Sin & Chocolate (Demigod of San Francisco 1)

I shrugged. “I told him I couldn’t help, while letting him see my life in all its poor splendor. He probably recognized a bad bet when he saw one.”

Mordecai studied me for a moment before bending back to his book. “I can see you don’t believe that.”

He was right. I didn’t. But there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about the situation.

“What’d you get up to today, Daisy?” I asked as I walked into the living room.

She had just grabbed a badly used textbook from the coffee table before sitting down. “Had an interview with Denny’s dad, let Denny take me out to lunch, and read with him in the park. All in all, a pretty nice little day.”

I paused on my way to the kitchen, because it was time to be a parent, no matter how much I didn’t want to. “I thought we talked about you spending time with Denny, and about you getting a job for his dad.”

“We did.” She flipped open the hardcover. “But we also discussed what that mobster’s ghost said. I knew we shouldn’t send that kind of letter from here, so I grabbed an envelope from Denny’s dad’s office on the sly. I told him the job wasn’t for me. It’s fine.”

I stared at her with a gaping mouth.

She licked her thumb and turned the pages, hunting for a specific section.

“I was just going to call it in,” I said.

“There’s no way they would have let you leave an anonymous message.” She flicked a page. “At best, they would have only taken your name. Then, if the lead checked out, they would have come searching for the source of the information. Hello? Don’t you read detective stories?”

“No, I don’t. And also, I’ve called in loads of anonymous messages. It’s always been fine.”

“Have any of those tips been incriminating to a mobster who may or may not have people on the inside?”

“We don’t even know if that guy was a mobster.”

“Don’t we?” She lifted her brows before flicking another page.

I sighed, giving up. “Stay away from that family,” I said as I turned. “I mean it, Daisy.”

“I will, I will. But Denny is pretty good company.”

“Stay away!”

“Fine.” She huffed.

At the kitchen table, I separated the mail into a large pile (the trash) and a tiny pile (stuff that mattered). I pushed aside a water bill that I could blessedly pay because I’d helped a criminal and probably upset my karma, and picked up the letter Daisy had alluded to.

“SF’s Magical Governing Committee,” I read, slipping my finger into the end as apprehension wiggled my gut.

The SFMGC, comprised of officials chosen by the Demigod’s office, didn’t have anything to do with the freak show, so it couldn’t be a notice that my permit had been revoked. With the large haul I’d taken in a couple nights ago, and the trouble I’d caused, I’d decided to take the rest of the week off. But I hadn’t been looking very hard for a job. I’d need to go back to the fair on Monday, after the hubbub died down, and see if I could stay under the radar a little better. I’d even leave the choice parking spaces to the big dogs.

Why else would they have written to me? I’d only ever received letters from these guys when they’d wanted to test me…

My thought trailed away as my ire rose.

I ripped the rest of the way into the letter and scanned the contents.

“That filthy bastard,” I said too loudly.

“What?” The couch protested in a series of squeals before Daisy jogged in. “What happened? Is it the insanely hot guy with the unbelievably banging bod that we all hate? What did he do?”

“He wants me to be retested for magic, which is fine. I don’t know why this is necessary, since he clearly thinks he knows everything, but whatever. It’s an annoying afternoon followed by too much Guinness. But he also wants Mordecai tested again, which…” I crunched the letter in my fist. “Which is not going to happen.”

“Why? Aren’t you curious?”

“No. Do you know why?”

“Obviously.”

“Because when Mordecai was tested last, he was young, in bad shape, and everyone thought he didn’t have much longer to live. Well, he’s still alive, he is definitely going to be a powerhouse, and he’s almost at the age where the alpha of his old pack can challenge and kill him.” Hot tears blurred my eyes. “I have busted my ass to keep Mordecai under the radar. People thought he was dead, which meant he was safe. And now this asshole thinks he can waltz into my life and endanger my kids?”

I slammed the paper down on the table.

“Over my dead fucking body.” I swatted hair out of my face and wondered if I could call the stranger’s mother. I mean, I could. Once I’d met a spirit, I could almost always summon them. I could get that woman in here so fast she’d wonder who’d ripped the water out from under her. And I’d give her a good talking to on how she’d raised her entitled, arrogant, life-endangering son.

But what would that do? He couldn’t see her or hear her. I’d be badgering a dead woman. Though she kind of deserved it, considering the monstrosity of a man she’d cultivated.

No. No, I was better than that. Slightly.

But I wasn’t better than tracking that bastard down and giving him a piece of my mind.

“I’m going to the pub.” I stalked to the counter and snatched up my handbag. “I’m going to summon up a little liquid courage while I take to Google, and this time, I’m actually going to find him. No more letting a bunch of celebrity gossip crap deter me. I’ll do it, and then I’m going to bring the fight to him.”

I wasn’t awesome at stalking people, online or otherwise, which had proved a huge stumbling block in my attempt to unmask the handsome stranger. With my burning curiosity about his mom weighing on me, I’d given up before I’d found anything.

“Oh my God. Wait.” Daisy stood in the entryway of the kitchen with her hands out.

“You’re not going.”

“Of course I’m not going! It’s a bar and he’s dangerous. But…you need…something.”

She dashed out of the kitchen.

“I need an army of large men, and probably an Uzi. That’s what I need. But I have my mouth, and I can stoop to foul play. I know stuff about Mommy dearest, after all. And you know what? Since he decided to fight dirty, I will make him rue the day he challenged me in a battle of ‘who will punch below the belt the hardest.’”

Daisy’s feet thundered back down the hall and she appeared in the kitchen holding an ankle brace fitted with a dagger. “Use this.”

“Oh.” I’d forgotten I had it. She’d clearly been rooting around in my stuff again.

That discussion could wait until later.

“Great, thanks.” I strapped it on and practiced pulling it out. “For reachability’s sake, it would be better on my thigh.”

“Your thigh is too fat.”

“It’s muscle, you twit.” Ish.

I draped my purse across my body and took a deep breath. I was about to go out in search of a fight with a giant, super-fast, super-strong, super-magical, super-rich, super-handsome dude.

What was I thinking?

“I’m thinking that Mordecai will not be pushed around, that’s what I’m thinking.” I balled my fists in determination.

“Okay.” Daisy nodded at me and braced like she was about to lift something. “Good thinking. You are strong. You are powerful. You can. You can.”

“What?”

“That’s a mantra. I am strong. I am powerful. I can. I can!”

I could get my butt beaten up. The other two were just wishful thinking.

“I am good in a pinch,” I corrected, making up my own mantra. “I am good at surprise-hitting powerful people in vulnerable places. I will. I fucking will!”

“Yes. Okay. Go with that!” Daisy followed closely behind me to the front door. “Call the house if anything happens. I’ve driven before. I can run a bitch over, no sweat.”

“That’s good to know.”

I opened the door to Frank standing outside, wringing his hands.

“Not now, Frank,” I said without stopping.

“Ew. Just send that poltergeist to the other side,” Daisy said, her bravado fading quickly.

“It’s not nice when they don’t want to go,” I called, power-walking to the sidewalk. “Besides, Ms. Merlin is a real jerk and could use some haunting.”

“Where are you going?” Frank caught up with me quickly, and because I needed something to keep my mind off what I was doing, I didn’t chase him away.

“I am going to protect my homestead, Frank, in a brash and possibly crazy way.”

“Oh. So how was your day?”

“It was lovely, Frank. A real nice time.”

“Oh. That’s good.” And Frank, taking one of his few opportunities to talk to someone who could hear him, launched into a series of annoying and mostly boring stories about how he was nearly positive he had a ghost in his house.

He’d died with Alzheimer’s, and half the time, he forgot he was the ghost.