Natural Mage (Magical Mayhem 2)

“I don’t care if they’re the mute ones. I don’t need no quacks rolling up in my neighborhood, messing with things they don’t understand.”

“In fairness…” I raised my hand like a kid in a classroom. Silence descended and I flinched a little, knowing I had the big guy’s undivided attention—something I’d bet most people tried to avoid. “They were totally harmless. They didn’t have enough power to do much, and even if they did, they only have light and love in their hearts.”

The man shifted. The silence stretched.

I got the feeling he wasn’t pleased with my answer.

“But I support keeping all witch and mage folk out of this cemetery,” I went on quickly, half to keep the peace, and half because it was a good idea. “At least until I’m gone.”

“A mage has more power than a witch,” Smokey said.

“I don’t care.” That was what the man said, but what he clearly meant was: “Do not mention anything magical to me again. Ever. Or else.”

“Reagan said you had trouble following you around,” the man said, jerking his head and turning toward Reagan’s house. Smokey and I hurried after him. “I ain’t seen nothing out of the ordinary.”

“The people who are after me will likely be carrying satchels.” I mimed the outline of a satchel across my side even though I was behind him. “Or maybe a belt with compartments. That’s how you’ll know they’re dangerous.”

“Guns aren’t so easy to spot,” the man said, looking both ways before crossing the street.

“I don’t think they use guns. I’ve never seen them use guns, at least. Or even knives. In the past, they’ve relied solely on their ma—” I abruptly stopped when he turned to scowl at me.

“I’ve got my eye out,” Smokey said, drifting to the side and stopping in front of Reagan’s house. The newcomer stopped just off to the side, in the area between Reagan’s house and the neighbor’s place.

“I saw one strange face, but that was when Reagan’s new car was parked here.” Smokey crossed his arms over his chest. “You need to talk to her about that, Mikey. She can’t keep parking that thing here. It draws all kinds of notice. Cops think it belongs to a drug dealer or is stolen, drug dealers want to steal it, preppy tourists want to cross over for a gawk—dent or no dent, it is a fine piece of machinery, and everyone is stopping what they’re doing to take notice.”

The man—Mikey—nodded slowly and turned so he was looking out onto the street. “Yeah, I hear ya. She said it was temporary. I’ll talk to her.”

“Or…and this is just spitballing.” Tingles of fire scuttled up my spine, though I had no idea why. “Let’s steal it and teach her a lesson. I can get the keys, easy.”

Mikey turned slowly and looked at me, his expression blank. In precise movements, he raised his arm until it was perpendicular to the ground and then pulled up his sleeve. His gaze shifted from me to his arm before landing back on me as he dropped his arm back to his side.

Smokey edged away slightly. I backed up until my heels touched the stairs, not sure what was happening, but ready to run just in case.

“Keep that shit to yourself,” Mikey growled.

“Oh, we wouldn’t really be stealing it. I’d get the keys, we’d move it—I mean, I would do it on my own, but I don’t know how to drive a stick—and then I’d put the keys back,” I babbled. “She wouldn’t kill us, promise. And I’m pretty good at anticipating when she’s going to throw a punch. I very rarely get it right to the face anymore. So I can just warn you. Then we can tell her what we did and laugh and laugh.”

“I don’t mean that shit,” Mikey said, his voice rising. “I mean the supernatural shit. I don’t want none of that. I’ve told Reagan before and I’ll tell you now. Keep that shit away from me. I got a simple life and I’m not trying to mess it up with the likes of you fuckers.”

“Wow.” I grimaced and looked at my feet. “If you’re friends with Reagan, I can certainly see why the absence of swearing seems abnormal to her.”

“Reagan said she was untrained,” Smokey murmured. “And Penny mentioned that she was largely naive—”

“I said people call me naive, not that I actually was—”

“—so she might not know what it is she’s doing,” Smokey finished.

“Oh, I’m not doing anything.” I gestured at the magic-less air around us. “There’s nothing going on here. This is all above board.”

“Fucking hell.” Mikey spat on the street, shook his head, and turned. In a moment, he was walking up the stairs of the neighboring porch, his steps much quieter than I would’ve thought for a man of his size.

“It’s nice to meet a neighbor—” The door shut behind Mikey without him acknowledging my attempt at further conversation, and I was left staring with my mouth open.

“They call him No Good Mikey for a reason,” Smokey said, back to watching the street. “He’s rough by nature. Don’t let it get to you.”

“Oh.” I shrugged. “It’s fine. He’s more normal than the other people I’ve met these past few months.”

Smokey glanced at me. “Pardon me for saying so, Penny, but that tells me you should really meet some new friends.” With that, he was drifting across the street, slightly hunched, before slipping back into the cemetery.

22

Boom!

The door burst open and swung inward, slamming against the wall. I always left it cracked for just this reason.

I startled, but I’d gotten accustomed to Reagan’s theatrics. She wouldn’t really hurt me.

Not until later.

“Rise and shine, buttercup. Time to get cracking!” Reagan sauntered in wearing her usual getup of leather pants and a tank top.

I rolled over and pulled the comforter over my head.

“Come on.” She shoved me with something hard. It felt like a boot. “We have to get going. I’ve got things to do.”

“My life is the worst.” I groaned and curled up a little tighter. I hated getting up. I didn’t care what time of the day or night—I did not like leaving the warm, snuggly comfort of my bed.

“Your life is the worst, yes. Blame your mom. Come on.”

The covers were ripped away, exposing me to the chilled air. “Why?” I whined.

“Sexy nightie. Who are you hoping to see?” She laughed and crossed to my dresser. “Get your leathers on. I want to play with fire today.” She opened my drawer and pulled out clothes. Strangely, it didn’t bother me as much as it had when my mother used to do it.

I pulled myself to sitting and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My green silk negligee didn’t do much to keep out the cold, so I wrapped my arms around my body while Reagan pulled out stuff for me to wear. “Marie bought this nightie, like everything else in there.”

Based on the “hideous” dress I’d worn to Darius’s house the night of the…um, incident, Marie had decided I needed a fashion overhaul. She’d taken it upon herself to supply it. I’d politely tried to refuse, but she’d just shoved me out of the way and put everything away herself.

“And before you ask,” I went on, shivering but hating the idea of getting the day started, “I wear it because it’s silky and soft against my skin—”

“Hey, I get it.” Reagan dumped a leather vest onto the leather pants on the edge of the bed. “When she decided I needed better clothes, she bought me a bunch of them, too. That was before I was banging Darius, but I still wore them. C’mon, let’s go. I got a date with the MLE office later.”

She stalked out of the room.

Once dressed in material much less comfortable than the jeans I was used to, I trudged to the kitchen for coffee. As I was taking my first sip, I heard, “I know your secret!”

I jumped. Hot coffee splashed over my mouth and dripped down my cheeks.

“Hot, hot.” I banged the cup down and snatched up the nearest towel, folded neatly near the microwave.