The new Riverwalk boasted boutique stores and upscale restaurants. There were even some luxury condo developments in the works for upwardly mobile Mundanes who wanted to feel edgy and hip by living in the more “colorful” part of town.
In addition, Mundanes flocked across Bessemer Bridge on the weekends to visit the flea markets and artisanal goods stands set up along the water. Naturally, since it was still officially the Cauldron, there was always lots of overtime work available for the BPD at the Riverwalk so that the Mundanes weren’t bothered by the magical dregs of the city. And high above all of that was Volos Tower, which had become a symbol in the city for progress and hope for the Cauldron.
I couldn’t help but wonder at the irony. John Volos had gone from being Uncle Abe’s heir—after I left—for one of the biggest magical crime syndicates in the city to a respected community leader and successful businessman in little more than a decade.
I shook my head and swallowed another delicious bite of my burger. As I chewed, I became aware of a strange rhythmic sound outside the car. I rolled down the window and realized it was the swoop, swoop, swoop of an approaching helicopter. I stopped chewing to stare at the speck of black rapidly approaching the tower.
That’s when I realized that the parking lot sat right next to the tower’s helipad. Frozen in indecision, I could do nothing but stare, slack jawed, at the approaching aircraft, which had probably a 90 percent chance of containing the very man I’d been worried about seeing.
By the time I realized I was being ridiculous and rolled up the window, the helicopter was lowering itself onto the helipad. Looking around, I saw I was probably five rows back from the border between the pad and the lot. I reached my free hand toward my glove box and removed the binoculars I always kept there.
The helicopter landed and the blades overhead were powering down. The door popped open. A long, slim female leg emerged first, followed by the rest of a statuesque redhead. The winds from the river and the slowing rotors loosened strands of titian hair—probably a vanity potion since no one was born with that shade—from her formerly neat chignon. She wore a black skirt with a cream silk shirt and break-your-neck stilettos. I squinted at her through the binoculars. She looked familiar, and I realized I’d seen her just that morning on TV as she stood next to Volos at the mayor’s fund-raiser.
Before I could speculate much about her position in his life, I was distracted by a shadow moving in the helicopter’s door. I held my breath. In the next instant, a dark-blond head and tall, trim physique emerged from the shadowy opening. He unfolded up, up, up and scanned the immediate area looking like a god of capitalism surveying his domain.
Awareness skittered up my spine—or maybe it was a warning. All around me, the air tightened with anticipation as I waited for him to spot me. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed when he simply turned to the chick and said something. She threw back her head and spread her ruby lips into a wide smile that exposed a row of pearly white teeth. A French-manicured left hand rested lightly on his arm as she gazed up with her no doubt witty retort.
Oh yeah. They were fucking all right.
I grabbed a notebook and jotted down that theory. But lots of CEO types screwed the help. That didn’t mean Volos was cooking or, worse, dealing potions again.
I took another bite of my rapidly cooling lunch. But now the burger tasted bland and greasy. I was suddenly ashamed at my lack of willpower. I shouldn’t have been in that part of town to begin with, much less sitting in that particular parking lot. As much as I liked to think I’d moved on from my past, that decision proved I still enjoyed prodding those old bruises.
I wiped my hands and face clean with a napkin, threw the trash in the bag, and—
Pound, pound, pound.
I jerked my head toward the driver’s side window and cursed. A dirty, near-toothless man stood at the window, holding up gray rags and a bottle of blue liquid. “Wash your windows, lady?” His voice came muffled through the glass.
I shook my head. “Get out of here.”
The toothless smile morphed into a scowl. “You ain’t gotta be so cunty about it.”
I made a shooing motion with my hands while I glanced toward the helicopter. Volos and the lady were starting to walk away.
Bang!
The window washer took issue with my dismissal and banged the bottle against the outside of the window. “Fuck you, bitch!”
With a sigh, I removed my Glock from under my seat. I figured a quick wave of the weapon would end the one-sided discussion.
“Oh really?” He lifted the stained Grateful Dead T-shirt to reveal a potbelly and the frayed waistband of his jeans. Nestled in the matt of grizzled hair covering his abdomen was the stock of a pistol.
I guess he’d wanted my attention, but now that he had it I was pretty sure he wouldn’t enjoy it.
I threw open the door and yelled, “Hands on your head!” I flashed my badge as I raised my gun.
“Relax, bitch. I waddn’t gonna shoot ya!” He put his hands in the air and stumbled back. “It’s just a pellet gun.”
I jerked it from his waistband, careful not to touch skin. Sure enough, it was a Merlin Px4, which was a sixteen-shot air pistol. It looked just like a Mundane semiautomatic pistol, but instead of bullets it used BBs or pellets as ammo and had a CO2 cartridge to provide realistic blow-back action. Lots of street toughs used these peashooters or dart guns to deliver nasty potion-filled projectiles at their enemies. The weapons weren’t illegal because the pellets and BBs weren’t as dangerous as bullets, but they were regulated because they were so commonly used in Arcane crimes.
“You got a permit for that peashooter, ace?”
“Not sure.” He thrust his hips up. “Why don’t you check my pants?”
I grimaced at his pelvis. “How about we check it down at the station?”
“Ah c’mon. I didn’t do nothin’.”
I raised a brow. “You flashed a weapon at an officer.”
“Ah man! I didn’t know you was a cop. Thought you was just an uppity bitch.”
“As it happens, I’m both. Do not move.” I grabbed his arm. “What’s your name?” I spun him around and applied cuffs.
“Bob.”
“Bob what?”
“Just Bob.” He shrugged.
While I patted him down, I tried to ignore the stench of brimstone coming off his clothes. “Are you on any potions, sir?” I swung him back around and removed his sunglasses. Sure enough, the irises were mottled brown and light blue.