8

OTHER PEOPLE’S DRAMA

The last thing Opal needed was to get caught up in any kind of sorcerer drama, because that never ended well. If Salem wanted to go home and pout, she was fine with that. The less he was around, the better, as far as she was concerned. Besides, they could find a way to fight the wraith without him.

Or so she thought at first. But as the night wore on, and she helped Dru dig deeper into research, she became less and less sure. No matter how many dusty books they flipped through, no matter how much cramped, faded handwriting they deciphered, they couldn’t turn up any more advice about fighting wraiths. They couldn’t find the elusive Tristram book, either.

Meanwhile, Rane transformed into solid rock and used her magically enhanced muscles to grind up the golf-ball-sized lunar meteorite with her stone hands, like a mortar and pestle, until she had reduced it to a chalky gray powder.

Dru poured it into an old faceted glass salt shaker. If everything went according to plan, Dru would sprinkle the moon dust on the wraith to make it solid, and then Rane would pound it into oblivion.

Sounded like a pretty terrible plan to Opal, but nobody paid her any attention when she pointed that out.

They spent the rest of the night standing an uneasy watch, as Greyson paced back and forth along the length of the shop, searching for any hint of trouble.

Finally, by the early light of dawn, Opal dared to hope that the wraith was gone for good. As the sky grew brighter and the sun finally emerged, that slim hope turned into a full-blown conviction. They had made it through the night. They were safe.

At least until tomorrow night.

Eyes gritty with lack of sleep, Opal stood in the open back door of the shop, watching across the alley as the first rays of sunshine kissed the tops of the surrounding buildings with gold. She could never remember another time in her life when she had been so happy to be up all night and discover that absolutely nothing had happened.

Dru joined her, blinking owlishly as she cleaned her glasses. “I can’t believe it. We got stood up.”

Opal nodded. “You know, I’m okay with that. Hey, maybe Rane really did clean that thing’s clock. Maybe it’s gone for good. Just took off.”

“Sure,” Dru said slowly. “That could happen.” The disbelief on her face clearly mirrored what Opal was thinking. Nothing was ever that easy. The wraith would come back, and Opal just knew that when it did, everything would go horribly wrong.

A chugging engine wheezed its way down the alley toward them. Definitely not Hellbringer. Tires squelched across scattered gravel, and Ruiz’s white work van rolled up behind the shop, ladders on top shining in the morning light.

With a broad smile, Ruiz climbed down out of the van, leaving the engine running. He was still wearing his dumpy stained work coveralls, presumably having resolved the fried chicken fiasco. With the air of a champion returning triumphant, he held up a flat box of donuts in one hand and a cardboard holder full of steaming coffee cups in the other. “Hey, check it out!” he said brightly. “I got the hookups!”

Opal leaned close to Dru’s ear. “I may just have to marry that man,” she murmured.

Dru eyed the donuts. “I might just beat you to it, if there’s any Boston cream in that box.”

Ruiz handed off the goodies to Dru and gave Opal a warm kiss. “I hate to say this, baby, but I gotta get back to work. Good news, I’m getting paid crazy overtime.”

“But you were up all night.” She ran her fingers back through his messy hair, trying to figure out exactly how tired she really was. Narrowly avoiding death at the ghostly claws of a soul-devouring wraith made he reevaluate what she wanted to do with the rest of her day. “Maybe you could call in sick. Take today off.” She looked deep into his eyes. “You know, we could’ve died last night.”

“No way,” he said excitedly, clearly oblivious to her intentions. “You’re gonna take that thing down, baby. I know it. But first, you know, I gotta be at the job site by nine. That electrical’s not gonna run itself.”

Opal sighed and ran her hands across the chest of his coveralls, her fingers lingering on his name patch. “You get off work early today. I don’t care how. Make it happen. And come over to my place. That’s an order, soldier.”

He grinned, planted a lingering kiss on her lips, and hopped back into his van. She watched him drive off and sighed. “You know, that man’s the only person around here with a real job,” she said to Dru, who had disappeared inside and now emerged chewing on a donut.

“What about us?” Dru said around the mouthful of donut. “We have real jobs.”

“I need to go home and get a shower.” Opal headed inside for her purse. “And no, this is not a real job.”

Dru followed after her, looking forlorn. “Then how come I have to pay so much taxes?”

* * *

At home, Opal slept a few hours, then made an effort to clean up and hide the ravages of the all-nighter. She’d had so many of those lately that she had her morning emergency routine down to a science. With enough vitamins and skin products, she could work miracles. Despite the grittiness in her eyes and the constant ache in the back of her head, she managed to pamper herself just enough to feel like a human being again.

She decided to go with a vintage look. She had on a new petunia-purple knit top, accented by a braided gold belt, over buttery-soft leggings the color of gingerbread. And, of course, brand-new shoes. Rhinestone-encrusted heels with open toes wrapped in satiny lavender ribbons, to showcase her fresh teal pedicure. Just looking at those shoes made her feel amazing enough to almost forget that an evil wraith could show up and devour their souls the moment the sun went down.

No time to worry about what might happen. She just had to get back to the shop and do whatever needed to be done. She was on the case.

She had her car keys in one hand, her empty latte mug in the other, and her favorite Miami Sound Machine song playing in her head. She stopped at the hall mirror and checked her hair. She looked spectacular. She felt amazing. She was ready to conquer the day. Then she opened up the front door.

And screamed.

Salem leaned against the door frame, arms folded, his scowling crazy eyes level with hers. For a heart-stopping moment, Opal was certain those cold gray eyes would be the last thing she would ever see before she met a dark and grim end. To drive the point home, Salem’s old hearse with chrome-tipped fins was parked at the curb in front of her house.

Hyperventilating, Opal stiffened, waiting for her life to flash before her. That was what was supposed to happen to people right before they died. When no touching childhood memories popped into her mind, she wondered if maybe there was hope yet for a long and healthy life.

Salem rolled his eyes, as if he could read her thoughts and found them obnoxiously boring. “Darling, when you’re done being shocked and apoplectic, a friend of mine needs your help.”

“You have friends?”

“You wound me.” He rolled a long, bony finger vaguely in her direction. “You do still do that whole ‘helping other people’ thing, don’t you? I need a favor.”

With an effort, Opal got her breathing under control and stuck out her chin in defiance. “Don’t look to me for favors, Salem. I wouldn’t help you if you paid me.”

He considered that, his eyeliner-darkened gaze ticking back and forth above her head, as if doing mental arithmetic. “I do pay Dru for her admittedly somewhat useful services—”

“Definitely don’t pay her enough,” Opal muttered.

“And Dru does pay your salary. So technically, in fact, I do pay you to help me.” With a smirk, he cocked his head, making his silk top hat shine in the morning sun. It was perched at a strange angle atop his head bandages, but that only served to make him look even more unhinged than usual.

Opal spotted motion behind him, lurking near the bushes that bordered her front walk. She sidestepped and peered over Salem’s shoulder. Behind him, a young woman with inky lipstick and eyebrow piercings was trying to blend into the scenery and failing completely.

She was Ember, a sorceress Opal hadn’t seen since the infamous night in the canyon where Salem had nearly been crushed to death by a rock-slide. That partially excused his bratty behavior, Opal supposed. But only partially. And come to think of it, Ember had been pretty badly injured in the same battle, and she wasn’t laying any hassle on Opal’s doorstep. Yet.

Opal caught Ember’s gaze and tried to hold it. But Ember quickly looked away. She backed up a step and turned as if she was about to bolt.

Opal immediately noticed three important things about her.

First, the sorceress was out and about in the daytime, which wasn’t her style at all. With her midnight-black clothes, ripped fishnet tights and knee-high leather boots edged with metal spikes, she looked incongruously exposed in the daylight. Her face still showed a few lingering scabs from the canyon battle, inexpertly covered with makeup.

Second, Ember’s usual bravado was completely gone. The woman usually had an attitude a mile high, looking down her long nose at anyone beneath her, and refusing to even speak to those she deemed unworthy. Her painted lips had only two expressions: displeasure and superiority. But now, all of that was gone, and Ember looked like she was frightened of her own shadow. More particularly, she looked like she was afraid Opal would hurt her, instead of the other way around.

Third, Ember wasn’t wearing her long, raven-black coat. The voluminous trench coat had always hung from her shoulders like a gloomy curtain, walling her off from the rest of the world. But now it was gone, and Ember’s dark mystique had gone with it. Now, she just looked like a refugee from a Slayer concert who had made questionable choices the night before.

Thinking back, Opal remembered that Ember’s coat had been torn apart in the battle in the canyon. Without her coat, she hadn’t been able to use her power of teleportation that night, which was her main—possibly her only—magical ability. Now, without the coat, she was left simultaneously stranded, defenseless, and powerless.

Not a great place to be. But more importantly, why was she here on Opal’s doorstep?

Opal pushed past Salem. The strike of her heels on the front walk was the only sound in the quiet neighborhood.

From the doorway, Salem piped up. “Let me connect the dots for you. Without her coat, she can’t teleport. Hence, why I brought her here. To get a new one.”

Opal stopped and put one hand on her hip, temper flaring. “Oh, so you think I’ll just hand over a brand-new magic teleporting coat? Just like that? Because it doesn’t work that way.”

Salem’s eyes glittered.

“You can forget it. Because my fashion collection is part of my own private life. Everything having to do with magic stays at work. Speaking of work . . .” Opal made a shooing-away motion at him, jangling her car keys.

When he didn’t budge, she pulled the door shut, locked it, and left him there. As she walked on down the walk toward her car, she said to Ember, “I’m sorry, honey. You need a ride?”

No response.

Opal kept walking. Considering how badly Ember had treated her, and Dru, and everyone else in recent memory, it pretty much served her right to lose her powers. Opal had no intention of forgiving Ember for kidnapping her and locking her in a file closet in a radioactive ghost town. There was just no excuse. Who would do that?

Without her teleportation powers, Ember couldn’t cause any more trouble, and Opal was just fine with that.

She got as far as unlocking the door to her long purple Lincoln before she took another glance at Ember standing there forlornly.

Opal had never had magic powers of her own, so it was tough to imagine. Or have a ton of sympathy. But the poor girl had been a sorceress, and now she wasn’t. Probably felt like she had lost her identity. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Felt like the whole purpose of her life had been ripped away. That was a terrible way to be.

Opal stood there with her hand on the car door handle, conflicted. She wanted more than anything to get in her car and drive away. But the truth was that Ember had lost her coat, and her powers, while she was trying to do the right thing. Trying to save the world.

No matter what else Ember had said or done, she had stepped up when it counted. She had risked her own life, and got knocked down because of it. She wouldn’t be the first sad case to come to Opal for help, and she wouldn’t be the last.

Besides, even if Ember came down to the shop looking for crystals or potions or anything else, it wouldn’t help. What this girl needed, apparently, was a new coat. Opal was her only hope.

Against her better judgment, Opal trudged back up the front walk, sighing all the way. She stood in front of Ember until the girl finally looked up at her.

“Are you going to apologize for locking me in a file closet?” Opal crossed her arms and waited.

Still leaning against the doorway, Salem said, “You can’t possibly still be hung up on that.”

Without even bothering to turn around, Opal held up a finger to silence him. Her keys clattered against her empty travel mug, which she desperately wished was full of coffee. “I didn’t ask you,” she called, and then dropped her voice to address Ember again. “Well?”

“Why?” Ember said after a moment. When she finally lifted her gaze, her heavily lined eyes were suspicious. “Would that make you do something for me?” Her Arabic accent was faint, her words controlled and precise.

“Honey, you can’t make me do anything for you.”

Ember visibly swallowed. The silence grew between them.

“I am very sorry,” she said finally. Her gaze was clear and direct.

Opal slowly nodded. “Okay, then.”

“Salem said that you would know where to find a new coat.”

“Well.” Opal took a deep breath. “That right there is an understatement.”

Her instincts told her that if she led the way, Ember would follow. So she went back and unlocked the door, stepped past Salem, and headed back inside. She put down her car keys and her latte mug, which at this rate wouldn’t be filled by the friendly local barista anytime soon. But as much as Opal desperately wanted her coffee, it would have to wait. There was a vulnerable sorceress in need. And what she needed was fashion.