More than one hit had been put out on Paul Girard. Only one had been put out on me. My transmutation gene had allowed my body to heal before I bled out.
Others hadn’t been so lucky.
My phone chirped, and without looking, I knew it was Poe texting from my dad’s office, telling me to hurry. I pulled on a T-shirt over my corset and taffeta tutu and headed downstairs.
Once Dad learned about things like time travel, teleportation, remote viewing, and psychometry, it wasn’t a huge leap for him to figure out the best way to use them. He was the leading dealer in the “special” artifacts black market. I could’ve called him a magical mafia boss, but I wouldn’t. Not to his face, anyway.
Poe and I were partners. He could teleport. I could change my appearance, change it again, and change it some more. He could get in and out of places quickly. I could gather intel, ask questions, and cause distractions, all in a hundred different disguises.
There were veils in the fabric of time. Poe once compared them to waiting rooms for wormholes, and they were his conduits to teleporting in and out of places. I could see them, like solid walls of water in the atmosphere, but only Poe could get into them, which meant I had to take a lot of cabs.
I found my ability infinitely more valuable than Poe’s, but my father didn’t seem to agree.
“The guy behind the counter will be alone,” Dad said. “Hallie will distract him. You’ll handle everything else.”
Even though he’d made a point of waiting for me to walk through his office door to go over the rundown of tonight’s activities, Dad spoke directly to Poe, like I wasn’t even in the room.
“Why does Poe always take care of the big stuff?” I asked.
A lesser woman might be too intimidated to speak up, but when you went through puberty with Paul Girard for a father and no mother as a buffer, tough was a by-product. He would accept nothing less.
He ignored me and kept talking to Poe. “You’re the only one I want in the back of the shop.”
“Yes, sir,” Poe said. I’d never seen him be subservient to anyone except for my father, and it was because my dad was a scary mother trucker.
Even so, subservience wasn’t in my repertoire. I resented playing the part of the sidekick again, and Dad knew it. I wanted to make sure he knew it.
Dad continued, “All the scouting work we did—”
I interrupted. “You mean, all the scouting work I did.”
Dad’s dark-eyed stare was created to intimidate, and his mere presence was effective enough to sway most people into going along with anything he said, but I wasn’t backing down.
er 1
Hallie, September, New Orleans
“The only reason you want my help is so you can see my girls in a corset,” I said.
“Hallie. Keep it real.” Poe rolled his eyes. “I know those aren’t yours.”
I launched a thigh-high boot at his head but missed, leaving a black mark on my bedroom wall.
Poe Sharpe was built like a spark plug, compact and hard, with an imperfect face that always made girls take a second look. Probably as they tried to figure out why he was attractive. I chalked it up to his smile, his swagger, and an unhealthy amount of leather.
“Why can’t you just pop in and be done with the whole thing?” I asked.
“You have to distract the front man so I can get the job done,” Poe answered, with a fair amount of tolerance for all the bitching I was doing.
“I’m just saying,” I grumbled as I laced up the other boot, “that there’s no point in being able to teleport if you still need a sidekick. I could be doing something more useful.” And more exciting.
“Don’t call it teleporting. It maxes out my geek factor.” He pushed away from the wall. “And I like to think of you as my companion.”
“Only if I get to be Amy Pond.”
“Who?”
I sighed. “How can you call yourself British and not know who—”