Bell, Book and Scandal (Bedknobs and Broomsticks #3) - Josh Lanyon Page 0,3
with hard eyes. “Goddamn it,” he said softly. His gaze rose to meet mine. “Did you know about this? Do you know who this is?”
“No,” I said quickly. “I had—have—no idea.”
For a moment I was afraid the old suspicions and misunderstandings that had nearly torn us apart before would resurface, but he accepted it with a little nod. He turned away, went to his desk, and dumped the photos out. With a couple of quick movements, he arranged them in a large square and then stared down at the big picture.
“Do you think she’s in love with him?” He didn’t look at me.
“I don’t know.”
“I hope not.”
I went to join him at the desk. He said, “You see how, no matter their position, his face is hidden? That’s not coincidence. He’s part of this. He set her up.”
John was right. Or at least, he was right that in every photo, the face of Jinx’s companion was obscured. Personally, I thought the giant sigil carved on the gentleman’s back would be kind of a giveaway in a lineup.
Not that having sex with the police commissioner’s sister was grounds for arrest or even being thrown into a lineup.
Not so far anyway.
“I see.”
“Maybe, just maybe, this time they’ve slipped up.”
“But are you sure this is connected to your extortion case? It could be a co—”
“I’m sure.” He sounded sure, no lie.
I considered John’s stern profile.
“John…”
He glanced at me. Once again, his face seemed to lose some of its hardness. “What?”
“I think I could be of help.” I tried to phrase it carefully because I knew he would be instinctively resistant to my offer. “When I opened the envelope, there was scintilla. Just a trace.”
“A trace of…a trace? What?”
“Scintilla. It’s hard to explain in words, hard to translate.”
“I know what scintilla means.”
“No, but in this context—”
His reddish brows drew together. “What context?”
“The context of-of Craft. Of magic.”
Instantly, his features grew shuttered, closed. “No.”
“You haven’t heard me out.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with magic. This is extortion. Plain and simple—and all too human.”
I said quietly, “I’m human, John.”
His whisky-colored eyes widened. “I know that,” he said quickly, and put his arms around me, as though sheltering me from his words. “That isn’t what I meant. You realize that, right? I understand that you want to help. I appreciate the offer. But no. This is not a time, not a situation for magic. This is police business.”
“I understand, yes. But—”
He brushed my hair back from my face. “I don’t want you involved. This is an ugly, sordid, god-awful mess, and I don’t want you anywhere near it.”
I tried to interject, but he was still speaking.
“And you promised you would stay out of police business. Remember? You promised you would try not to use magic.”
I had promised. I had promised not to use magic as a first resort. In fact, I had sworn to only use magic as a last resort.
I closed my mouth. Swallowed the words he did not want to hear.
“I’m holding you to that promise, Cos.” His voice was gentle, but he was dead serious. “I’m touched that you want to help, but I mean it. I don’t want you involved. I don’t want you to use magic.”
I said nothing. My heart was pounding very hard, as though I was facing some terrible threat, but the truth was, this was a promise I had made willingly, had made with all my heart.
John was still gentle, still steely. His eyes saw too much, saw everything. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said huskily. “I understand.”
Chapter Two
Oakland’s earliest inhabitants were the Lisjan Ohlone people. These Huchiun natives lived there for thousands of years, so safe to say, there were plenty of posterns in that part of town, and I had no problem landing on Ambrose’s doorstep.
Well, not literally his doorstep. More like the landing of the Bancroft Avenue apartment he shared with his grandmother.
I don’t know what it was like in prehistoric times, but these days Eastmont is not a great neighborhood. In fact, the violent-crime rate is just about 700% over the national average. But the place looked okay. Bruised and battered but still standing. The blue building was gated and surrounded by autumn-colored trees. It was also surrounded by other apartment buildings and busy streets—and all the ground floor windows had bars across them—but there were definitely worse places.
No sound came from inside the apartment. I knocked softly on the peeling white door—and then knocked again.