Page 7 of Hex and the City
There were all sorts of organizations and authorities keeping watchful eyes over magical activity throughout the world. One of the most prominent in the Dos Lunas area was a mysterious enforcement agency known as the Masques. Magical cops, essentially, of the variety that liked to don masks while they performed their tasks.
Newer recruits were only allowed masks that covered the upper half of the face, graduating to larger, more concealing designs as they climbed the ranks. Maybe it made them feel like superheroes, or masked vigilantes, empowering them to dole out justice. In my opinion, the partial anonymity only enabled them to act with impunity. Maybe even brutality.
“Listen,” I said, delighted by his anger. “I don’t know why you’re so defensive about it. Wouldn’t want to cover up that handsome face with a silly old mask. Besides, it’s okay to accept that you don’t have the best investigative skills ever. Like I said, I’m still open to working together.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, right, after you scrambled my brain and kicked me in the chest with your grubby sneakers. Not likely. Besides, what are you planning to do? Scare the bag into revealing itself? Some amateurish fear spell isn’t going to help us here.”
I gritted my teeth. Oh, so he could dish it out just as well as I could. “It’s ancestral magic, passed down through generations of witches in my — you know what? I don’t owe you an explanation. You don’t deserve one.”
He sighed, as if signaling that he was bored of talking to me. Impossible. I was positively fucking delightful.
“Right, right. Ancestral witchery, etcetera. Again, how is that going to find the bag? Shut up and let me think for a second.”
My jaw dropped. “I will not shut up.” It was true. I was physically incapable of doing so. Sadly, I was also physically incapable of freeing my wrists from his grip. The man was strong, I’d give him that. “And get off me, already. You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“I really am. I could do this all night.” He brought one hand away, reaching into his jeans pocket for his phone. “Now, you just sit tight. I’m going to review my notes, see if I missed something.”
This son of a — I squirmed again, to no avail. “I am not going to lie here and take this while you paw through your phone and search your precious notes for clues.”
“Hmm,” he muttered distractedly, already focused on his screen. “Uh-huh.”
“Give me that,” I said, as if I could find something in his notes that he’d somehow missed on his own.
I thrust my hand upward as he snatched his arm away to hold the phone out of reach. The side of my hand grazed his cheek. He shoved me away and cried out, rolling off my body. Wow. I didn’t even slap him or anything.
Even the threat of experiencing my fear hex again was enough to ward him off. I never knew I could get such an incredible boost of confidence about my magic in a situation where I, you know, didn’t even get to use it.
I did use the opportunity to untangle myself from his limbs. Shame that we couldn’t have met on friendlier, sexier terms, but there was still a heist to pull, a bag to secure. We each sprang to our feet, regarding the other cautiously.
“Wasn’t in the master bedroom,” I told him. “I’ve basically ransacked the place.”
His forehead wrinkled as he kept a safe, suspicious distance away from me and my hands. “Wasn’t in the living room, either. Did a quick scan while I put my brain back together after you scrambled it like an egg.”
“I wish you’d shut up about that already. This doesn’t make sense. These people are supposed to be normals. They wouldn’t know the first thing to do with a bag of magical dust. Unless they thought it’d make for a cute little keepsake.”
The man in the leather jacket narrowed his eyes. “Or unless they decided that the glittery dust inside the bag would look great on a crafting project.”
Oh, shit. Cute keepsakes. Glitter. Crafting project?
The daughter’s bedroom.
My mouth fell open. His eyes went huge. The tense moment of stillness didn’t last. We raced toward the only other door on the house’s second level, the one with the garland of lovingly cut paper letters that spelled out the name Anita. She’d left the door ajar. I hit it with my shoulder and barged my way into the bedroom.
There it was, on top of the pastel pink writing desk. The red velveteen bag. I elbowed the leather jacket man in the chest. He grunted, trying to block me with his forearm, clawing at my clothes. But I squeaked past him anyway, more slippery than he was strong. I sprinted toward the desk.
I stopped, hesitating, my heart clenching when I saw it. Standing by the desk. A dark, willowy figure.
What the — where the hell did that come from? It was dressed all in black, its clothing tracing a slender silhouette. Gave me the creeps, how the thing resembled a more solid form of shadow, even when I knew that it was only wearing the magical version of tactical gear.
Goggles with lenses crafted from gemstones, a suit of form-fitting material that would have been enchanted to silence all movement, as well as offer temporary camouflage. An arcane underground ninja. That would explain why I didn’t notice the intruder until it was too late. Was it even human?
I started for the desk again, and so did the figure, lifting its arm, reaching out with one graceful hand. I blinked. The figure was gone. So was the bag. And the bedroom window was open, too, the curtains drifting with the breeze. It had all happened so fast, like a bizarre series of freeze frames, something out of a stop-motion movie.
The man in the leather jacket shoved past me, furious. “They’re getting away!” He took a running start, then vaulted out the bedroom window, his boots landing heavily on the shingles. Crazy bastard really thought he was a Masque, or an action hero.
I stood there, still confused, staring at a framed portrait of the daughter as if she could give me any answers. What the fuck just happened? What was that shadowy creature?
And why did it steal my only hope for paying the rent this month?
