Inquisitor (Witch & Wolf Book 1) (13 page)

My mouth opened, but no sound emerged. How had the witch gotten into such a dire financial state? I didn’t have the courage to ask. Wealth was a game I played well, maybe too well. Past experience warned me that a werewolf in trouble—financially or physically—was dangerous. A witch driven into the same corner could be equally lethal. If she snapped, she wouldn’t just hurt herself.

I kept quiet. If Samantha wanted to talk, she would. If she didn’t, nothing I could say or do would make her utter a single word.

“I was paid forty a year, and client expenses were my responsibility.”

Rage washed through me, hot enough to make sweat bead on my brow.  I flushed, and for a moment, all I could think about was hunting Peter down and tearing his limbs off one at a time so I could listen to him scream. “You’re serious. That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she replied in a quiet voice.

“In New York City.”

“In New York City. I was an add on, an extra hired through a firm. They only kept me because I could deal with you.”

“Damn it, Sammy. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t want your pity.”

I flinched. “I’m not offering pity. I’m offering an honest-to-god job you’re qualified for. Sure, your boss isn’t the nicest person in the world, but it’s a job, right?”

“I don’t want your pity,” Samantha repeated.

It was hard not to make a disgusted sound. I swallowed back the urge, struggling to keep my tone neutral. “I’ll start pitying you once you’re worked half to death during crunch time.”

Instead of answering, Samantha combed her fingers through my hair. I waited. When the silence remained unbroken, I sighed. “It’s not pity, Samantha.”

“What sort of job?”

“There’s a company called Smith & Sons Legal in Atlanta. It’s the primary face of Marrodin.” I drummed my fingers on the tattered upholstery before tracing one of the many stains marring the fabric.

“That’s the place you work.”

“Right, it is. Anyway, Marrodin owns a lot of corporations. Small business, legal firms, and even banks under a network of branch companies. You’d work for them as a secretary.”

Samantha snorted, tugging at a lock of my hair. “I have no experience in secretarial.”

“Can you book hotels, rentals, planes, or vacation homes?” It was well enough she was focused on my hair so she didn’t see my grin. If she did, I had no doubts she’d slap me.

“You know the answer to that.”

“Can you run errands to stores? Keep track of a calendar? Route calls as instructed? Use common sense? Take notes in a meeting?”

“Well, yes,” she replied, doubt deepening her tone. “But I’ve no actual experience. Who would hire me, a concierge for a credit card company, in that sort of role?”

“You just leave that to me. The point is, you have secretarial experience. You’d have to coordinate some meetings, but I’m sure the other secretaries there can help you with that.” Getting Samantha hired wouldn’t be an issue, but I couldn’t help but worry how she’d handle the stress of the job.

Then again, she managed to put up with me often enough. If anyone had a good chance of success at Marrodin, it was her.

“Go look in the mirror,” Samantha ordered.

I rose from the chair, turning to face my reflective nemesis. The first thing I’d have to do, I decided, was invest in a straightening iron. Samantha had somehow managed to tame my mane, to a certain degree. It still looked like a beaver had chewed on my head despite her efforts. My ID had straighter hair, but I hoped most cops would write it off as a bad perm. “Perfect.”

“It doesn’t look much better than a rat’s nest,” Samantha replied, disappointment in her voice.

“Nothing a straightening iron can’t fix. And anyway, Allison Victoria Hanover is too busy to care about her hair,” I replied with a dainty sniff. I could maybe fix it with a little witchery of my own, but I’d wait for that until after Samantha was asleep.

“How much does the job pay?”

“That I can’t tell you. A least a hundred thousand, but I’ve seen some get offers of two-fifty or higher. It depends. What I do know is if you last three months, you get stocks, a raise, and benefits.” It wasn’t quite a lie. The pay did vary for the position, but Samantha didn’t need to know why it varied.

Samantha stared at me, her mouth open and her eyes wide. “That’s crazy.”

“So is your boss.”

“And you’re sure you can get me this job?”

The hope in Samantha’s voice hurt. How could I have been so blind not to see my old friend’s plight in the first place? “Positive. There’s been an opening for a while, and I think you’ll be perfect for it. But I’ll warn you now, there’s a lot of turnover in the position.”

“How much turnover?”

I laughed. “It’s almost legendary. Everyone in Marrodin has heard about it. You know, I can’t actually remember the last time one of them managed to stay a full month. Serves them right, too. The job needs someone who can be quiet, do their work, and that’s it.”

Samantha’s eyes brightened, focusing on me with the same intensity of a moth drawn to a flame. “Okay. What’s the dress code?”

“I recommend you do not show up to work naked. Use your judgment. Your boss doesn’t care about how you look. Your boss, however, cares about your performance. Be honest. If you don’t know how to do something, ask. You’ll get one chance to learn.” I paused, arching my brow at the old witch in silent challenge.

To my surprise, she cringed. “And the other secretaries?”

“Samantha, if you last a month, you’ll be their new best friend. None of them want to deal with your boss.” I grinned. It wasn’t a lie—not really. I pushed the other secretaries away easily enough. A degrading comment here, a ruthless nickname there, it all worked to keep them at arm’s length.

Samantha, however, was different. I didn’t have to worry about other short-lived mortals trying to get too close to me, not with her as my secretary.

“Oh, god. What am I getting into?”

“You’ve got a one way ticket to hell in a hand basket, Sammy. VIP seats, too. Just don’t be late.”

“Who will be my boss?”

“You’ll see. Or, as the case may be, you won’t. Keep your cell phone close. Answer by the third ring.”

“Up to two-fifty?” I could see the need in her eyes. With over four million in debt, I couldn’t blame her.

Freedom from debt was a powerful motivation.

“With benefits,” I promised.

“For making appointments.”

“Among other things.”

Samantha swallowed. “Okay.”

I reached out and patted her shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

I doubted she believed me.

~*~

Sleeping pills were truly amazing things. It wasn’t hard to get Samantha to drink a glass of water with two dissolved in it. Not even a witch could resist the wonders of modern medicine. Within ten minutes, she was so sound asleep she didn’t flinch when I squealed in her ear. I smiled, brushing the hair out of her face, committing the youthful her to my memory.

Soon enough, the young, vibrant Samantha I knew and loved would be gone, until the pictures in my head were all that remained. The real her, in her seventies and showing all of the signs of age catching up with her, would shine for the world.

And shine she would, so long as I had something to say about it.

Ten o’clock was a bit late to make phone calls, but Allison Victoria Mayfield Hanover didn’t wait on the clock. The phone rang twice before someone picked up.

“Anderson,” a sleepy voice mumbled.

I drew a breath, reminding myself that my identity as Allison Victoria Mayfield Hanover wasn’t the me I had to always be. Then I snapped, “Get up.”

A thud answered me, followed by the clatter of the handset hitting the floor. I heard the young CEO groan. “Ms. Hanover?” Confusion and shock added a tremble to his voice.

Good. If I kept him off balance enough, he wouldn’t ask too many questions or give me any problems.

“That girl. How is she doing?”

“Marie? Ugh.” Floorboards creaked and the springs of a bed squeaked.

“Fire her. I think I’ve found someone useful. You’re up for some poaching, aren’t you?”

“Victoria? Isn’t it a little late for work?”

“Oh, don’t be a baby. I pay you to put up with it. Now, about that secretary…”

“Can you give me five minutes?”

I huffed, turning my head to stare at the blinking light of the alarm clock. “I’m watching the time.”

I heard him set the phone down. It took him three minutes to return. “Okay. What am I firing Marie for?”

“I’m sure you can find something,” I snapped. “Not a good fit. Whatever you want. Give her a reasonable severance package, but I want her gone tomorrow. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am. Who am I poaching?”

I rooted through Samantha’s purse and pulled out her real ID. “Her name is Samantha Ethridge, working as a concierge for Amex.” I gave him her cell phone number.

“A concierge?”

“For black card holders.”

Anderson chuckled. “You want to poach a concierge. Unbelievable. Do you really think she has a chance?”

“From my understanding, she has four and a half million reasons to do well.” I let a hint of smugness enter my tone. “I like a woman with motivation.”

“Debt?” Concern laced Anderson’s tone.

“Bingo.”

“That’s risky. She’ll have a lot of access to financial information.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that? If it makes you feel better, run her record. I promise you, it’s clean. They don’t let people with criminal history handle their black card holders.” I rattled off her address and date of birth so Anderson could pull her records. “Bring her in at two fifty with a chance to negotiate it up. Benefits in, raise and stocks if she lasts three months.”

Anderson sighed. “Easily done. Okay. When do you want me to pitch the offer?”

“Noon tomorrow.”

“I’ll shuffle the schedule. When does she start?”

I laughed. “How about tomorrow?”

Anderson sucked in a breath of air, a hissing sound that only enhanced my satisfaction. “That’s not enough time for her to give notice.”

“You’re a big boy. Why don’t you give Amex some reasons to let her go?” I drummed my fingers on the splintering desk. “Worst-case scenario, she can work evenings until Amex cooperates, if necessary.”

“Wow. You really want her. I’ll play ball. Anything else, or can I go back to bed?”

I clucked my tongue at the young CEO. “When’s the next board meeting?”

“At three tomorrow. Uhm. Day after tomorrow, sorry. What time is it now? Ah. Thirty… no, forty-one hours from now.”

“Make it five. I’ll call in. I want my new secretary in that meeting. Am I understood?”

Anderson gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll talk to you then. I do hope you’ll have good news for me regarding my new secretary.” I hung up before he could reply.

My next call was to Peter. “Peter here.” He didn’t sound very happy.

I drew a deep breath and spoke without pausing. “It’s Allison. Thanks for the help earlier. We’re about to meet up with some people. I just wanted to let you know I’ll do my best to keep Sammy out of trouble. We’ll be in touch.”

He hung up on me.

I made one last call, and my hands shook as I dialed the number. No one spoke on the other end of the line, though I could hear heavy breathing. “In four hours, find a silver SUV in the docks and deliver your best package to it. There will be something quite shiny waiting for you in the glove box.” I rattled off the tag number, make, and model of Samantha’s tank. The necklace I spent a fortune on wouldn’t make its way to a charity auction, but it was a small price to pay to keep us both alive.

“Wear a vest,” a tired, wheezy voice replied.

I hesitated, but hung up. Normal bullets wouldn’t kill a werewolf like me, but my old friend didn’t know that. There was a lot he didn’t know, though as far as humans went, he knew a lot more than most. If he wanted me wearing Kevlar, he’d make sure I disappeared in such a way where the camera believed I was truly dead. I considered the cryptic order to wear a vest.

To make two of us disappear, I’d have to create a stand-in for Samantha. That was something I could accomplish at a Walmart on the way.

If I wanted to make the drive from Cleveland to Detroit, create a fake Samantha, get a Kevlar vest, and make it back again before Samantha woke up, I had to hit the road. I dressed, did my best to smooth my short-cropped hair, and left the hotel.

A little after two in the morning, I parked Samantha’s SUV in the depths of the industrial ports of Detroit. The spot I picked was quiet and crumbling, with the waters of Lake Erie lapping against the concrete and steel monstrosities serving as piers. The faltering economy left the once prosperous, bustling dock empty of ships and workers as far as I could see. In the distance, the lights of the major shipping docks still in operation winked at me.