“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.
Reagan’s shining eyes watched me from beside the kitchen entrance and her finger made circles in the air. “I know all about it.”
I wiped my face. “Know all about what?”
“Your trip into the cemetery to spy on a group of witches. The Ladies of the Light, right? They’re harmless. I never chase them out.”
I thought about picking up my coffee cup again, but while I was decidedly less jumpy than when I’d first arrived in New Orleans—even than a couple days ago—I clearly wasn’t ready to drink a hot beverage within the confines of a kitchen with Reagan. I grabbed some water instead.
“That wasn’t a secret,” I said, then stopped myself. “Should that have been a secret?”
Her expression fell and she stopped circling the air with her finger. “You are much too honest, do you know that? No wonder your mother was able to keep you in line.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the archway. “And yes, that should’ve been a secret. Leaving the protection of the ward for a wide-open, dark, deserted cemetery was an incredibly stupid thing to do. It was basically an attacker’s wet dream.”
I eyed the coffee again. Water wasn’t doing the trick. “Smokey said as much, but…” I shrugged. “Their magic called to me.”
“Hey”—she held up her hands—“I live in a glass house. I’m not trying to throw stones. Tonight I’ll be doing something fairly stupid myself. I’m not judging. Did you get your rocks off?”
I sidled over to my cup of coffee and filled it back up. There were some things I just couldn’t do without. And unlike Reagan, whiskey wasn’t one of them.
“You’re right. You and Darius…and Emery. I’ve been trying to acclimate to the mages’ way of doing things,” I said after taking a much-needed sip, “but it’s closed me off. When I came across the witches doing magic, it felt so natural. I remembered how to find balance.”
“Ordinarily, I’d ask you not to tell him because it would inflate his already massive ego, but after the other night, I think we’re good on that score. Hurry up. Let’s get to burning some shit. Maybe your new balance will make you less terrible at it.”
It didn’t. While my reinstated balance made it easier for me to put together spells—including setting fire to my poor, defenseless practice dummy and creating mini explosions—Reagan’s ability to control fire was still beyond me. Probably always would be.
“Are you an elemental?” I asked at one point, panting with my hands braced on my knees. “They can do fire, right? Because the weather one can do weather. I’d imagine there’s a fire one.”
“From what I’ve heard, some of them can do fire. One of them really well, I think. I don’t know any more than that.”
“So you’re not an elemental?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me if you were?”
“Probably not, since I’d probably be a rogue elemental on the run from my family’s crushing pressure to become what they want me to be.”
I blinked and shook my head. “Uh-huh. So what are you?”
“An asshole, remember? Come on, one more spell, and then I got to go.”
An hour later, we were both in the kitchen, me tired but not drained—I thought that was an improvement—and her bright as a spring day.
“What is it you’re doing again?” I asked between gulps of water.
“I’m going to take a contract with the Magical Law Enforcement office.” She bent to wipe off the thighs of her leather pants before twisting so she could see the backs. “These are fine, aren’t they? Not too dirty?”
A few scuffs and a couple smudges of dirt marred the surface. “They’re a little dirty.”
“But, like…too dirty?”
I paused. “I don’t know what your definition of too dirty is.”
“Too dirty to wear in public to a job where I want to show how awesome I am?”
“Oh.” I chewed my lip, wondering how to be tactful. “I mean…” I cocked my head. “They’re a bit dirty.”
“A bit.” She squinted at me. “I hear what you’re saying.” She stalked out of the room, only to return wearing the same dirty leather pants. She clipped her fanny pack onto her hips. “Okay. Ready for action.”
A wave of anxiety washed over me and my body tingled, my temperamental third eye telling me of danger ahead.
“Wait…” I put down my water and stepped forward. The danger didn’t feel like mine. It…strangely felt like hers. “Aren’t you supposed to lie low…or something?”
She waved the thought away. “Not for this. This’ll be fine.”
Butterflies filled my stomach and I stepped forward again, not sure what this feeling was. “Um…”
She cupped her breasts. “I should get a sports bra. I’ll probably need to run.” She left the room again.
Grateful for the break from her keen gaze, I closed my eyes and opened up, letting my intuition feelers guide me. A strong sense that something was coming hit me first, tickling my premonition centers, as vague as ever. I was nothing like my mother when it came to that particular talent. It felt good, whatever it was, like I would enjoy it.
Mail, probably. This was the sort of thing that had always spooked our old mail lady.
That had nothing to do with Reagan leaving, though (I didn’t think), so I tried to home in on this particular situation. Her walking out the door to go into some sort of battle—
The desire to jump at her, wrap my arms around her legs, and stop her accosted me. But why? Was she in danger?
I should call my mother.
“All ri— What are you doing, sleeping standing up?”
I peeled my eyes opened, seeing her standing in the archway with her leather pants and tank top, her fanny pack, and her hair in a ponytail. Her stern face and kickass vibe.