Repossessed (2 page)

His commanding officer had been kind, yet firm. “You’re too good of a SEAL to stay down for long, Shin. Don’t get too comfortable.”

He returned his attention back to the task at hand. Finish the mission and get paid.

CHAPTER TWO

Dating Tip #13: Ogres have a face only a mother could love. But simply because you’re not the best looking broomstick in the closet doesn’t mean you can’t put your best foot forward. Treat a woman right and she’ll fall for the fine qualities you possess inside.

Not long after running her errands, Tessa headed to lunch with her high profile client, Archibald Cramer. The guy was a serious head-case. In a few weeks, she would hold his fourth party. When she’d interviewed him nine months ago, Tessa sensed an oncoming train wreck. At first, he had wanted a regular run of the mill witch. Tessa held back a grin at the time. Was that even possible?

“They’re all boring,” Cramer had said with a snort during the first dinner party she’d arranged for him.

The whole process reached the point where Tessa needed multiple recruiting events over several months. The second party had blonde witches, while the third included hippie witches from Canada. She’d all but given up on that party, but to her delight, six witches clad in sundresses and overalls, spouting free love, had hitchhiked here from Quebec. The fourth recruiting session had plagued her with his most outrageous request yet: witches who had witnessed the Salem witch trials. At the time she remembered trying to keep a straight face—that didn’t last very long.

With most clients, Tessa would’ve told them they were casting spells from the wrong end of their wand. But this man offered an opportunity her agency needed to break into an exclusive circle of clients and generate major income. So she replied with her standard response. “I can think of a few successful ladies that would fit your requirements.”

Most of these successful ladies only exist in your imagination.

He’d paid his past invoices, but he’d made it clear he wouldn’t toss out the big bucks unless the right women showed up for his next party. The growing pile of bills filled her with worry. A few months ago, she’d secured her first business loan at the local bank. After that, she’d contacted the dwarves for a low-interest loan. Now that things had thinned out considerably, she’d scraped the bottom of the cauldron pot and got some cash from warlock loan sharks so she could continue to operate her business. She was far too ashamed to ask her parents for money.

One big payoff was all she needed to get caught up.

After arriving fifteen-minutes late to the elegant Porterhouse Restaurant in the Upper West Side—thanks to an accident—she spotted Cramer in the far corner of the dining room. Loud business conversations filled the room as she walked past the white linen-covered tables to reach him. She slid into the leather seat, and a waiter offered to place her napkin.

The older black-haired warlock looked up from his meal and snorted. “You’re late.”

As a bear of a man, Cramer filled space both physically and mystically. A protective bubble of magic formed a haze around his shoulders like volcanic ash, bobbing and weaving as he ate his food. The tell-tale scent of cinnamon hit her nose. No matter where he went, dark magic followed him like an obedient pet.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Cramer.”

The waiter came by with a salad and a glass of white wine.

“I ordered your usual when I grew tired of waiting,” he grumbled.

On the inside Tessa cringed, but her face was all smiles and apologies. Why show the client how petrified she was? To gather confidence, she beat her fear into submission with a heavy rock and met his hard stare.

His bushy eyebrows rose. “So far, I’ve been disappointed with the women you’ve found for me. Not that any of them weren’t decent witches, but none of them seemed a perfect fit.”

He stabbed into his rib eye and took a generous bite.

“Now, you know as well as I do, Mr. Cramer, that finding love, real love, is a difficult journey that takes time…and patience.”
And realistic expectations.

“After the first party, I was hopeful and patient. But this round and round, with a bunch of boring old biddies—I want to get this over with so I might move on with her in my life. I expect you to pull out all the stops or else your business may not fair well with the Supernatural Business Bureau.”

His last comment was as sharp as his knife slicing through his bleeding lunch. Tessa’s heart skittered and the cucumber she swallowed nearly lodged in her throat.
Keep smiling, even if you’re choking.

Just like the Business Bureau for humans, the Supernatural Business Bureau was important for supernatural business owners. You couldn’t be some witch selling random grow-hair spells on the street like the olden days. You needed credibility and the Supernatural Business Bureau offered that.

They dined in silence for a few minutes. Two werewolves entered the dining room. Instead of following the maître’d, they gave a wide berth around their table to reach their seats. The attractive couple scowled in Cramer’s direction. From her werewolf clients, Tessa had learned powerful warlocks and witches reeked of earthy magic. Whether this was a pleasant scent or not, she never asked, but from the look on their faces, Cramer wasn’t the cleanest shirt drying on the rack.

Men like Cramer swung around their staffs like proud peacocks, and at least among witches in the magical community, he knew he was hot stuff. Based on this expectation, he made obnoxious demands on Tessa’s agency.

He finished his glass of scotch in a single gulp. “Look, Miss Dandridge, I know I’ve been a difficult client. But I believe in your abilities. If you can get ole Ebenezer Clarke married, then you’ve got a fighting chance in my regard.”

The waiter swooped in with a fresh drink like he’d been waiting for the exact moment Cramer emptied his cup.

Her client continued to speak. “I’ll be traveling for the next few weeks in the fifth dimension performing a great incantation with some associates. I expect to hear from you when I return. If all goes well, I’ll confer glowing recommendations to my colleagues in the Supernatural Council.”

Tessa hid her pleasure with a short smile. “Why, thank you.”

Inside she flipped across the dining room floor—heels, skirt and all. Getting your name mentioned in the Supernatural Council was like making it big in Hollywood. No more waiting tables hoping for the big break, just red carpet events and rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous. Well, the rich and famous that raised the dead and howled at the moon. Her crossed legs twitched nervously, but she managed to sip her white wine and smile during the appropriate moments as the lunch concluded.

They parted ways outside of the restaurant and Tessa tried to stay optimistic, even with his dire warning nipping at her heels. After several months of courting a member of the Supernatural Council, she couldn’t afford to lose this opportunity. All of her time and investment had to result in a positive outcome so she could get more clients.

Now that she’d temporarily placated him, her next step was to catch a cab to the parking garage. She had a long trip to Jersey to meet with yet another client. This was one of those particular moments she wished she could teleport places, but instead, like every other young witch, Tessa used the car her family bought her or hiked in high heels. She could’ve bought a staff or some other magically imbued object to travel in style, but the majority of her money was tied to her business.

After a short cab ride, she reached the garage and headed for her parking spot. Her fingers dove into the bottom of her purse for the keys. Using magic to travel long distances offered advantages, but it didn’t replace the normalcy of traveling like a regular person. A city girl like Tessa loved hopping into a car, turning on the radio, and singing off-key to her favorite sappy love song. As she rounded the corner, she finally located her keys and stopped abruptly in front of her parking space.

Her
empty
parking space.

CHAPTER THREE

Dating Tip #6: Wood nymphs are easy to piss off. I don’t recommend a bonfire dinner by the beach. You may be using her sister’s home as kindling.

As Tessa stared at the empty parking space, hundreds of scenarios ran through her head: was her car stolen, did she park somewhere else, or maybe someone towed it away?

The scent of cinnamon hung in the air, wafting from the position where her Honda Civic Coupe should’ve been parked. A spell had been cast.

“Sssssshit! Shit! Shit!” Cursing loudly would’ve been much preferred under the circumstances, but a loud hiss worked instead.

The smell of cinnamon and a missing car meant only one thing: Her car had been repossessed. And tucked inside a locked box in her back seat had been one of the lifelines for her business: a magical object called a Smythe Scroll.

Thanks to the trust fund from her grandmother, Tessa had been able to use a sizable part of it to purchase the old magical parchment. The scroll was indispensable for anyone who needed to contact magical creatures who preferred to live in the Dark Ages. If you needed to contact crazy Uncle Elmer who lived in a cave outside of Vancouver, then a Smythe Scroll offered mystical instant messaging. Tessa’s only method of contacting Cramer was gone.

She seethed as she paced around the vacant space. The fast and hard clicks of her heels echoed through the garage. Getting angry wouldn’t solve the problem, but it would damn well make her feel better. She’d hired someone to cast a pretty powerful spell to keep the curious and other minor spellcasters away.

Their magic had failed. Big time.

This whole situation never should’ve happened. She was usually on point for these kinds of things.

Tessa checked to see if any curious eyes lurked about. A lone car pulled out of a parking spot. She waited for it to leave before examining the signature of the spell. With a delicate dabble in the magical residue, she pulled a stark cream-colored notice:

ATTENTION: YOUR PROPERTY HAS BEEN REPOSSESSED

Based on the orders from our client, HOLDSTEAD FINANCIAL GROUP, your vehicle has been repossessed. Please contact the Municipal Supernatural Court for information regarding associated repossession fees, towing charges, and Limbo storage fees.

Contact them my ass!
She imagined the ridiculously long line at the courthouse, especially since magical red tape was much worse than the regular red type.

Standing around and mumbling to herself seemed like a viable option, but Tessa called Danielle instead.

“What’s up?” she chirped. “I bet the meeting with Cramer went better than you expected.”

“Oh, the meeting went fine until I discovered afterwards that my car is missing.”

“You’re kidding?”

“I really wish I was. It’s been repo’d! Look, can you find out for me the name of the repo company used by Holdstead Financial Group for recollections?” Tessa rested her free hand on her hip and tried to think about anything else other than her career taking a death-dive off the nearest building.

“Sure, you know I love a challenge.”

Tessa walked to the garage elevator. “Thanks Danielle, I need a stiff drink.”

The rapid clicks of keystrokes echoed through the phone. Danielle moved quickly.

Her assistant joked, “You’re in New York, why do you need a car?”

“I left the Smythe Scroll in the back seat.”

She groaned—a rare noise from her. “Ouch.”

“My words exactly! Call the client in Jersey and tell him I need to reschedule today’s meeting for later this week.” At least one of her clients picked up a regular phone.

“No problem. Go get your drink.”

After a few drinks—which hadn’t helped Tessa forget her troubles—she got a text message from Danielle. It included her destination. After a quick cab ride, she found it quickly.

Not long after, she found what she wanted. Nestled between a Nigerian restaurant and Hair for the Modern Woman Salon, she spotted Clive’s Magical Repossession. It was a hole-in-the-wall establishment in the Park Slope area of Brooklyn. She’d never visited Park Slope before. A plastic red and white sign with etchings of glamour marked the office to humans as Clive’s Recovery.

Tessa swung open the door to the shop and entered the stuffy office. A white-haired warlock stood behind a worn pine counter keeping busy with piles of paper. The files shifted from pile-to-pile as one hand dragged and dropped, while another signed contracts with a bright red pen.

She stepped forward. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but your company repo’d my car a few hours ago.”

The man squinted at her and the progress of the papers halted in mid-air. “Your name?” he wheezed.

“Tessa Dandridge. I have a Honda Civic.”

His right eyebrow rose, then he scratched his nose. “Ehh, I sent Rob on the Holdstead job this morning.” The papers commenced marching again as he continued. “He went to fetch some stuff from the storage room, but he’ll be back in a few minutes. He can get you the paperwork so you can head down to the Municipal Supernatural Court.”

“Head to court?” She shook her head and opened her purse. “I’ve heard too many stories from family members about spending a few years waiting in line to pay fees. Can’t I write you a check and then you can give me back my car—”

“Nope! Have a seat please and wait for Rob.” His gaze returned to his paperwork.

Tessa closed her purse and bit her lower lip. While she waited, she took in the office, looking for a place to sit. She spied a single seat in the corner with a horrible mustard-colored pattern that gave her flashbacks to the seventies. An old TV sat on a dirty end table with its antenna covered in aluminum foil. Folks still did that, even with digital TV reception available?

On the TV a scantily clad young woman bounded across the stage to wallop her balding overweight lover in the face. The show was a rerun of the Jerry Springer program. Visitor entertainment, perhaps? From the corner of her eye, she caught the old warlock steal a glance at the TV. Apparently, the owner of Clive’s Magical Repossession enjoyed watching people lose their common sense on national television.