Page 17 of Twice Bitten

Edmund snorted. “Only the young would be willing to die for mediocre takeout.”

“Says the man who’s never tasted Young Palace dumplings!” I wiggled my fingers and scooped up the keys from the bowl by the front door. “Back in a bit.”

Edmund’s sigh was so aggrieved, I grinned.

Edmund was wrong. Iwaswilling to die for some delicious dumplings. Stuffed to the gills, I leaned back in my seat and did some people watching. Texas was a weird state, and I assumed it had only got weirder since magic was introduced twenty-five years ago. Just like with the human laws, each state tackled their own laws concerning magic. Some states had lax laws, allowing public displays of magic, dark or light, anddidn’t prevent magical brawls from breaking out in town squares.

Texas? Not so much. I always thought our state representatives only allowed magic because they couldn’t stop it. How could they when vampires and shifters and all kinds of other things that went bump in the night could devour them where they stood?

Witch couples walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, balls of magic floating above their heads to light their way. Pixies streaked through the air, swooping and diving through the pedestrians, their high-pitched giggles lending a joyous note to the already upbeat atmosphere.

An occasional wolf prowled past, eyes bright with awareness as it patrolled the block, ensuring any mischief makers stayed away. I rarely went out at night, usually choosing to bury my head in books and magic, but as I watched the bustling city, I felt a tug of sadness for allowing myself to miss so much.

Public magic was allowed, provided it stayed within a very specific range of permissible spells. No duels, no “dark” magic or spells, which included much of what I did in my private basement, no healing spells for anything more than a small cut (wouldn’t want to accidentally take a cut from a pharmaceutical CEO’s pocket), and absolutely no compulsion spells. Considering vampires were walking compulsion spells, that last one was mostly ignored.

Everyone tonight was well-behaved, and magic or mundane crime was not usually an issue in this area. Laughter and conversation trickled around me, magic fizzing in the air, harmlessly brushing against my hair and skin.

Even before magic was forced into the public eye, Texas was broken into regions where weird was either welcomed, ignored, or shooed out the door with shotguns and four-wheeled drive trucks.

I lived in the part where weird was mostly ignored. Humansmingled with supernaturals, and if someone happened to disappear into thin air, people would blink and pretend like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

We had the believers, those who seamlessly integrated with our kind. Those people were usually not Texas natives, though we had the occasional outlier. The ones who tried the shotgun antics were slammed with a memory spell and strongly encouraged to put down roots elsewhere.

I was one of the lucky ones. My type of magic was considered harmless. I had no natural enemies, as long as I didn’t go waving my illegal apothecary around, and many people sought out my services for simple things such as salves for pesky rashes that wouldn’t go away or bath oils and salts. I didn’t mind helping out, but I charged for my services.

I’d been in this part of Texas for a few months now, but had no close friends, only acquaintances. I didn’t date for a variety of reasons—all of which I tried never to think about for fear the memories would drag me back into the dark—and the lack of friends meant my social life was nonexistent.

Most days, I didn’t mind, but today, sitting on the restaurant’s patio on this unseasonably cool spring evening, I wished I had someone to talk to. I had no self-pity. Having no friends was my own fault. Trust was something I didn’t believe in all that much—a fanciful word used to disarm you before someone went in for the kill.

If I had no friends, I had no one who could betray me.

One of the last memories of my mother swam to the forefront of my mind. She’d come home one evening bruised and shaking, and when I asked questions, she’d taken my face in her hands and said simply, “Some things are worth fighting for, darling. One day soon, I will tell you everything.” She’d kissed my forehead, her comforting scent of honey and jasmine curling around me, and smiled.

When I woke up the next morning, she was gone.

Dragging my thoughts away from that horrifying morning, I added a tip to the bill and finished my drink before dragging myself out of the chair to head out of the restaurant. Young Palace was several blocks from the house, but parking was a nightmare in this part of the city, so I rarely drove. The weather was so nice tonight I chose to walk, though I had stayed too long at dinner. Darkness had fallen as I’d pigged out on potstickers.

Edmund’s warning pinged at the back of my mind, but I thought the odds of anything happening were low. Not yet seven p.m., it was early enough for the conference to still be in session. Beckett shouldn’t be a worry.

Pushing his presence out of my mind, I started down one of the quiet alleys. This part of town was relatively safe. Many humans carried guns, while most supernaturals didn’t need one to feel secure. Thieves and worse had long learned this was not a target rich environment and moved on to different areas.

Even so, I shifted my purse into a crossbody position and picked up my pace, keeping my eyes open for anything odd. Old streetlamps outside the alley cast a watery golden glow over the concrete, making the small puddles of water from our last much-needed rain shimmer like glitter. I deftly dodged those and turned out of the alley onto another street with much better lighting.

But as I reached the end of that one, I noticed an orange and white barrier and a police cruiser blocking the road. A large crowd was crammed into the small area, everyone intent on the small stage where three men messed with their instruments. No music yet, but the crowd had a humming anticipation about it.

Grimacing, I stopped at the blockade and looked around. The street concert took up at least three blocks, but if I went to the right, I thought I could bypass the crowds without going too far out of the way.

I made a mental note to get better about checking the neighborhood social media page, but if I saw one more passive aggressivecomplaint from some old biddy about street noise when the local kids were out using the basketball hoop, I might scream. We could all use a little more grass touching in our lives, as far as I was concerned.

I decided to turn right and kept walking. The first block was fine. I passed several smiling and laughing people, some a little deep in their cups, but when I made the first left, a silence fell over the street, the crowd sounds dying to a whisper.

I quickened my steps, holding my purse close. This street was long with no cross streets for at least two blocks. I’d just passed a tall building when I heard a scraping sound, possibly a shoe sliding over gravel. Every muscle in my body tightened.

If I took off running, I’d alert whoever it was behind me that I was onto them.

Or it could be nothing, and I’d look like a scared fool.

I stopped and spun around. No one was there.