Black Magic Sanction by Kim Harrison

trip already made the news?
    Tired, I shifted my hand to cover up a particularly big splotch of strawberry on my knee. "What do you want, Trent?" I asked bluntly.
    Trent's gaze noted everything before returning to Glenn. "Coffee... perhaps?"
    Glenn and I exchanged a knowing look. "Why not," the detective said blandly, maneuvering gracefully out from behind his desk. "How do you take it?"
    "Black, no sugar," Trent said, and I thought longingly of the time when that would have been enough for me, but no, I was turning into a coffee snob despite my best efforts.
    Glenn nodded before he shifted past Trent, the rims of his ears turning red when he rotated the rat back to the wall before he left. His footsteps sounded softly, and I held my breath and counted to five. "What are you doing slumming?" I said as I swiveled the chair, trying to look casual.
    "I'm here to help you."
    I didn't even try to stop my laughter, and in response, Trent moved and settled himself on Glenn's desk, one foot on the floor, the other pulled up slightly like a GQ model.
    "I don't need money that badly," I lied, forcing my gaze from him. "The last time I worked for you, you screwed things up so much that I got shunned. Nice of you to tell the press why I was in the ever-after, by the way," I finished sarcastically, and his brow furrowed.
    Guilt? I wondered, not able to tell right now. If he had told the press I'd been there working for him, things might have gone differently. I'd have told them myself, but I doubted that Trent would've backed me up, and then I'd have looked twice the fool. The public knowing he'd been caught by demons would have seriously jeopardized his political agenda. That I couldn't make a living anymore didn't seem to matter to him.
    Yet I couldn't help but wonder. First the coven trying to talk to me, and now Trent? Fishing for more, I rolled my neck against the top of the chair and looked at the ceiling. "I'm not working for you, Trent. Forget it."
    The soft sound of a linen envelope against silk caught my attention, and I sat up as he extended an envelope he'd taken from an inner pocket of his suit. I looked at it like the snake it was. I'd gotten envelopes from him before. Slowly I leaned forward. My fingers didn't shake at all as I pulled the unsealed flap open and removed a heavyweight trifolded paper. Silently I scanned it, finding a casually worded, but probably more-serious-than-a-heart-attack contract that said I would work for Kalamack Industries and only Kalamack Industries. Forever. God, what was wrong with the man? Did he think everyone put money before morals like he did?
    I dropped my hand to dangle the paper inches from the dirty tile. "I just said I wasn't going to work a job for you," I said softly, too tired of his games to be mad. "What makes you think I'll sign this? Be your witch? What happened to Dr. Anders? I've seen your retirement plan, Trent. Is she pushing up rare orchids in your gardens?"
    Irritation furrowed his brow as he stooped to take the paper. Immediately I let go of it, and the sheet slid under my chair and out of his easy reach. Trent pulled back, peeved. "Dr. Anders is busy in the labs," he said.
    "You mean she's too old to kick ass."
    A smile showed, real and unexpected. "I prefer to say she is sedentary."
    My focus blurred, my expression slipping into disgust and anger, not at Trent, but at myself for having mishandled the last year or so to the point where I was shunned and broke, living through the grace of my friends. "Trent..."
    He leaned back against the desk, but I couldn't tell if his worry was real or contrived. "You're in trouble, and you don't even know it."
    My thoughts went to the pin in my bag. Uncomfortable, I glanced out the open door, not wanting the office to hear this, but not wanting to be shut in a room with him either. If you only knew the half of it ... "I'm sitting in an FIB office while my partner posts my bail," I said tightly. "I think I know I'm in trouble."
    "I'm