Fiction River: Hex in the City (23 page)

It wasn
’
t. The small bit of paper was part of a page ripped from the advertising section of a local phone book. Dalton had paid a good amount of money for the advertising on that little piece of paper. The ad was part of an extensive campaign he
’
d designed with the help of a media consultant for the sole purpose of attracting clients with bigger cases to his firm.

Living clients, not dead ones.

Roxie turned her nightmare smile on him.
“
Think he can afford your fee?
”
she asked.

***

Dalton and Roxie managed to get out of the pub before the authorities arrived and started asking questions he didn
’
t want to answer.

They checked all the phone books they could find in a four-block area around the courthouse, and picked up a freebie newspaper aimed at the arts and entertainment crowd. Dalton
’
s ads in every single one had been spelled.

“
Here
’
s your problem,
”
Roxie said, pointing a graceful finger at the slogan that appeared in all his ads.

If you or a loved one has suffered a serious injury or death, contact Dalton Garvey today!

“
Simple but effective,
”
Roxie said.
“
Not only reanimates the dead loved ones of anyone who sees your ad, but compels them to contact you.
”

Okay, sure, he
’
d purchased a low-level subliminal spell for his television ads, but all that spell was supposed to do was embed his name and phone number in the viewer
’
s subconscious so they
’
d be compelled to call him if and when they ever needed an attorney. Nothing illegal. The big law firms did the same type of ads all the time. That
’
s where Dalton had gotten the idea in the first place.

None of his print ads were supposed to be spelled. At all. Especially not with a compulsion spell so strong it reanimated the dead, thanks to a poorly written slogan. The regulations governing the licensing and use of magic were designed specifically to prevent this kind of thing from happening.

Dalton balled up the freebie newspaper they
’
d been looking at and tossed it in a curbside garbage can.
“
She screwed us both over,
”
he said.

Roxie arched an eyebrow.

“
Shelly,
”
Dalton said, answering Roxie
’
s unspoken question.
“
My wonderful media consultant.
”

Who, coincidentally, had written all the ad copy.

Which Dalton had approved. In writing.

Hello, felony indictment. Two counts, to be specific, and maybe more. Exactly how many phone books were there in the city?
Copies of the freebie newspaper?
How many recently dead?
He could be facing the rest of his life in jail for something he never intended to do.

Unless he could get Shelly to admit all he
’
d wanted was a simple subliminal spell and she was the one who
’
d screwed up all by her lonesome. Easy enough to do if he was grilling her in court, but he hoped things never got that far.

No, what he needed was a little insurance policy just in case the authorities tried to pin responsibility for reanimating the dead on him.

Dalton eyed Roxie.
“
I need to use some of your equipment,
”
he said.
“
Covert job. What have you got?
”

She chuckled, clearly more amused at the situation than he was.
“
Everything,
”
she said.

***

Smithson and Associates Media Consulting occupied an interior suite on the fifth floor of a downtown office building forty years past its prime.

Dalton hadn
’
t called ahead to make an appointment with his media consultant. Getting the truth out of someone was always easier when you caught them off balance. He expected the receptionist to tell him Shelly wasn
’
t available, but instead she led him to a conference room buried behind a maze of cubicles.

Roxie had equipped Dalton with a lapel pin that included a tiny camera and a microphone so small it looked like just another silver thread running through the pattern in his tie. The miniature electronics had no magical signature, so someone like Roxie, who sensed the presence of magic, wouldn
’
t pick up on the fact that Dalton was wired. The down side was that the equipment would short out if someone threw a sufficiently strong spell at him.

“
Don
’
t make her angry,
”
Roxie had said.

He hoped he wouldn
’
t have to.

One wall of the conference room where Dalton waited for Shelly had been spelled into transparency. The view gave him a good look at the patch of green grass and trees in the courtyard five stories below where Roxie sat with a small handheld receiver, complete with tiny video screen. On the other side of the courtyard, a modern steel and glass office building reflected the warm glow of the late afternoon sun.

In spite of the trauma of the day, Dalton felt good. Things would work out. He was a damn fine lawyer. He
’
d get what he came for, and life could go back to normal.

“
Impressive, isn
’
t it?
”

Startled, Dalton turned around. He hadn
’
t heard anyone enter the conference room, but then again, he wouldn
’
t have. Magical energy practically crackled off the woman who
’
d slipped in unnoticed. She might look human, but she was a wizard, and a powerful one at that. If she didn
’
t want to make a sound, she wouldn
’
t.

She gestured at the wall, and the transparency turned into just another plain white interior office wall. Dalton
’
s feeling of well being vanished along with the view.

This woman wasn
’
t his media consultant. Shelly was short and dumpy. The woman who
’
d turned off the wall with the flick of a finger was tall and thin, her hair shiny black, her fair-skinned face as flawless as an elf, and she was looking at him like he was an insect caught in her web.

“
Shelly won
’
t be joining us?
”
Dalton asked.

The woman shook her head.
“
I
’
ve given Shelly the rest of the afternoon off. I might even give her a bonus. I haven
’
t quite decided.
”
She gestured at one of the faux-leather chairs arrayed around the conference table.
“
Have a seat.
”

Dalton smiled, forcing the charm. He thought better on his feet. He didn
’
t know why this woman was here, but he had a feeling he
’
d need every advantage he could get.

“
I
’
m fine, thank you,
”
he said.

“
Suit yourself.
”
She sat down at the head of the table and rested her elbows on its shiny surface, her hands folded together.
“
You always did.
”

Dalton
’
s smile faltered just a little.
“
Do we know each other?
”

She had on a long-sleeved red silk dress cut in a style that accentuated her curves, and she certainly had the kind of curves he would have remembered. The contrast of her black hair against the soft red silk was striking. She was certainly beautiful, but in a hard-edged way. She made an impression, even without her magic.

“
It
’
s been a while, I admit, but I
’
m a little disappointed,
”
she said.
“
I guess I didn
’
t make much of a first impression. This should help.
”

The air shimmered around her, and Dalton found himself looking at the woman beneath what he realized had been a carefully constructed glamour.

The real woman wasn
’
t as tall, as thin, and definitely not as beautiful. A scar covered half her face with ugly red welts that pulled down the corner of one eye. Her eyebrow on that side was gone. The scar trailed down the side of her neck and disappeared beneath the red silk of her dress. Similar scars covered the backs of her hands.

Chemical burns, and just like that, Dalton remembered.

The case should have been a slam-dunk. Traffic accident late at night. Dry roadway, clear visibility. Dalton
’
s client was a twenty-two year old college student on her way home for the weekend. She
’
d been following a tanker truck on the freeway when another car cut off the truck. The truck driver had locked up his brakes trying to avoid the collision, and the tanker had jackknifed into a concrete embankment, rupturing the tank. Dalton
’
s client had been bathed in chemicals never meant to come in contact with human skin.

He
’
d been too cocky back then. Two years out of law school and he thought he could take on the world. He had dreams of what he could do with his share of a multi-million dollar jury award, but he didn
’
t just want the money, he wanted the big win in court.

In all the prep work he
’
d done for trial, it never occurred to him to ask his client if she
’
d been sober at the time of the accident. She wasn
’
t the at-fault driver, so what did it matter?

The defense counsel had been a wily old litigator who knew better. He
’
d waited until he had Dalton
’
s client on the stand. Under oath, he got her to admit she
’
d been drinking. Then he
’
d put on other witnesses who testified to exactly how drunk she
’
d been when she climbed behind the wheel.

Dalton had done his best to rehabilitate his client
’
s testimony on redirect, but the damage had been done. In the eyes of the jury, his client had gone from sympathetic victim to irresponsible party girl who shouldn
’
t have been behind the wheel in the first place. Although the jury ruled in her favor, they reduced her damage award to an amount that was less than a tenth of the lowest settlement offer Dalton had convinced her to turn down, and Dalton had learned a hard lesson about contributory negligence.

“
Meredith,
”
Dalton said, the word almost too painful to get out.

“
Ah, so you do remember,
”
she said from her ruined face. The air shifted as her glamour reasserted itself, and she became the beautiful, hard-edged woman once again.

Only the Meredith he
’
d known all those years ago hadn
’
t been a wizard.

“
How?
”
he asked.

“
An unexpected benefit. All those chemicals mixed with all the drugs I took for the pain—they changed my body chemistry.
”

She pushed up one of the sleeves of her dress. A thin gold bracelet wrapped around her upper arm emitted a weak green glow, almost like it had tried its best but knew when it was outmatched.

“
I
’
m registered, of course,
”
she said.
“
I pay my license fees, and I wear my collar so everyone thinks I
’
m a good little wizard.
”
She let the sleeve fall back into place.
“
Do you know how people treat a woman with facial scars?
Like we
’
re invisible. Money would have changed that—everyone pays attention to the rich—but we both know how that turned out.
”

The ad campaign Dalton had purchased cost him almost all the profits he
’
d made the year before. And here he
’
d thought it was his idea to advertise. Meredith must have embedded the late-night ads he
’
d seen with a compulsion spell of her own aimed at reeling in just one big fish—him.

“
That
’
s what this is about?
”
he asked.
“
Money?
”

She made a sound that wasn
’
t quite a laugh.
“
Do I look like I need money?
”

No, she didn
’
t.

She was out for revenge, and she
’
d concocted a hell of a convoluted scheme.

“
It would have been easier to just kill me,
”
he said.

“
When I can ruin you instead?
”
She stared at him with hard, cold eyes.
“
Tell me, counselor. What
’
s more fun?
Settling a case like a gentleman, or destroying your opponent in open court?
”

The Dalton he
’
d been back when he
’
d represented Meredith had wanted to make a name for himself. Quiet settlements didn
’
t accomplish that.

“
I
’
m not that person anymore,
”
he said.