Rock Paper Sorcery

Randy Devantier could count the number of times he’d been tossed into the trunk of a car on three fingers. One of those times had been a college prank. Of the remaining two, this one had the advantage of Dev actually being awake for it—and alone in the trunk. Contrary to the other two times, this also had the advantage of being Dev’s plan.

Get seen by Friedrich’s goons, put up a show of resistance, but ultimately, get caught and, one way or another, be taken to Friedrich himself. Which, judging by how long Dev had been curled up in the trunk, would be any minute now. What happened then, well, that’d be anyone’s guess. Come hell or high water, though, one of them wouldn’t be walking away from this meeting.

Sure enough, a minute or so later, the Lincoln town car slowed and made a turn. A prickling, uneasy sensation rolled through Dev’s stomach, a definite ‘you don’t belong here’ vibe. It faded as the car picked up speed again.

They were past the keep-out wards on the outer edge of Friedrich’s property. Normally, it would have taken Dev weeks to get past the wards, wearing down the stones they were etched into, but this way, as something sort of like a guest, he was past them without too much hassle. Part one of the plan was done. Now he just had to survive part two.

It was about as black as midnight in the trunk of the luxury car, but at least he wasn’t too cramped, even considering his six feet plus frame. He squirmed onto his belly, pressed his hands to the carpeted floor and pulled in a deep breath of stale air tainted with the scent of his sweat and hints of blood from his split lip and grazed knuckles. Dev held the breath for a slow ten count, then let it out over another ten count. The tight coil of anxiety and frustration and anger in his guts eased, expelled with the air.

Calm, Dev reached for his sorcery. It came with that familiar, almost dreaded, tingle across the inside of his skull. He imagined it as sickly-green sparks lighting up in sequence inside his head, a complex network of synaptic pathways separate from the normal. It wouldn’t matter how long he practiced the Art, Dev would never get used to the sensation of the power creeping over his brain. Head already ringing from knocks that saw him overpowered and stuffed in the trunk, it took on another resonance, humming with potential power, waiting for it to be released in a trick by one of his commands.

The car wound along the road. Dev didn’t have much time to get his thoughts together. He needed to get out of the car before they actually reached the gate to the main grounds. Allowing himself to be caught by Friedrich’s goons was only so he could get past the keep-out wards, not the entirety of his plan. He wasn’t about to be a prisoner. Not again.

Sorcery waiting, Dev imagined the tyres of the car, those four, black rubber points of contact with the road. With that reference fixed in his mind, he triggered a trick.

Nitrogen kuvuta katika kufungia.

Like knocking over the first domino in a long line, the words set off a cascade of synaptic firings. Sparks tripped down well-worn pathways; ripples across the surface of his brain that expanded and collided, igniting and dampening, coalescing into a single impulse of energy that soared down nerves to Dev’s hands. It emerged as a faint, crystalline-green glow that highlighted the shape of his hands and the contours of the inside of the trunk.

Nitrogen was drawn out of the atmosphere in a blinding rush and condensed around the tyres.

The car lost traction, began to skid, rear end slewing out wildly. An instant later, the snap-frozen rubber shattered. With a sudden lurch, the car crashed down to its rims. Over the ear-piecing screech of metal on blacktop Dev heard the Goons shout in alarm. The car twisted and juddered, momentum carrying it forward and sideways, off the road and—

Smash!

Unprepared for the sudden stop, Dev hit the solid barrier between trunk and car interior with a bone jarring impact. Around him, the car shuddered, the engine still trying to drive it into whatever immovable object it had hit. Then, with a concussive shock, something in the engine snapped and it died, rumbling away to reveal a rushing silence.

Dev had to keep going. He couldn’t be delayed now. Someone could have witnessed the crash, they could be coming to help, or they could be rushing off to warn Friedrich.

Grimacing at the dull burn of pain in his back, he fumbled around until he found the latch on the lid of the trunk. Hands on either side, he repeated the trigger. This time, he froze the lock and, a sharp elbow later, smashed it to tiny pieces. The trunk popped open.

Light sliced in through the thin crack. Dev scrunched his eyes shut. The pounding in his head intensified.

But, he was free.

Opening his eyes by degrees, he slowly clambered out of the trunk, careful to make sure his legs supported him and that his head didn’t flake out. Dev looked around.

Southern California in winter. Dry, dusty and currently being blasted by the Santa Ana winds. Not a lot to recommend it, really. The sun was setting in spectacular fashion—as one would expect from California, though its glorious arc of fiery orange and vibrant yellow was only possible thanks to the gross levels of smoke in the atmosphere. Fires in the hills whipped into a frenzy by the Santa Ana’s. The air was parched and gritty, thick with the smell of smoke and dust.

The car had crashed off the side of the road and into a tall, sturdy stone wall. A sign just above the crumpled hood proclaimed that beyond the wall was private property and if you trespassed, you would be prosecuted, if you survived the dogs. A couple hundred yards down the road was the entrance to the property, secured by a tall, wrought iron gate, complete with coils of barbed wire across the top.

You’re a sorry fool, Friedrich, if you think some barbed wire is goin’ to keep me out.

In fact, the wrought iron itself wasn’t much of a challenge. Any half-trained weather sorcerer would be through it within moments.

A gurgling cough drew Dev’s attention to the front of the car. He sidled up to the passenger side door and peered through the shattered window.

The Goons were a bit worse for wear. Face planted on the dash, the driver was dead. He hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt and, when the car impacted, had been thrown up over the wheel. The windshield showed where his head had connected with it, splatters of blood congealing in slow dribbles down the broken glass. Beside him, Goon #2 slumped back in his seat, nose broken and bleeding, eyes swollen shut, the dash caved in over his legs, trapping him.

Help, he gasped, knowing someone was there, but unable to see them.

Dev leaned down, knocked out the remaining window glass and checked the man’s pulse. Weak and hesitant. He was bleeding somewhere, whether internally or externally it didn’t matter. There was little Dev could have done. If he’d wanted to do anything, that was.

They were Friedrich’s men. Hired thugs with no ability to hatch an original thought between them. Muscles given purpose by Friedrich’s will alone. Within the business, they were well known to be kidnappers, enforcers and murderers. This wasn’t the first time Dev had crossed paths with them but it would be the last.

There were things Dev could have done to hasten Goon #2’s passing. He could have ensorcelled the oxygen away from his face, left him gasping nothing but carbon dioxide. He could have done that if he hadn’t just incanted his way out of the trunk the bastard had thrown him in. At the same time, he could have put his hand over the man’s mouth and nose and achieved the same results, but he didn’t do that either.

Instead he walked to the front of the car and climbed up on the crumpled hood. There wasn’t much left of it. A lot of the engine was probably sitting in Goon #2’s lap right about now. The top of the wall was still beyond his reach by a dozen or so feet.

Dev kicked off his boots, then hauled his socks off and stuffed them into the shoes. One at a time, he tossed them over the top of the wall and heard them thump into thick grass on the far side. Running his hands over the wall, he found many small cracks and uneven surfaces. He reached up as high as he could, found handholds and lifted his foot. Questing toes found a small purchase, dug in and he lifted his other foot.

Friedrich’s property was suitably isolated, tucked into a heavily wooded pocket in the hills north-east of Los Angeles. The chances of being seen were pretty slim, but he didn’t want to linger, all the same.

Dev grunted as he hauled himself up the wall. He’d put up a pretty good show of resisting the Goons, as his ribs attested, but he was here at last, past the wards and on his way to finishing this, once and for all. Teeth gritted, he stretched for the next handhold, fingers scrabbling for purchase. In the car, Goon #2 gave a final, wet gurgle and sagged back. Dev spared him a glance and refused to acknowledge the spurt of guilt. The world was a better place without him, without both of them. And soon, it would be even better without Friedrich as well.

Dev kept climbing, pushing aside memories of his last encounter with Friedrich. It hadn’t ended well. Dev still had the scars, would have them for life. But this time, it was different. The Council had given the go-ahead. Friedrich had finally crossed one too many lines and Dev had had to call in several favours to get the contract.

Of course, getting the contract had been the least of his troubles. Just because the Council had pronounced open season on Friedrich, didn’t mean the plug-ugly bastard was easy to get at.

Dev’s fingers found the edge of the top of the wall. Digging his toes into a gap between two stones, he pushed up and got his other arm over the top. With one last heave, he was lying on his belly on top of the narrow wall. Sweat pooled between his shoulder-blades, stinging slightly, prickling the remains of the skin grafts. Panting, Dev sat up, straddling the wall. Only three months out of hospital and several skipped physical therapy sessions hadn’t left him in great shape, but nothing was going to keep him from finding Friedrich and making him pay.

The view from the top of the wall didn’t reveal much. A thick screen of trees stood between him and the main house, but hints of the Baroque mansion’s straight lines could be seen in the distance. A gap in the trees further up showed the path of the drive, leading from the gate to the house. There didn’t seem to be any activity around the house or along the drive. The crash appeared to have gone unnoticed, and if anyone was expecting the Goons, they weren’t worried as yet.

Swinging his leg over, Dev took several deep breaths, then pushed off. The drop wasn’t far, but he still wasn’t fully recovered. He hit the ground and rolled, back sparking with pain. Coming up into a crouch, he checked the immediate area, finding it empty. Still, he murmured another incantation—Upepo kuvuta katika,—and the air around him shifted. For several seconds, he was buffeted with mild wind from all directions. He sniffed the incoming air deeply, several times, parsing the scents as they passed over his hyper-sensitive membranes—a modification he’d managed to wrangle out of Lana, his earth sorcerer sister.

All he found, though, was the same dry, dusty stink that had been permeating every corner of Southern California for weeks now. No hint of any human or animal scents.

The incantation died, taking the wind with it, letting it settle back into its natural patterns. Dev found his boots and sat down to put them back on. The grass was thick, but dry and brittle, crackling with every movement he made. Wishing he had the time to conjure up some moisture to dampen his path, Dev stood and resigned himself to the noise. At least there was no one around to hear it.

He set out, moving into the trees, ignoring the dull ache in his head and the slowly growing itch in his scars. His heart raced from more than the exertion. The last time he’d been here, he’d barely got out with his life. All of his memories of Friedrich’s mansion were of pain and terror and gut-numbing anger. Now he was back, the anger was building, but it had to compete with the fear.

Fear’s just the other man’s stick, Monty used to say. If you let him, he’ll beat you with it every time. Trick is, son, get a bigger stick.

His mentor’s words ringing in his ears, Dev stalked forward, convinced the Council’s backing, and his own need for vengeance, made a big enough stick. With the contract, he didn’t have to hold back, not this time. The Goons were just the supporting act.

What he could see of the grounds remained clear as he approached the mansion. Part way through the trees, he could make out several cars on the drive in front of the house. Large, dark coloured SUVs and a white, stretch limo. Friedrich’s usual cavalcade. Was he going somewhere? Had he postponed leaving because he was waiting for Dev to be dragged before him, beaten and submissive?

Or had he heard about the Council contract and was preparing to disappear?

Friedrich was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. If he was trying to stay under the radar, he wouldn’t be running in his most noticeable car. Perhaps the limo was a distraction and Friedrich was sneaking out the back.

There was a helicopter pad behind the mansion, but Dev hadn’t seen a chopper the last time he was here. Granted, he hadn’t seen much of the place at all. Just the dark torture room in the basement, and Friedrich’s bedroom.

Tossing those memories on the bonfire of his anger, Dev changed direction, heading toward the back of the big house.

There was no movement around the house. No patrolling sentries, no gardeners, no servants sneaking a quick cigarette before heading back in to fail at upholding Friedrich’s impossible standards. Dev stopped and crouched down, peering through the trees at the mansion.

It wasn’t right. Day or night, the place was always guarded. He studied the rows of square windows lining the side of the house. It was dark beyond the glass, he couldn’t see much, but thought there was no movement inside, either. The doors on one of the second storey balconies were open, gossamer curtains billowing out.

Dread settled into his guts like a rattler in waiting.

If Friedrich was already gone, it’d be a sorry time he’d have tracking him down. The Council had a list of his properties all around the world, but that’d be about as useful as a trapdoor on a canoe.

A rustle of parched leaves heralded a blast of Santa Ana winds, the hot air like a fevered slap to his face. It passed and as the rattle of the trees died down, Dev heard a new noise.

A faint crunch. Brittle grass crushed under a heavy tread. It came from behind him. Keeping perfectly still, Dev listened hard, wishing he’d bothered Lana enough to enhance his hearing as well. He’d been meaning too, but there had never been enough time. Well, it was too late for regrets now.

Another step, getting closer. Then more, from another direction. Both, however, were upwind of him. He pulled in a deep breath. Nothing. Just the dry heat. Whoever, whatever, they were, they had no scent, and that couldn’t be good.

Or, they did have a scent and he just couldn’t tell it apart from the wind.

Cursing silently, Dev sprang to his feet and spun around.

There were two of them, stalking up behind him, coming in from different directions. At first, they were just brilliant blazes of orange light flitting between the tree trunks. Then they sensed his attention and as one, bounded toward him, howls rising through the quiet afternoon.

Right then was when Dev remembered the sign on the gate.

Trespassers will be prosecuted, if you survive the dogs.

Chapter 2

They weren’t just normal dogs, either. No domesticated breed could create the primal song of a pure-bred hunter these creatures gave voice to as they charged. Huge, too. As tall at the shoulder as Dev’s hips and he was no pigmy, not by a long shot. Sleek and powerful, they barely seemed to touch the ground as they ran. Lips pulled back from long, white fangs like hammer-claws as they snarled, the sound sending a shudder down Dev’s back.

Trust Friedrich to have dire-wolves as guard dogs.

Also, trust a fire sorcerer to cast them in flames and set them lose.

The burning wolves sped toward Dev, touching off little fires as they brushed against trees, their tracks marked by burned leaves and grass. Eyes like obsidian inside the bright flames of their faces locked onto Dev.

Sorcery, no matter what caste you practiced, was a hard discipline. Few who began ever finished. Well, no one ever really finished learning, but the number who became functioning sorcerers was completely disproportionate to the number who apprenticed. Mastering a spell and getting the desired affect was a long, arduous and often pointless process. Once the neurological pathway was blazed it was a matter then of linking the effect of the spell to a trigger. It was best to use something there was little to no chance of hearing in daily life as a trigger, to keep accidents from happening. Hence a lot of sorcerers using Latin. Never one to follow the pack, Dev had gone with his own bastardised version of Swahili instead.

Hands out, pointed toward both beasts, Dev triggered one of his most powerful tricks.

Upepo wa dhoruba.

Gale force winds sprang up around his arms and, following the direction of his hands, lanced outward. The tightly confined, hurricane-strength winds met the racing wolves head on. Both creatures staggered under the onslaught, the flames blown back from their heads, revealing raw meat and steaming blood, fur and skin long since burned away.

The beast to his right skidded backward on the loose leaf litter, smoke curling up from its guttering flames. Head lowered, lips pushed back in a growl, it lifted a foot to take a step forward. Dev twisted his hand and the wind spiralled under the creature, billowing up beneath it. Knocked off balance, the fire-wolf toppled over, yelping as its exposed muscles hit the hard ground.

Smarter than its fellow, the other wolf crouched under the wind, burning belly to the ground, snapping and snarling. Flames streaming back, it crawled forward. Lips pressed together, Dev added more strength to the wind on it, grunting in satisfaction when all but its tail-flames were snuffed out. It flattened itself to the ground to keep from rolling backward.

Then the first wolf was on its paws again, reignited as Dev’s concentration shifted. The creature leaped forward, covering half the distance between them in a single bound. Dev switched all his power to it, hitting it with a blast so furious and hard it was lifted off the ground and tossed into a tree ten yards behind.

Not waiting to see if the loud crack was wood or wolf, Dev spun and lifted both hands toward the other creature. He wasn’t fast enough. It raced toward him, springing into a massive leap aimed to put his face right between its burning jaws.

Dev dropped, the last of the wind dying as he rolled under the creature’s arc. His scarred back spasmed with pain, but he pushed through it, coming up on one knee, hands already out. But again, the wolf wasn’t where he wanted it. Instead, it was circling, coming closer with each step. Shoulders hunched, it watched him with dark eyes, a low level, threatening growl rumbling through its chest.

It was close enough now the heat could be felt, prickling along his exposed skin like a hundred burning needles. As much as he thought it not possible, the air around him became even dryer, hotter, steaming in his lungs. Already covered in sweat, new torrents gushed from Dev’s head, running over his face. He blinked fast, trying to get the stinging sweat out of his eyes as he tracked the creature.

A new wave of heat touched his back. Twisting, he found the first wolf was on its paws, circling as well, but it limped and wasn’t closing the distance. Not that it had to. It just had to keep him there so the other one could finish him.

He’d been prepared for a certain number of tricks, but not this much, not this quick. Already hurting from the Goons, tired from creating the ice on the tyres and then breaking out of the trunk, and now this, he was close to the end of his strength. Not to mention being physically weakened from his stint in hospital.

The fear was creeping back in, as well. As much as no one wanted to get burned, Dev hadn’t been able to tolerate open flames since escaping Friedrich the first time. The things he could do with fire were terrible; these creatures the least example of his perversity.

Dev had to do this fast. Two tricks so close together wasn’t impossible, but it was hard, and would probably wipe him out.

Keeping an eye on the able-bodied fire-wolf, Dev slowly put his hands on the ground, wide apart, in the direction of the injured creature. Softly, he incanted.

Nitrogen kuvuta katika.

The incantation pulled nitrogen out of the atmosphere, condensed it into a liquid in the area between his hands. The ground snap froze in the same instant the wolf behind him pounced.

Dev threw himself to the side, triggering the wind trick again. As he rolled, the blast caught the airborne wolf and tossed it over his head. The second wolf charged for him, damaged but still deadly. Rolling madly, Dev prayed his gamble would work. As he came over, sprawled on the ground, the injured wolf hit the patch of frozen ground.

Kushinikiza nje!

The power of the trick lashed upward from the frozen ground and through the creature’s paws.

Momentum carried the fire-wolf forward, but its front paws, frozen to the ground, cracked like crystal struck by a hammer. Sizzling blood arced through the air as the fire-wolf ploughed face first into the ground, ass flying up and over. With a sharp retort, its neck broke. A skinned, singed dead body thumped to the ground in front of Dev’s face.

Heart slamming in shock and surprise, Dev scrambled away from the bloody body. The most he’d hoped for was breaking the wolf’s legs. This was so much better.

A snarl cut through his mini celebration.

The other wolf was still very much alive, and alight. Its flames simmered from orange to blue as it stalked him. Each paw was lifted and placed back down with exacting care, having learned from its fellow’s death.

Dev stood, a long stick in one hand. He cracked his neck and flexed his fingers.

The fire-wolf leaped.

Dev hit it with the wind trick, but this, too, it had come to understand. Thrown backwards, it twisted in midair and landed on its paws. Magnificently agile, the creature spun and rushed him again.

Theluji!

In the second it took the wolf to jump, the air between it and Dev had gone from the low-seventies down to subzero. Snow bloomed like white fireworks, instantly melted by the heat. The resultant water drenched the wolf, putting out the flames. In a cloud of steam, Dev thrust the stick forward.

Without the flames or thick fur and hide, the wolf’s own weight worked to impale it on the stick. Hot blood burst from between its wide jaws as it crashed down on Dev. Dying, it still managed to snap and claw at him, but Dev shoved it off, his hands finding slimy, warm resistance. Tumbling away, the wolf nevertheless tried to get back up. Torn muscle dangled around the stick buried in its chest, blood pouring from the wound. Growling, it managed a single step before staggering. Then another, but that was it. The creature, raw and steaming, collapsed at Dev’s boots, snarling and scrabbling at the ground.

Dragging in gulps of air, Dev hauled himself back to his feet. The front of his shirt was smeared with blood, his hands coated in globs of partially cooked flesh. Now that the flames were out, he could smell the sharp tang of very rare meat. His stomach rolled.

Heart still racing, he left the dead and dying wolves behind, hoping like hell they were the only ones. The ringing in his ears had increased to the point he was having trouble hearing anything else and there was a band around his brain, winching tighter with every trick he pulled.

Perhaps he wouldn’t mind so much if Friedrich had bugged out already.

Forgoing stealth—if he was still in residence, there was no way the fire sorcerer would have missed the deaths of his creatures—Dev headed directly for the mansion. As he approached, he noted that nothing had changed. No one had rushed outside to see what the disturbance was; no hidden sentries had popped up to take him out.

Hitting the gravelled drive, he followed it to the circle before the front doors. Here, he found the first of the dead.

Four drivers, lying beside their vehicles, neat bullet holes in their foreheads. On the steps, two black suited security guys, dropped guns close to their hands. Dev stopped long enough to work out they weren’t long dead. The blood on their bodies was tacky in the thickest parts, dried in the thinnest, but even accounting for the warmth of the day, they hadn’t cooled much. The attack had probably been winding down just as the Goons crashed into the outer wall.

The wounds were precise, sniper levels of accuracy. There were Council operatives with that sort of skill, but it couldn’t have been any of them. Dev had the contract on Friedrich, no one from the Council should have horned in on his territory. But if it wasn’t the Council, then it was someone with the ability to get past the keep-outs and fire-wolves.

At the top of the stairs, the doors were open. Picking up the discarded guns of the security guys, Dev checked their clips as he ascended. Both Sigs, one with a single round missing, the other with only five left. Tucking that one into the back of his jeans, Dev held the other one in both hands, easing through the gap in the doors.

More dead, bullet wounds, blood sprayed across the otherwise pristine marble tiles. Another security guy and two servants, Hispanic girls in the skimpy, French maid outfits favoured by Friedrich. Innocents, in as much as anyone working in this house could be considered innocent.

Shoving aside his emotions, Dev cleared the rest of the first floor. Five more dead, all servants, all taken out in cold, clinical precision. There was no doubt this had been a professional hit, three or four shooters at least.

He passed the door to the basement without giving in to the need to shudder, pausing long enough to make sure the door was locked. If there was anyone down there, he couldn’t do anything for them until he was certain the rest of the place was secured.

Back to the foyer, he took the spiralling staircase up to the second floor.

The next body he found was familiar to him.

Dev crouched by the young woman sprawled face first on the landing. He didn’t need to see her face to know it was Elise. Every inch of her perfect, desirable body was etched on his memory, burned there in flame and pain. She’d been Friedrich’s apprentice in all ways—sorcery, business, torture, sex. Her skill with flames hadn’t been as exquisite as her mentor’s so Friedrich had let her hone it on Dev. The deepest scars on his back were her signature.

He’d looked forward to killing her. Now he would never get that experience.

Anger burning as hot as the fire-wolves, Dev rolled her over.

She hadn’t been shot. Nothing manmade had killed her. There were no slices or stabs or signs of strangulation. The front of her cream blouse was stained dark red, but not because she’d bled on it. Her insides had simply been turned into outsides. The fatty mounds of her inside-out breasts pushed at the thin silk, the shape of her lungs moulded across them. Below, loops of intestine curled in pale purple swirls around her liver and stomach. Nestled low in the mess was her uterus.

Her beautiful face was frozen in horror, eyes wide, mouth agape.

As much as Dev had wanted her to die slowly, he was disgusted by the sight before him.

Three or four shooters and an earth sorcerer. A powerful one.

Standing, Dev adjusted his grip on the Sig Sauer and hoped the killers were gone. He’d seen what Lana could do when angry and this sorcerer was far stronger.

Another body lay outside Friedrich’s bedroom. Dead by the hand of the sorcerer, but not like Elise. No, this poor fool had simply had every major bone in his body crushed. He’d bled out through his mouth and ass.

The door to Friedrich’s bedroom was closed but not locked. Dev stood before it for a long time, steadying his breathing. Like the one leading to the basement, this door made his heart stutter and his hands shake.

There was nothing on the other side that could hurt him. Whoever had attacked had taken out the security and Elise without significant trouble. They wouldn’t have left Friedrich alone.

Dev turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Chapter 3

So, Sean said, do you work at all? He leaned forward, elbows on the table, smart phone between his hands as his thumbs flickered across its surface. Scraggly brown hair tumbled into his eyes as he watched the phone’s screen.

Yup, I said, barely keeping the disbelief from my voice. Could the kid not function for five minutes without the phone? I mean, I’d made a fucking effort—unlike him, who’d shown up in old jeans and a t-shirt even I would consign to the bin—and he didn’t bother to notice. I teach pole dancing.

Sean tapped a bit on the phone, then stopped. Finally, he looked up at me. Eyebrows raised, he said, What?

Resisting the urge to say something like ‘I’m a practical sex therapist’, I said, I teach Polish at TAFE.

Spark of interest dying, the kid muttered, Oh, and returned to his phone. His gaze did, however, linger a moment on the breasts prominently displayed by a low cut blouse and padded bra.

Dear Lord, what would it take? A twenty-two year old kid presented with a smokin’ hot chick like this shouldn’t be that engrossed in his phone. Maybe Erin had been wrong. Maybe Sean didn’t dig the ladies. Maybe I could have done this without all the discomfort. For Christ’s sake, bras on their own were torture enough, but add to it a thong and you’re crossing several lines into depravity. I’ll happily admit to being a legs and boob man, in that order. The arse comes a very late third and so I’d never developed an appreciation for the art of the thong. A notion being steadily reinforced by the act of wearing one. I’d succeeded thus far in not digging the damn thing out of the crack but it was seriously tough going.

"Matt! Stop fidgeting," Erin hissed in my ear.

Not mining for thong was one thing. Sitting still while a PI snapped in my ear was a whole other level of Zen I had yet to master.

I jerked, hand brushing at my ear. And what do you know? That got the kid’s attention.

You okay? he asked.

Yeah, I muttered. Just a bug.

As he turned back to his phone, I sent a glare toward the second storey window in the building across the road, where Erin was watching us from. There was no twitch from the curtain, but my vampire mega-eyesight picked up her faint outline. She was crouched by the window, arms resting on the sill, holding the binoculars to her eyes. In fact, I could almost see her shoulders twitching as she chuckled.

"You’re not very good at this, are you." Her amusement made me glare harder.

Of course I wasn’t very good at this, I wanted to growl back. I wasn’t a twenty-two year old girl. I didn’t understand bras and thongs and high freaking heels and I sure as shit didn’t know how to inspire some interest from a social-media obsessed post-teen who looked as though he’d rolled straight out of bed and deemed himself date-ready.

Erin sighed. Ask him what he does for a job.

Fine.

You got a job? I asked, in what I hoped was as bored a tone as his.

Before he could answer, a waitress stopped by our table. How’s dinner, guys? she asked, smiling so wide and brightly it was like she was trying to infect our awkward silence with some of her own cheer.

Yeah, Sean said and actually put down the phone to poke at his risotto with a fork. S’all right.

The waitress turned to me, eyebrows raised.

It’s good, I said, more enthusiastically, smiling closed-lipped at her.

You’ve hardly touched the salad, Sean announced.

Didn’t think you’d noticed. It was out before I could stop it.

He actually had the nerve to look at me as if I’d insulted his grandmother. You know what annoys me?

Frankly, no. You’ve said about three words since we sat down.

Sensing a tiff, the waitress fixed her smile in place, then turned and moved on to the next table.

"Careful," Erin said. You flashed a bit too much tooth that time.

We sat at an outside table of a small bistro on Queen Street, just down from the mall. It wasn’t a busy night but there were enough customers and foot traffic I had to be careful. I’m not a girl, and I’m also not a vampire. I was just borrowing the body of one for this ‘date’. Talking with a mouthful of fangs is not something I’m used to, especially if I wanted to keep them hidden.

Well, Sean muttered, giving no hint of having seen anything untoward. What pisses me off is chicks who don’t eat. We all have to eat and it’s not a crime. You’ve ordered a garden salad, so just eat it.

That’s what’s bothering you? I demanded. The fact I haven’t eaten?

Yeah. You’re a fantastic looking chick, like, hot. And I get the white skin, it’s sexy with all the black hair. But you don’t have to be one of those snotty bitches who doesn’t eat in public because it might destroy the image of perfection. He leaned to the side to check me out a bit more thoroughly. "You’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about. Seriously. Hot."

At last. Some attention. And it made me feel uncomfortable and indignant all at once. Yes, I’d hijacked Mercy’s body for this caper, but I was still a hetero man. Having another man look me over like that was more than a little disconcerting. Also, did this jerk think he would ever be good enough for my Mercy?

"No," Erin snapped. Don’t get cranky. This is what we want. Keep him going, get him talking. Eat something!

Unable to risk another glare in Erin’s direction, I settled for smiling at Sean, doing my best to pretend his grunge was everything a classy chick like me could ever want.

I’m sorry, I said. It’s just that you make me nervous. Spearing a cherry tomato, I shoved it in Mercy’s mouth.

Sean grinned and shovelled a forkful of rice into his own.

Vampires don’t eat solid food. Blood is all they need. As I tried to chew the tomato I realised why. The blasted tomato got stuck on a fang, its juices spilling across a tongue unfamiliar with the acidity. I did my best to get it free while not grimacing at the taste. As spastic as I must have looked, Sean interpreted it as enjoyment, still grinning at me.

It