AFamiliarFace
A FAMILIAR FACE
by Marie Harte
Trade witch Mallory West is a heartbeat from losing her rent-controlled apartment, susses spells for a living, and can't afford a decent familiar. In an effort to ease her financial hardship, she works part-time waiting tables. Late one night after working an unexpected shift, she receives an invitation from her boss to take a rest upstairs in the exclusive Lounge. Drawn to one of the mysterious black doors, she enters and takes a well-deserved nap. But the world to which she wakes is nothing like the one she left. The large, incredibly sexy gray-skinned warrior she first encounters could be her boss’s twin, but he’s the War Leader of the Talians--a fierce race fighting desperately to survive a crushing enemy. Mallory’s sudden appearance stuns the wary Talians. And they don’t tolerate surprises or those they think might be enemy spies well
at all
.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and plot points stem from the writer’s imagination. They are fictitious and not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locations or organizations is entirely coincidental.
A Familiar Face
Copyright ©August 2011 by Marie Harte
Revised April 2013
Cover by TINB
All Rights Are Reserved. None of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for reviews or promotion.
Trotting down Newtown’s crowded sidewalk on four padded feet, her tail flat with irritation, trade witch Mallory West had sunk to an all new low. Acting as her own familiar, she wrinkled her nose and tried her best to focus on the rank smell of her quarry, rather than the seafood market so tantalizingly near.
Frank
would
have to flee before she’d been able to fix dinner, and after a hellish Friday at that. Trust him to skip bail on her worst night of the week. Two more skipped claims, three more orders for restraint spells she couldn’t possibly finish without wasting away her weekend, and the little rat shifter just had to decide he couldn’t possibly do his time in Takori prison, not for a whole four more months.
Pansy-ass.
She sighed, a rumbled purr that irritated her whiskers, and followed him past the crowded markets, across the street and into a seedy-looking alley. Hecate’s cauldron, but the magically-minded criminals in town weren’t even criminals anymore. The clear-cut evil that used to comprise the baddies had denigrated into whining, sniveling scum that took too much effort to catch and afforded little in the way of reward. Serving the greater good seemed to be no more than an unappreciated headache lately.
Her energy bill was past due, her wax lien perilously close to being called, and her super promised to evict her if she didn’t pay her late rent by Monday. As it was she’d managed to eke this past week out of him by promising to acquire and return his precious
videotape
, an ancient relic Frank had stolen for leverage. Leverage against what, she didn’t know and frankly, didn’t care. Her super could have screwed the entire police force, disgusting as the thought was. She wanted to continue living in her rent-controlled apartment. And if catching Frank “The Rat” Henderson was her only way out, so be it.
She sighed again and slid through a rotting door into an abandoned building. Trash and dead roaches littered the cement floor. Graffiti and hexes covered the walls. She itched to leave, her feline senses tingling with displeasure.
Soon. I’ll be out of here just as soon as Frank transforms back into his wiry, slovenly self.
Forcing herself to not think of him as literal prey, she refrained from pouncing on the nervous little rodent and settled in the shadows to wait.
A hazy rush settled over his body, and with a quickness she admired, he regained his human feet. She tried not to stare at the natty man still quivering like a rat. Instead, she mentally prepared her spell and rubbed the silver charm around her left front paw. Narrowing her eyes, and with no help for it, she
meowed
the verbal command. In the seconds it took her to resume her natural form, she teleported Frank to Takori Prison. Whipping out her cell phone, she autodialed Sherman Jakes, her best friend.
He answered on the first ring.
“Yo, Sherm. Another one coming your way. Yeah, Frank Henderson, wanted on extortion and assault charges. He skipped last week. Oh, and do me a favor. The videotape he has on him? Shoot it back to my place, would you?” She paused, shaking her head at his comments. “No, sorry. I’m really not in the mood for The Palace tonight. What? Sheila’s coming? Oh hell, okay. I’ll see you there at nine.”
Hanging up, she muttered to herself and refrained from licking her arm to smooth down her hair.
Drop the familiar
. She wiped at a descending spider and quickly exited the building, kicking through the decayed door. Well, at least tonight hadn’t been a total waste. She hadn’t had to expend but the one charm on the capture. And she’d have a check coming—
“Well, well, well. What do we have here? An actual witch on ghoul territory. Where’s your sugar daddy, baby?” Ace MacNafee grinned, his blackened teeth on par with his odious breath. Terrific. He had what passed for his friends with him, four snotty teenagers with more brawn than brain. All undead and rotting from within. Smelly, obnoxious, and unbelievably stupid. She grimaced at the skin and sinew hanging off the tallest man-child. Did his parents have no concept of hygiene? How hard would it have been to tell him to trim that excess flesh?
“Not now, Ace. I’m leaving. I’ll come back to play on Monday.”
Like hell I will.
“You’re leaving when I say you can leave. Now come here and gimme a kiss. We don’t get many aristocrats in the alleys, Mal-or-ee. And we sure don’t get superfreak ass like yours.” He licked his lips and lingered over her breasts before opening his mouth wide. He blew out a noxious red gas--dreaded ghoul toxin that could paralyze if ingested in sufficient quantity.
Mal suddenly felt her exhaustion as if someone had dropped a blanket of it over her head. She twisted the charm bracelet on her wrist. As her fingers closed over a miniature iron dagger, she lamented the expense of another charm. But she knew without it, she wouldn’t be leaving the alley intact, let alone meeting Sherm and Sheila in a few hours.
As a mystic dagger suddenly appeared in her palm, she aimed and threw, chanting under her breath. Though pleased at a ghoul’s shrill cry, a bit of the toxin entered her bloodstream, making her slightly dizzy. Weakened, she wasn’t surprised to feel rough hands grabbing her forearms.
“Ace,” she said through gritted teeth, wishing the chief of police would rein in his worthless kid. “I’m not playing. Keep it up and I’ll remove those fingers, regardless of your dad’s status.”
“Oooh. I’m so scared.”
Tired of dealing with the literal scum of the earth, she stared hard at his left hand and released the holds on her magic. Within moments he was screaming, his friends were screaming, and a squad of police had entered the alley with their guns drawn.
* * *
Sherm sipped his beer. “I don’t know, Mal. I think you may be the unluckiest witch I’ve ever met. Your familiar left you, you’re nearly flat broke, the only witch I know without a trust fund, and you just maimed the chief’s only son.”
Sheila, his fiancée, laughed. “You go girl. You’re on fire!”
Several nearby patrons, regulars at The Python Palace, saluted her with drinks. Though she’d only brought more trouble upon herself by roughing up Ace and his goons, she’d actually done the city a real service. Everyone hated the ghoul gangs that paraded around the wharf. And Chief MacNafee should have retired years ago.
Mal sipped her wine. “You know, Sherm, you have an amazing tendency to make my life sound even dourer than it is.”
He grinned, white teeth flashing against dark brown skin. “I do have skills, you know.”
“Does he ever,” Sheila murmured, sliding him a wink. He gave her a thorough kiss, what looked like a rousing game of tonsil hockey.
Mal sighed. “Not more of this lovey-dovey crap. Can’t you two contain yourselves for a night, get a room or something?”
Sherm eyed the Palace’s second floor, the one off-limits to seemingly everyone.
“What? Don’t tell me you’re not on the list?” Mal blinked then added in a sing-song voice, “But Sherm, you’re so big and handsome, so strong.” Sheila laughed at his chagrin, and Mal couldn’t help twisting the knife. “Couldn’t bribe Rattler either, eh?”
“No. I swear, I’ve never met a bartender so close-mouthed. Hell, I’m law enforcement. You’d think he’d accept the bribe, a favor for a favor or some shit. But not Rattler. ‘Mr. Python’ will not budge.” He glared when she would have spoken. “And don’t give me any crap about you being special. We both know the only reason you’ve been allowed to even walk upstairs is because of your part-time status here.”
Mal shrugged. “A witch has to eat.”
“I still don’t understand why you haven’t married.” Sheila motioned to a waitress for another round. “Even though your parents are total assho—ah, oddballs, they still don’t have the authority to prevent you from marrying up.”
“Sheila, you and Sherm are in love. Why should I settle for less?”
“Yes, but I can afford to eat, with or without Sherman.”
“Good point. But I don’t want to marry. I don’t want a man telling me what to do all the time. And you know how arrogant warlocks are. You two are different from any couple I know. You’re actually in love.” Mal clung to her stubborn delusions. “I won’t marry an
asshole
like my parents, but I admit I’m tired of living claim to claim, of being considered the lowest of the low because I’m forced to
earn
a living.” She rubbed her aching ribs, having suffered several unnecessary pat-downs from the chief’s men before the news cameras had arrived. “My rent is due, my energy bill is overdrawn, and I never seem to have time for me anymore.”
Sherm looked sympathetic. Sheila captured her hand and squeezed.
“I’m sorry guys. I’m just feeling sorry for myself tonight. I told you I shouldn’t have come.”
A sudden presence behind her made her still, but the familiar sensation of sheer power pressing against her back told her who’d neared, and she relaxed. “Rattler, what can I do you for?”
“I’m sorry to bother you three, but Mal, I could really use a hand tonight.” He nodded to the thickening crowd spilling toward the throbbing dance floor a split-level below. “Festival always perks sales, and Becky called in sick. You mind filling in? Double your wages…”
Hell, her night was shot anyway. Why not make some much-needed money? Besides, in here, she didn’t have to worry about being shot or cursed. No one screwed around in Rattler’s Python Palace, not if they wanted to live. The police skirted the place, and Rattler’s mysterious otherworld connections made him a powerful man indeed.
Hairless but for his thin black eyebrows and wicked goatee, Rattler was covered with multiple piercings and an intricate snake tattoo, which covered him from the back of his neck and around his shirtless, muscular torso and presumably further beneath his jeans. The man should have looked too freakish to be attractive. But something about him had always made her feel comfortable, protected. The grayish tint to his flesh made him almost as unique in the community as Mallory. A snake man running a dance club who answered to no one. A witch without means or a familiar. Two peas in a pod, except Rattler was a success, and Mal simply aspired to be one.
She nodded. “Okay, you’re on.” She turned back to Sherm and Sheila. “Sorry guys. I’ll stop by later to chat.”
Her friends took her departure easily, sinking back into that couple’s connection that made her both envious and a little sad. She’d been close to that once, or at least, close to that picture. Her relationship with Aaron Floyd Crowe the Third had been anything but loving and all about appearances. He’d have made the perfect son-in-law.