my whiskers across them because I knew she would like it.

'Sara Jane?' Trent questioned from his desk, and the petite woman turned with a guilty swiftness. 'I employ you to manage my office affairs, not be a zookeeper.'

'Sorry sir. I was taking the opportunity to try and rid myself of my irrational fear of vermin.' She brushed at her knee-length cotton skirt. It wasn't as crisp or professional as her interview suit, but still new. Just what I'd expect a farm girl would wear on her first day on the job.

I chewed ravenously on the carrot left over from Sara Jane's lunch. I was starving, since I refused to eat those stale pellets. What's the matter, Trent? I thought between chews. Jealous?

Trent adjusted his glasses and returned his attention to his papers. 'When you're through ridding yourself of your irrational fears, I'd like you to go down to the library.'

'Yes sir.'

'The librarian has collated some information for me. But I want you to screen it for me. Bring up what you think is most pertinent.'

'Sir?'

Trent set down his pen. 'Information regarding the sugar beet industry.' He smiled with a genuine warmth. I wondered if he had a patent on it. 'I may be branching out in that direction, and need to learn enough to make an informed decision.'

Sara Jane beamed, tucking her fair hair behind an ear in pleased embarrassment. Obviously she guessed Trent might be buying the farm her family was serfed upon. You're a smart woman, I thought darkly. Follow it down. Trent will own your family. You'd be his, body and soul.

She turned back to my cage and dropped a last celery stick. Her smile faded. Worry creased her brow. It would have looked endearing on her childlike face, except the woman's family was in real danger. She took a breath to say something, then closed her mouth. 'Yes sir,' she said, her eyes distant. 'I'll bring the information up right away.'

Sara Jane closed the door as she left, her footsteps sounding slow in the hallway.

Trent gave his door a suspicious glance as he reached for his cup of tea: Earl Grey, no sugar or milk. If he followed yesterday's pattern, it would be phone conversations and paperwork from three until seven, when the few people he kept late went home. I imagined it was easier to run illegal drugs from your office when no one was around to see you.

Trent had returned that afternoon from his three-hour lunch break with his wispy hair freshly combed and smelling of the outdoors. He had been decidedly refreshed. If I hadn't known better, I would have assumed he spent his midday break napping in his back office.

Why not? I thought as I stretched out on the hammock my cell had come with. He was wealthy enough to set his own hours.

I yawned, my eyes slipping shut. It was the second day of my captivity, and I was quite sure it wouldn't be my last. I had spent last night thoroughly investigating my cage, only to find that it was Rachel proof. It had been designed for ferrets, and the two-story wire cage was surprisingly secure. My hours spent prying at the seams left me bone tired. It was pleasant to do nothing. My hope that Jenks or Ivy might rescue me was thin. I was on my own. And it might be a while before I managed to convey to Sara Jane that I was a person and get out of there.

I cracked an eyelid as Trent rose from his desk and strode restlessly to his music discs arranged in a recessed shelf beside the player. He cut a nice figure as he stood before them, so intent on his choice that he didn't realize I was rating his backside: 9.5 out of 10. I took the .5 off for most of his physique being hidden behind a business suit that cost more than some cars.