Nothing Familiar Read online

  His cold gaze sparked with some emotion. “You’re so certain you could defeat us?”

  His question created ice in my heart. Would humans find a way to win?

  “We don’t want to find out,” Deg said. “Did you go to the reporter, Malice Becksmart? Did you tell him about magic?”

  The man hesitated just long enough to create uncertainty. Then he smiled. “If I did, I wouldn't tell you. Now please leave. Don’t return. You aren’t welcome here.”

  “We’ll leave,” I told the man as anger sparked. I wasn’t going to let a mean little man filled with hate and jealousy harm my family and friends. “But we’ll be keeping a close eye on you. And, you might not think you want us as friends, but I promise you definitely don’t want us as enemies.”

  I SAT IN ANNOYED SILENCE as Deg drove us away from the harsh winter landscape of downtown Illusion City. My mind spun with possible recourse for what The Guild was attempting. My anger made most of the recourse retributive. But I knew that once I cooled down I’d favor less drastic options.

  If only we could come up with some.

  “I think we should go see Angelica,” Deg told me.

  I flashed him a look. “Why?”

  “She knows that guy. She can tell us if he poses a real threat or if he’s just trying to cover for the person who does.”

  I thought about Deg’s suggestion and finally nodded. “That makes sense. Should I call Littleton?”

  “No need. Tollman just texted me her location. Apparently he’s keeping an eye on her.”

  Dang Angel. How did he know they’d want to talk to her? “That was very perceptive of him.”

  Deg felt my gaze and turned, his handsome face mirroring my doubt. “Yeah. It was, wasn’t it?”

  “Am I the only one who found that meeting strange. I mean, aside from him basically threatening us?”

  “He clearly knew we were coming. And he was alone. Where was the rest of the group? It’s possible, if he’s the one who told Malice, that he was working alone. That would make me feel better.”

  I nodded. If we only had one rogue Guild member to deal with, that would certainly be easier for us to handle. “Of course, he could be covering for the rest. Taking the heat, so they have more room to maneuver.”

  “A much more terrifying idea. But yes, I’d thought of that too.”

  “Our best chance of getting underneath this in time is to know who’s behind it. We can’t deal with an amorphous, shadowy presence lurking in the background waiting for us to screw up.”

  Deg’s mouth tightened into a worried line. “For now we have to go with what’s in front of us. We need to look into the leader’s life, see who he knows and why he’d want to create the kind of havoc that outing the magic community would create.”

  I nodded. “Or how he’d benefit from it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “It would help if we knew who he was.”

  “You’re right. And I know just the guy to ask.”

  TOLLMAN CLIMBED OUT of his beat-up wreck of a car as we pulled to the curb behind him. Watching us approach, he jerked his head toward the narrow, two-story brick home on a quiet residential street on the outskirts of Illusion City. “She’s inside. She hasn’t gone anywhere all day. Hasn’t spoken to anyone on the phone. And my guys in the electrical surveillance department tell me she hasn’t contacted anybody via email either.”

  I raised my brows. “Remind me never to get on your bad side, Tollman.”

  He shrugged. “She’s either a bad guy or hanging around with one. Privacy becomes less of a ‘thing’ when that happens.”

  I shook my head. “Have you talked to her?”

  “She denies knowing anything about Malice. She also claims nobody in her group would expose the magic community. She didn’t come right out and say it, but Angelica Gladstar implied she wouldn’t harm her friends in high places by doing that.”

  When we’d met her before, the woman had been dating Argold Littleton, an influential member of the Illusion City community, as well as a powerful magic user himself. There was no question she’d be harming Argo if she outed magic. People would quickly assume his wealth was gained through unfair magical practices, and he’d become a huge target for jealous humans. Especially since he did have a lot of power in the city. He knew lots of people who got things done.

  Still, I’d known people to do dumber things for personal gain. “Do you believe her?” I asked Tollman.

  “Yeah. I do. But she might know more about it than she’s letting on. That’s why I thought it would be good for you two to talk to her. She might tell you more than she’s willing to tell me.”

  “Because you’re an Angel?” I asked with a grin. I was still working on getting used to that.

  “No. Because I’m a cop.”

  “Oh. Yeah. There is that.”

  He snorted out a laugh. “Good luck. Let me know what you find out.”

  “Before you leave,” Deg said. “We need to know the identity of the leader of The Guild. You don’t happen to know that, do you?”

  “Of course. I know who all of them are.”

  Deg nodded. “I figured you would have already checked them out.”

  “Just for clarification, I didn’t get this information from human records.” Tollman lifted a mahogany brow.

  “Ah. Even better. So, who is he?”

  “The name others know him by is Graham Cullpepper. But that’s only his most recent alias.”

  “He has a past?” I asked, not entirely surprised.

  “A very dark one. Let’s just say that, no matter how this turns out, we don’t want our fates to be in his hands. It won’t end well for any of us.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” Deg started to say.

  “I do.” Tollman interrupted. “I probably shouldn’t have even shared his name with you. I’m constrained from interfering in this realm. It’s one of the key principles.”

  “Great.” Deg nodded. “Well, at least we have his name. We can use our own sources to get what we need.”

  We headed toward Angelica’s home. Behind us, Tollman’s wreck of a car coughed and hiccupped a few times before the gears shifted amid a horrific screeching. He rumbled off, the engine ticking loudly. A cloud of black smoke and a horrible stench filled the air behind the car.

  I grimaced, tucking a finger under my long-suffering nose. “You’d think a Celestial being could afford a better car.”

  Deg grinned down at me as he knocked on the Angelica’s door. “You don’t get it, do you? He’s doing the hapless, bumbling detective shtick. The car’s part of the act.”

  I chuckled. “Well, it’s very effective. I thought he was a boob the first time he climbed out of that nightmare and walked over to us.”

  The door started to open.

  Deg nodded. “Actually, I still think he’s a boob. It has nothing to do with the car.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Angelica Gladstar was a curvy woman with dark hair and exotic turquoise-blue eyes. She carried herself with a grace and confidence tinged with arrogance that I was pretty sure was what had drawn the Dark Elf to her in the first place.

  She looked down her long, straight nose and curled her lip when she opened her door to find us on her doorstep. “This is harassment.”

  Deg feigned shock. “Really? We haven’t seen you in...” He looked at me. “LA, how long has it been since we last saw Angelica?”

  “Weeks. It was right before Christmas, wasn’t it?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know you’re working with that cop.”

  I gave her a disbelieving look. “Really? When have you known us to work with humans?”

  But her knowing grin told me I’d messed up. “I notice you didn’t ask me what cop?”

  Ugh! I shrugged, trying to look unconcerned.

  “Don’t bother denying it. I saw you talking to him out on the street. What’s your deal, anyway? The Guild had nothing to do with siccing that reporter on you.
”

  “I think you’re wrong,” I told her. “We believe Graham Cullpepper was responsible. He all but admitted it. And we need your help to prove it.”

  Her expression went very still. She hid her reaction well, but the total absence of reaction was notable on its own. “Graham...who?”

  “The leader of The Guild,” I offered. Though I made it clear by my tone that I knew she was lying.

  “Oh, you mean Gray?” She shook her head. “I know the guy comes off as kind of a jerk, but he doesn’t want to blow up the city.”

  She must have seen the surprise on my face. “It would, you know. This kind of thing, especially after what happened at Christmas...”

  “You see, Angelica,” Deg cut in. “That’s exactly the point, isn’t it? Nobody should remember what happened. Yet you and the other Guild members apparently do. The pool of suspects is very small.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Something in the way she said it had my antennae rising. “What other explanation could there be?”

  She started to step back, pulling the door closed. “That’s your problem...”

  Deg slammed a hand against the door, stopping it. “We can make it your problem really fast, Angelica. The whole group’s problem, in fact. We’ve been playing nice because that’s what we prefer. But if you force us to play hardball, we can definitely accommodate you.”

  She stared at him for a long moment and then shoved air out through her lips in an aggrieved sigh. “Look, all I know is that Littleton doesn’t trust Malice. He says there’s more to the guy than anyone knows. He’s told me more than once to stay away from him. If I were trying to find the source of this problem, I’d look to Malice Becksmart first.”

  THE ARTIFICE GAZETTE covered Illusion City and about a fifty-mile surrounding radius, with minimal coverage of the wider world. I got the impression from reading the editorial section of the newspaper that the editors believed the rest of the world had been formed simply as a backdrop for Illusion City, and its importance was based only in how it reflected us within that framework.

  The viewpoint seemed so entrenched, in fact, that I’d often wondered if it hadn’t been born in magic. As if the original magic users who’d ventured into a pristine human realm decided they needed a vehicle for ensuring their small part of the territory stayed vital to the people lucky enough to inhabit it.

  Deg held the front door for me and I slipped in under his arm, shivering belatedly as heat rushed in and embraced my icy form. “Oh, that feels so good,” I murmured. He rubbed his hands together. I noticed they were purple from the cold. “Why aren’t you wearing gloves?”

  “It’s not like we’re hanging around outside throwing snowballs. We rush from the car inside and then back to the car again. Gloves are a nuisance.”

  “And yet your hands are the color of eggplant.”

  He jerked his head toward the long front desk, which bore the word “Information” across its serpentine front surface. “That’s where we need to go.”

  I clutched a hastily assembled folder in my arms and followed Deg across the glossy black tile of the lobby area.

  He stopped before a young woman with a diamond studded nose piercing and smiled. “Hello, I’m Deggart Kincaide.” He motioned toward me. “This is LeeAnn Mapes. We’re here to speak with Malice Becksmart.”

  She frowned at Deg and then transferred the scowl to me. “What is this about?”

  “We’d like to discuss a possible breaking story with him,” I said.

  She shook her head. “If you’ll tell me about the potential story, I’ll point you toward the correct reporter.”

  Her dark, almost black gaze gleamed with hostility. I had to wonder why. Was it possible she recognized us? “That won’t work.” I leaned over the counter, lowering my voice as if sharing a confidence.

  She shifted back in her chair.

  “I was a confidential informant for Malice in a previous story. I trust him. I won’t work with anybody else.”

  But the receptionist’s determination was even greater than her hostility. “I’m sorry. Mr. Becksmart is our top reporter. He doesn’t take every story that comes our way.”

  In other words, they wouldn’t waste his time for a story they deemed unimportant.

  “I see. Well...” I plastered a disappointed look on my face. “That’s too bad.” I shoved away from the counter and glanced at Deg. “Let’s go.”

  Deg started to reach around me, and his hand bumped the folder I was holding. It flew out of my grip and hit the floor, papers flying everywhere.

  A tinge of sulfur hit my nostrils as Deg murmured a power word only I could hear.

  Disdo!

  Paper flew up into the air, whirling above my head as if caught in a roiling wind, and several sheets hit the receptionist, falling to the surface of her desk. She looked down at the pictures, her eyes widening. “Oh, my.”

  She stood up and gathered the pictures quickly, handing them over the counter to Deg. “If you’ll wait just a moment, I’ll see if Mr. Becksmart is available to see you.”

  We watched her hurry away, disappearing through an unmarked door behind the desk.

  “I hope Littleton doesn’t mind that we made it look like he was handing the Mayor a wad of cash,” Deg said with a little grin.

  I shoved the paper back into our folder. “He’s a team player. He’ll roll with it when he finds out why we had to do it.”

  Deg’s frown told me he wasn’t as sure as I was about that. I didn’t really blame him. As a general rule, it was never a good idea to irritate a multiple-hundred-year-old Dark Elf.

  MALICE BECKSMART LOOKED down his long, crooked nose at us, his lips compressed into a thin line that seemed too wide for his narrow face. He wore his dirty brown hair so short on the sides the pinkish-white of his scalp showed through, leaving a pair of startlingly undersized ears stranded on the side of his long head like islands in a forgotten sea. For some inexplicable reason, he’d gelled the overlong strands at the top so that they stood almost straight up on his head.

  The effect did little to make him appear serious or thoughtful. But the arrogance shining in his smallish, light-brown eyes told me he didn’t know or care.

  As he settled his Ichabod-Crane-like form into a heavily taped faux-leather chair that creaked under his weight, the line of his lips ticked upward on one side to match the eyebrow he peaked. “I’m not sure how you people got past the bulldog at the front desk, but I feel like I should warn you...I’m very picky about what assignments I take on.”

  His gaze slid to the folder in my arms, and a predatory light filled his gaze. Despite his attempt to seem disinterested, it was clear to me he was more than a little interested in a potential hit piece on two of the city’s most prominent people. “Why don’t you show me what you have and I’ll decide if it’s interesting enough for me to write about.”

  Deg sat forward in his chair. “Mr. Becksmart, what do you know about a group called, The Guild?”

  The reporter’s gaze went icy for just a beat, lasting just long enough for me to wonder if I’d imagined it. “Never heard of them. Is that some kind of music group?”

  Interesting response. If Becksmart really believed The Guild was a music group, he’d have dismissed the subject out of hand. He would consider himself far too important for the arts section.

  “It’s a secret group,” I told him. “Their leader seems to embrace chaos. We believe they mean to cause trouble in Illusion City.”

  Becksmart’s color rose just a notch, offset by the white line around his lips that told me he was pressing them more tightly together.

  “Mr. Becksmart?” Deg prompted when the man didn’t respond.

  Finally, the reporter shook his head. “Never heard of them.” He stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have real work to do.”

  “They were behind the devastating Christmas debacle at the Square,” I said softly.

  It was a risk. But a manageable one. If he
didn’t know about the magical chaos at the city’s Town Square, he’d naturally be curious about it.

  But if he did know...

  Becksmart’s long face formed into a neutral expression. “I have no idea...”

  “You know as well as we do those kinds of theatrics could have been devastating for the city, Mr. Becksmart. The group is dangerous. We believe people should know about them and what they’re capable of.”

  Anger added a flush to the reporter’s face. “They’re dangerous? I think you’re focusing on the wrong actors here. The real danger comes from the others.”

  Deg frowned. “Others?”

  “Of course. The anarchists who are really orchestrating chaos in the city. The people wielding the weapons of disorder. They’re the ones you should be trying to point a finger at. Not the people trying to uncover them.”

  “Who are the anarchists?” I asked.

  Becksmart ignored my question. He’d gotten his teeth into a subject he clearly relished. “The purveyors of power are at fault here. They’re the ones fomenting trouble.”

  “Why do you think these people want to foment trouble?” Deg asked. I had to give him credit. He was sitting back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, ankle at the knee, and his face a calm mask. He looked as if he were carrying on a rational, interesting conversation. Rather than fielding wild accusations from a spittle-flecked madman with bad hair and baby ears.

  “Isn’t that obvious?” Becksmart all but screamed. “Control.”