from Bywater Books (May 14, 2024)
To all who seek, find, and provide found families.
The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.
CHAPTER ONE
Calliope Payne raised her arm, the contoured handle of the cleaver fitting her palm like it was an extension of her body. The honed blade thwacked into the scarred butcher block counter, separating the joints, cartilage, and soft, red flesh of the slab of lamb ribs like they were butter. She swung again. Thud!
Callie hummed along with the tinny sounds of Duke Ellington coming over the radio playing in the corner. The scent of raw meat and wood shavings filled her nostrils. Strings of sausages hung over the worn white counter. Faded framed prints of farm animals and the cuts of meat they provided adorned the walls. Payne’s Meats in the Yesler-Jackson neighborhood of Seattle wasn’t anything fancy, but it was home.
This was where she belonged.
Callie finished separating the ribs, wiped her hands on her meat and fat-stained apron, wrapped the pieces in brown paper, and tied the bundle with white string. The cut and price noted on the paper with a grease pencil, she slid the packet to the woman on the other side of the counter. “Anything else today, Mrs. Kavanaugh?”
Mrs. Kavanaugh smiled back, her pale blue eyes bright. “Nothin’ I can t’ink of, Callie.” She laid down two dollars in change. “Put whatever’s left toward my bill, please.”
Callie swept up the coins and opened the till with the press of a few stiff buttons. A bell within the mass of metal and workings dinged. The cash drawer popped out. “Sure thing, Mrs. K. Have a lovely day.”
“You too, dear,” the older woman called as she opened the door. The brass overhead jingled merrily. “Tah!”
Callie caught a glimpse of another person coming into the shop, an impression of a hatted female figure in a dark coat, but she wanted to wash up before waiting on the newcomer. “Just a second.”
“No hurry,” the woman said.
In the workroom behind the main shop, Callie ran water as hot as-she could-tolerate into the sink. Before washing her hands, she raised them to just under her nose and inhaled. The tang of residual blood, faint as it was, danced along her senses, like a fizzy drink on her tongue. Everything sharpened, came into focus and awareness: The background buzz of the radio tubes in the other room that was usually inaudible nearly drowned out the music. The minuscule cracks in the enamel sink became a web of flaws.
The effect was almost dizzying. Callie never felt more alive than when she took in the coppery scent.
Every mage had an affinity for a particular element that strengthened and enhanced spells. Fire, air, water, earth . . .
Hers was blood.
Careful, warned her inner voice.
Callie lowered her hands, taking in fresh air and shaking the sensation out of her head.
Contact with their element was required to cast most spells, but some took it too far. Jemma, her mentor, had warned Callie that blood mages needed to be especially vigilant. Their reputation was often in question to begin with, no matter how regulated and responsible they might be. Allowing your desire—your need—for magic and your element to consume you was a troubled path, at the very least.
Discipline and the Laws had kept mages relatively safe within society for the last few centuries. That didn’t mean practitioners didn’t falter.
Callie washed her hands with a bar of Ivory, then dried them on a clean towel, her sensitivity ebbing into quiescence. She straightened her skirt and retied the apron string behind her back. Tucking loose hair into the bun atop her head, she returned to the counter, smiling as she caught the strains of “Someone to Watch Over Me,” her favorite Gershwin tune.
“Good morning, what can I get for you?”
The woman had been bent over, perusing the glass case of fresh sausages and hams, the brim of her hat obscuring her face, until she straightened and looked at Callie.
Large, dark eyes and high cheekbones sent an old and familiar zing through her. Smooth brown skin glowed with a hint of blush from rouge, not from the flush of emotion that Callie knew colored her own cheeks. The wicked smile that said this woman knew more about you than you knew yourself struck Callie deep in her gut.
“EJ.” Her name left Callie’s lips in a soft breath, all she could manage as her heart thumped hard against her sternum and then raced along with the memories that galloped through her brain: the two of them laughing, running from a shop owner, sitting on the roof of Callie’s apartment on a hot summer night, practicing the waltz or foxtrot.
“Hullo, Cal. Long time, no see.” The bright smile warmed. “How’re things?”
Callie took a moment to come to grips with the fact that Eileen “EJ” Jordan was standing in her shop. Her long, fur-trimmed gray coat was open, revealing much of her willowy form in a jade green suit. Wisps of black hair curled from under her hat. Perfectly applied kohl lined eyes that Callie knew could go from soft and laughing to brittle and deadly in a blink.
She knew because as leader of the Jackson Street Roses, the gang of girls Callie had run with as a kid and teenager, EJ Jordan had been a fixture in Callie’s life. They’d seen each other nearly every day for over a decade. Then Callie got busy helping with the shop, busy with trying to figure out what she’d do with her life, busy with trying to not feel feelings. Marrying and moving to the other side of the state were supposed to help.
It hadn’t.
“I—I’m good.” Callie swallowed hard and rubbed damp palms down her apron-covered hips. “What about you?”
Silly question. Everyone in the neighborhood knew how EJ was doing because she owned the most popular dinner club for ten blocks and had her fingers in half the other businesses within the same stretch. Since returning to the neighborhood three months ago, Callie had learned EJ didn’t often visit butchers or bakers or candlestick makers. People went to her, not the other way around.
“Peachy, thanks,” EJ said. She held Callie’s gaze for a few seconds longer, making Callie’s stomach flutter, then looked down at the neat display of glistening meats in the case. “What do you recommend?”
Callie cleared her throat, adjusting to the safer realm of customer service and wondering what was actually happening. EJ wasn’t here to buy sausages, that was certain. “Depends. Are you looking to feed a crew, or having a dinner party?”
“Dinner.” She lifted her head and winked. “For two.”
Callie ignored the returning funny feeling in her gut and moved to the other case, away from EJ. She felt better having the higher case between them but couldn’t figure out why. “We have some lovely bacon-wrapped filet mignons. The T-bones have a nice amount of fat, no gristle.”
“Great. Give me two of each.”
Callie’s head jerked up. Few of her customers ordered her most expensive cuts in such an off-handed manner. In fact, none did. Ever.
“Are you sure?”
EJ reached into an inside coat pocket and removed a leather wallet. “Absolutely.”
Weighing the meat then wrapping the cuts in two separate packets, Callie’s mind ran with unanswered questions. After more than a decade, her first glimpse of EJ was in the shop she’d taken over now that Pop was gone. EJ hadn’t come to his funeral last month, hadn’t sat with the other Roses at her wedding a dozen years ago. Not that Callie had sent an official invitation to any of them, but friends who’d spent their formative years running together shouldn’t need a special invitation, should they?
Why now? Why was Eileen Jordan, Queen of the Y-J, standing in trampled sawdust, looking amazing, and ordering expensive meat?
“How’s your Gran?” EJ asked.
Callie glanced at her, but that was all. It was easier to concentrate when she didn’t look right at the other woman. “Good. She’s upstairs. Sharp as a tack. Still does the books.”
“Wonderful.” EJ was silent for a few moments. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and sincere. “I’m sorry about your dad, Callie. He was a good guy.”
His loss clutched at Callie’s chest and throat. She blinked back tears. “Thanks.”
She didn’t ask why EJ hadn’t come to the funeral or to her wedding. It didn’t matter now. Besides, if she asked that, EJ would likely want to know why Callie had left in the first place. The real reason she had left.
“And your husband.”
EJ’s offer of condolences for Nate didn’t exactly sound like an afterthought, but it wasn’t particularly emotional either. How else did you acknowledge a year-old death?
“Thank you.”
“Business is going well?” EJ’s tone was lighter now with the change of subject. Thank goodness.
“Well enough.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Callie set the packets on the counter and worked out the price. She double-checked her math, then jotted the cut and amount on each. The numbers made her nervous, but EJ had asked for the good stuff.
“Would you be available for a drink or something later?”
Callie’s head came up again. She swallowed her immediate response of laughing nervously and tucked a loosened strand of hair behind her ear. “What for?”
EJ smiled and shrugged. “Catch up with each other. I have something to talk to you about.”
What could she have to say that they hadn’t covered already?
Plenty.
“Not tonight,” Callie said. Not that she was busy. She needed time to gather herself, to figure out a reason not to go, if she couldn’t gather herself.
“Tomorrow then.” EJ’s smile softened. “Just talk and some food. The Garden at eight?”
Since EJ owned the club, chances were fair to excellent Callie wouldn’t have to drop so much as a nickel for a soda. But a free meal always came with a cost of some kind, didn’t it?
What was EJ looking to get from her?
Only one way to find out.
“All right.” Callie slid the packets of meat closer to EJ. “Ten dollars, please.”
Without hesitation, EJ handed over a ten dollar note. She pocketed the supple leather case and scooped up the packages. “It’s good to see you again, Callie. Really good. Looking forward to tomorrow.”
EJ swept out of the shop, the brass bell jangling wildly as the door shut.
Callie released her next breath in a long streaming sigh.
Dinner with EJ Jordan. At a fancy supper club. At her fancy
supper club.
As Callie considered and rejected most of the dresses in her closet, one particular question kept circling her brain: What did EJ
want with her?
• • •
The next evening, Callie strode down Washington Street in the heart of the Y-J, toward The Garden, past stores and businesses with apartments on the upper levels. A working-class neighborhood that wanted to be swankier. At least EJ was pushing it in that direction as best she could.
Her heels hit the sidewalk with sharp staccato beats, and the lower half of her wool coat flapped open. She wasn’t quite running, not wanting to jostle other pedestrians, but definitely moving faster than necessary.
Slow down before you sweat through your good dress or snap a heel.
Taking a breath of exhaust-tinged air, Callie deliberately slowed her step. Was she just anxious to get the meeting over with, or was there something else making her heart race?
Cars passed, rubber tires hissing on the wet, black road. Few of the vehicles were late models, though she knew of several year-old 1930 Model A’s in the area. Despite the Depression, Mr. Ford was probably doing all right for himself. As were the few local individuals who could afford new cars. No one in the neighborhood openly wondered where such income originated. There were plenty of opportunities—magic-influenced or otherwise—for those who didn’t mind laws. Mages were free to do what magic they could to make a living and get ahead, like any other skilled person. Within reason.
“Harm invoked is harm thrice returned” was the singular Law mages lived by. That magic wasn’t 100 percent guaranteed, could potentially take a hefty toll on mental and physical well-being of the wielder, and often needed to be very specific, kept most mages from pressing the limits. Even if you were working for the greater good, there was a chance of harm caused somewhere to someone. The universe was keen on balance. Intentional harm was forbidden by the Covenant, but there could still be repercussions for accidental injury.
Magic couldn’t prevent things like war and economic downfalls, but often helped mitigate the outcome. Grand world events were too much for a mage or even a group of mages to wrangle and control. As Gran always said, they were mages, not miracle workers.
Callie took in the storefronts as she passed. She knew EJ ran some sketchy enterprises here and there, along with her legitimate businesses, and likely employed mages somewhere along the line. Hobson’s Laundry and Dry Cleaners housed a bookie in a back room, and Callie knew for a fact that Hobson was a decent water mage. Martinelli’s Shoe Repair did top-notch work while they ran a numbers game for EJ that was coded in the Seattle Times. There was also, supposedly, a “members only” gambling den somewhere in covered-over roads and old businesses beneath Pioneer Square. Other bosses had similar enterprises throughout the city. As far as Callie knew, EJ wasn’t threatening or underhanded or cruel like some she could name. At least not as bad. Or she hadn’t been.
No one in the criminal world made it to EJ’s level without breaking laws and doing some sort of damage somewhere. Even before Callie married Nate twelve years ago and moved away, EJ had graduated from running their gang to running errands and small schemes for Darren Scott, a significant dweller of the Seattle crime syndicate. EJ was destined for greater things than the petty thefts and minor shakedowns they’d enacted as kids. The Lady Gangster was a moniker they’d joked about, knowing none of them would ever be “ladies.” But it looked like EJ was achieving her goal.
The rest of Roses had mostly grown up and moved on, though some had gotten themselves into deep trouble and were spending five to ten on the state’s dime. EJ had managed to avoid the long arm of the law. A night in lockup for drunk and disorderly had been the worst thing on her sheet back then.
If she had been in for anything more serious, Callie would have heard about it. Though to be fair, leaving town had cut ties to those deep in the know, namely the Roses. Ties she missed, she realized.
Her own fault. Trying to live the life she’d thought she’d wanted hadn’t worked out as she’d imagined. Go figure. She could blame Nate and his bigoted parents, but it was on her, plain and simple.
So what if now and again she longed to cast a spell to ease a bit of work? So what if the spring butchering brought both excitement and fear of being found out because the scent of blood sparked her magic? Taking to her bed for a few days claiming “woman problems” garnered some looks and grumbles about a butcher’s kid being squeamish, but they had left her alone.
“Good evening, miss.”
The smooth, deep voice snapped Callie’s attention away from the bubble of grief and resentment that had started to form. A tall Black man stood at the door of The Garden, his broad shoulders perfectly filling out his suit coat. His hair was straightened and slicked down in the current fashion, and a thin moustache graced his upper lip. Doorman or bouncer? Perhaps a bit of both.
“Good evening,” Callie said. “I—” Recognition hit. “Mason Jennings, is that you?”
Mason grinned and a flood of memories of a skinny kid hanging around the Roses came back to Callie. Most of them included his beautiful smile. “It seems to be. How are you, Callie?”
Callie threw herself into his arms, hugging him tight and taking in the citrus scent of his cologne. He “umphed” but returned the hug with a laugh.
“My gosh, it’s been forever,” Callie said.
She let him go. He made sure she was steady on her feet before lowering his arms.
“It has,” he said. “Heard you were back. How’s your Gran? Haven’t seen much of her recently.”
“She’s good. Getting her piss and vinegar back.”
Gran had been taking care of Pop in his last months, downplaying the severity of his illness, and it had taken its toll before Callie returned.
“Good to hear.” Mason laughed again, then grew sober. “Sorry about your dad. I was out of town and missed the funeral. And about your husband, um . . .”
“Nate,” she managed with a nod in appreciation of his sympathy. After a moment, she asked, “How’s the family?”
Mason’s father was a plumber, as were his two brothers. Mrs. Jennings was a nurse and cared for some of the neighbors when she wasn’t pulling shifts at the hospital. The elder Mr. Jennings had tried to get Mason interested in the plumbing trade, but his youngest son preferred cars to clogs.
“Dad’s still working hard as ever, and Mama keeps buggin’ about grandkids. Lucky for me and Jeff, Kenny is married, so she focuses on him mostly.” Mason checked his watch, then grasped the door handle of one of The Garden’s double doors. “EJ said to be on the lookout for you. We’ll catch up later. Stella will show you to your table.”
That Mason was working for EJ didn’t surprise Callie. With jobs in town being scarce the last few years, the mostly white employers leaned toward hiring whites. In the Y-J, with its array of people of all backgrounds, folks knew the color of their skin was less of an issue. Besides, hiring friends was a neighborhood tradition, especially when you needed people you trusted.
“Thanks. I definitely want to catch up.” Callie rose on her toes to peck him on the cheek. “It’s really great to see you again, Mason.”
“You too,” he said, smiling. He gestured for her to enter the club.
The sounds of a piano and a trumpet playing a slow, delicate tune wafted into the front room from deeper within. The entry was decorated with enough living plants to support the name of the establishment, but not cross over into implying a jungle. EJ employed either a talented plant mage or a heck of a gardener.
Wing-backed upholstered chairs and a few low tables gave patrons a comfortable place to wait while their dining tables were readied. No one occupied them at the moment. A young woman read a magazine behind the coat check counter. An archway led into the dining room, where Callie saw a number of cloth-covered tables and a low stage where the band played. Delectable food smells drifted in with the music.
A woman with shoulder-length blond hair set in stylish waves came around the archway and stopped at the podium with an open reservations book. She wore a burgundy halter gown that showed off her pale shoulders and ample bosom. Callie immediately felt underdressed.
“Good evening. May I help you?”
“I’m Callie Payne. Miss Jordan—EJ is expecting me.”
Stella, Callie assumed, smiled. “Of course. If you’ll come this way. Let me take your hat and coat.”
Stella deposited her things with the coat check girl and handed over the ticket. Callie stashed it in her clutch, then followed Stella through the archway. Half of the dozen or so tables were occupied. Not bad for a Wednesday night. Everyone was dressed to the nines, or what was considered dressed up for the neighborhood. Her own long-sleeved violet dress was not as swanky as Stella’s gown, but it would do among the other patrons.
Stella led her to a side booth that was set for two with thin white china plates and sparkling crystal. Indigo linen napkins and tablecloths added to the subtle richness. Perfumes, colognes, and food aromas vied for her attention. The band had switched to a different song, and though none of the four musicians were using it, a microphone stood at the front of the stage.
“Can I get you a drink?” Stella asked as Callie slid across the soft black leather seat of the booth.
“A lime seltzer, please.” Callie smiled at the woman’s quirked eyebrow, a hint that there was more to be had than fizzy water and juice. “Just that. Thanks.”
She was well aware that Prohibition was mostly a technicality in clubs, but Callie wasn’t much of a drinker anymore.
Stella nodded and sashayed away.
Servers wearing white shirts with dark waistcoats and ties weaved between tables with trays large and small, depositing plates of food and colorful drinks in an array of shaped glassware. The band finished a piece, garnering a round of polite applause before conversation filled the void. The musicians quietly left the stage to take a break.
The Garden was a reprieve from the hard scrabble of life outside its doors. Clean, quiet, comfortable. Callie settled back against the leather seat. She had to hand it to EJ. This was not the sort of establishment she would have expected from the brash girl she’d grown up with.
Movement from the corner of her eye grabbed Callie’s attention.
“Lime seltzer? Really?” EJ slid the tall glass in front of Callie as she sat on the opposite side of the table. The gleam in her eye was all too familiar. All too enticing. “I have other things to offer, you know.”
Tonight, EJ wore a sapphire blue suit, her blouse buttoned to the top with an ivory brooch in the shape of a rose pinned at her throat. She had applied rouge to her lips and cheekbones, with kohl emphasizing her bright brown eyes.
“I like lime,” Callie said, grinning.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” EJ smiled in return, and Callie felt the flush rise on her chest and neck.
“This place is gorgeous.” She took a sip of the drink to moisten her suddenly dry mouth.
EJ looked around at the dining room, clearly proud of what she’d done. “Thank you. A lot of work went into it.”
“It was nice to see Mason out front.”
EJ laughed and turned her attention back to Callie. “He likes to stand out there, no matter the weather. I think he enjoys chatting it up with folks who pass by.”
“Mason was always the friendly type.”
“He is friendly,” EJ agreed, “until he isn’t. I’m grateful to have him only a step away if things get rough.”
So he was more than a doorman.
Callie tilted her head. “Do they? Get rough, I mean?”
EJ didn’t respond for a few moments as she was forming her answer. What went on in The Garden that might turn rough? Could be anything. It didn’t seem to take much to get people riled these days.
“Now and again,” EJ finally said. “Hazard of the business.”
Right. The business. EJ’s sort of business. How hazardous did it get?
A black-clad waiter stopped at the table and deposited small plates of salad in front of each of them. He took another lime seltzer off the tray for Callie and something amber in a squat glass for EJ. Without a word, he tucked the tray under his arm and strode toward a set of swinging doors that marked the kitchen.
“I hope you don’t mind,” EJ said, “but I took the liberty of having our meal prepared already.”
Callie spread the dark blue napkin across her lap and picked up her salad fork. “That’s fine. I’m sure whatever it is will be delicious.”
“Guaranteed.” EJ winked at her and ate a forkful of greens.
The band returned to the stage. The trumpet player and trombonist did their best to prepare their instruments without making too much noise. The piano player arranged music and quietly conferred with the drummer.
The salad was fresh, the dressing tangy with vinegar and subtle spices.
“I’m glad I caught you at the shop. Did you keep Eddie on?” EJ asked. Her direct gaze didn’t so much as hint at what she was thinking.
“We did, but only part-time these days. He’s working at Stillman’s Market mostly. Gran’s glad I’m back, though. Eddie’s cuts aren’t up to her standards.”
EJ grinned. “No one has your skills, Callie.”
Callie knew that was mostly true, but she had the feeling EJ didn’t mean her ability to debone a chicken or create beautiful crown roasts.
When she was old enough, Pop had taught her how to butcher the lamb, beef, and pork they received from local farms and ranches. Magic enhanced the cleaver and knife skills she’d learned, and neither talent failed her when she needed them. Not that she used her magic all that often, especially in the last decade.
While magic was useful, Callie and her folks didn’t advertise her, her mother’s or her grandmother’s abilities. Not that they didn’t want her to employ her skills to succeed—plenty used magic in businesses, including the Paynes—but there was often a fine line between success, abuse, and exploitation.
She was a rare breed, being a blood mage, and not willing to break the Laws set down generations ago that regulated what those with magic could and couldn’t do. Funny how many who learned of her skills, if not her affinity, wanted to hire her to harm another. Pain and suffering were forbidden. Everyone knew it. It was an insult really, to be considered little more than a weapon by some.
“Is that what this meeting is about? My skills?” Callie absentmindedly picked up her steak knife and tapped the end of the handle on the table. “And here I thought you just wanted to chat about old times.”
“That too.”
All right then. At least she now knew why EJ had come to see her. But Callie wasn’t ready to go there yet. She’d get the ball rolling on a somewhat safer topic.
“You’ve stayed in touch with the others, of course.”
EJ nodded as she sipped her drink. “Of course. Well, with the exception of those who are doing time or moved away.” Her sloe eyed gaze revealed nothing about her feelings on Callie having moved away. “But Ruth, Marian, and Bette are still around.”
Over the course of their growing-up years, there had been a dozen or so official members of the Roses while some had only hung around the periphery, like Gloria Burns and the Lang sisters. But EJ, Callie, Ruth Cheng, Marian Calder, and Bette Nelson had been the heart of the gang.
And Janie Underwood.
Callie pushed the image of Janie’s sad smile and soulful gaze out of her head.
“I should have been better about staying in touch,” she said with a wince of guilt. “How are they?”
“Marian married Ralph Gaynor.”
“The theater’s popcorn kid, right? Gran had mentioned it in one of her letters. Marian was always sweet on him.”
EJ laughed. “Still is. He runs the Palace now. They have three kids.”
“Good for them. And Bette?”
“Helping her mom, working at the five-and-dime. Still nicking the odd candy bar.”
Callie chuckled. How many times had Bette come away from the five-and-dime with treats or movie magazines for the Roses to share? It was ironic that she was now employed there, but not surprising considering her fresh-faced girl next door appearance and charm, which she likely used on the owner.
“You’ll see Ruth soon,” EJ said. “Her folks still have the store down on the east end of Washington Street.”
Callie hadn’t expected to meet with any of the others tonight, but this was EJ’s gathering.
“And you, EJ?”
She grinned, a proud glint in her dark eyes. “I have this,” she said, gesturing at the Garden, “and a few other things to keep me busy.”
”Other things” that weren’t as nice or legal as the supper club.
“Why didn’t you stay in touch?” EJ asked. There was nothing on her face that indicated anything more than curiosity, but then again, EJ was the master of appearing unfazed while hitting like a freight train.
“I—” Excuses caught in Callie’s throat. “I was busy at the ranch. The few times I came back to visit Gran and Pop were quick trips.”
After moving to eastern Washington and into Nate’s family home, she’d managed to keep her ability from her in-laws. Nate had said they were nervous about mages in general and, like many, downright fearful of blood mages. So, Callie tried to establish herself as a rancher’s wife rather than a poor butcher’s kid who used magic that most others would be afraid of.
Her relationship with Nate hadn’t been bad, but it didn’t take long for them to figure out they weren’t really as in love as they’d thought Friends, sure, cared for each other of course, but that was about as far as it went. And Nate’s parents had made it clear how they felt about magic, so they made sure his folks never found out. For years, she denied who she really was, because . . . because that was what she thought would make things easier, better, normal.
But she wasn’t about to tell EJ all that.
“What kept you there so long, after he died, I mean?” Now a furrow between EJ’s eyes made itself present. Curiosity? Irritation?
“His folks needed help, and I had to deal with some legal things.”
The fib came easier than she’d expected.
Her in-laws had allowed her to stay at the ranch for nearly a year after Nate died while she settled his affairs and continued to help where she could. It was a good excuse to avoid returning to the Y-J with all the expectations of a new widow. But without Nate around to keep on her, to remind her that she didn’t have to do “that stuff” anymore, Callie had started practicing again. Little things, like spells to light the stove or to move heavy furniture. Things that required barely a drop of blood, if any, yet buoyed her as she grieved. No one was the wiser.
Until her mother-in-law caught her. Once they learned she was a mage, Nate’s parents were all too happy to show Callie the door. Her father’s illness made the decision to return to Seattle absolute.
In the long run, it was probably for the best for all of them. She’d thought she wanted different. Now she knew. Being with Gran in the old neighborhood was all she needed and wanted. Comfort. Familiarity. Safety.
The waiter returned with two plates that were each filled to the rim with a gorgeous T-bone, green beans, and fluffy mashed potatoes. Callie shook her head. Leave it to EJ to serve her meat from her own shop. She gave EJ a smirk of recognition.
“Figured you’d appreciate the way Valerie cooks it better than anyone else could,” EJ said.
“You didn’t even ask how I like it prepared.”
She answered immediately. “Medium rare, salt and not too much pepper, a touch of garlic butter. Let the product speak for itself.”
She wasn’t wrong, about Callie’s preferred preparation or her philosophy.
As tempting as the meal before her was, something turned in Callie’s stomach. EJ knew her well, even after all this time. Or thought she knew her.
Callie set down her knife. “What do you want, EJ?”
EJ cut into her steak. The interior was perfectly cooked, dark pink with a hint of juice. “Eat first. We’ll talk after. Here comes Ruth.”
Callie turned toward the archway leading from the lobby into the dining room, expecting to see Ruth Cheng, but no one was there. Instead, the tall, full-figured woman sauntered from the wings of the stage to a smattering of applause. Black bobbed hair shining under the lights, dark eyes lined with kohl to emphasize her heritage, lips and cheeks rouged, Ruth smiled at the audience as she took her place before the microphone. Stage lights danced off her pearlescent sequined dress.
The band played the introduction to “Dream a Little Dream,” and Ruth began to sing. Her throaty alto infused the lyrics with a sexiness Callie had never heard in the song. It wouldn’t surprise her if a little mood magic had gone into the tune, and Ruth’s ability as an air mage allowed her to hold notes longer with more purity.
Ruth had mastered manipulating air itself, a skill that mages strived for but that could prove tricky, as elements resisted such control. Using them for a spell was one thing, but bending them to your will was a whole other ball of wax sometimes fraught with unwanted results.
Seeing the “baby sister” of the Roses all grown up and doing what she loved most delighted Callie. Ruth had come a long way from the skinny, scared little kid hovering at the edge of the Roses’ activities, insisting she was a girl like them despite what others may have seen and expected. It hadn’t taken long for EJ, Callie, and the others to take her completely under their protection and make Ruth one of their own. Over the years, the acceptance of Ruth as Ruth was never questioned in the Y-J.
“Eat,” EJ encouraged when she saw Callie hadn’t touched her food yet. “You can be mad at me later.”
There was no sense letting a perfectly good meal go to waste, so Callie complied, pretty damn sure she would be mad. Her tongue all but danced at the first bite of beef. EJ was right about her cook doing the cut justice. Everything on the plate was simple and delicious.
Ruth accepted applause with quiet thank yous, then started singing “All of Me.” As much as Callie wanted to just sit and listen to her old friend, she needed to address EJ’s scheme, whatever it was.
“Tell me what you want, EJ.”
EJ sipped her drink, then gently blotted her lips with the napkin from her lap. “It can wait. Let’s enjoy the show.”
EJ was used to getting her way.
Callie set her cutlery down and moved her napkin from her lap to the table. She started toward the edge of the bench seat, determined to leave.
EJ laid her hand on Callie’s arm, stopping her. She glanced around the room as if making sure no one was paying attention to them. They weren’t. The booth was off to the side, far enough from the closest patron that they’d have to have super-human hearing. “Paul Underwood.”
The name immediately knotted anger and grief in Callie’s chest. She hoped EJ was about to tell her he was dead, but she would have heard that bit of cheery news by now. She had to swallow several times before speaking. “What about him?”
EJ traced a line through the condensation beading on her glass. “He’s causing trouble. I want him gone.”
“Causing you trouble, you mean.” Callie shook her head. EJ wanted to use her, just like others had. “I don’t hurt people. I can’t. You know that. I don’t want to get involved in your business dealings.”
Running with the Roses had been exhilarating when they were teens, and a necessary sense of family for most of them. But things were different now. She had Gran to take care of and her own business to run.
“I don’t need you to hurt him, just get him out of the Y-J.” EJ’s brow furrowed. “He’s threatening people, Cal. Friends. He’s already run off the Parkers. His goons beat up Mr. P. over some imagined insult after Parker refused to accept their ‘protection.” I won’t have that in my territory.”
Her territory.
“This is a battle for territory?” Callie edged toward the end of the seat again. “No, EJ, I told you, I won’t—”
“He’s responsible for Janie, like we always thought.”
Callie froze, her breath caught and her heart stumbling, rendering her speechless.
“And we can get him for it, Cal.”
*****
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*****
Copyright © 2024 Cathy Pegau
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Bywater Books First Edition: May 2024