Hexed

“Christianson? What makes you think I’d waste a good hex for someone like Christianson? The man is a selfish, grasping, weak little bastard.”
    “How about for the millions he pays you?” I suggested.
    “Yes, I take his money. That doesn’t mean I live at his beck and call. I was surprised when you started working for him, Cassandra. You’re too good a witch for that walking cesspit.”
    “I didn’t know what he was like,” Cassandra said. “When I found out, I left.”
    “Good for you.” Emmett glanced around the lobby. “I can’t say much for where you ended up, but I admire your moxie.” His gaze came back to me. “But then there’s her . You might be smarter than I think.”
    I raised my hands for attention. “I hate to break up this little reunion, but what are you saying? That Christianson didn’t hire you to kill Cassandra?”
    “I wouldn’t have taken the job if he had. Cassandra’s a damn good witch, and I don’t waste power like that. I might need her someday.”
    “I don’t understand.” Cassandra looked at Coyote, lying dead at our feet. He wasn’t coming back to life, not a move, not a peep. “This was for nothing?”
    “Nice gesture, the sacrifice, but unnecessary. Next time you want to summon me, just text me.”
    I looked up into Emmett’s face. He wasn’t even as tall as Fremont, who was a few inches shy of six feet, but Emmett’s lean body made him look taller than he really was. The sorcerer’s suit was finely tailored, and he wore a silk shirt and tie. His glasses weren’t off-the-rack from a discount optical shop; they were designer, with tiny diamonds winking in the corners. I didn’t waste time wondering why such a powerful mage would need glasses. Likely he wore them for effect.
    Emmett looked like an ordinary but successful businessman from a big city, the kind you’d find all over Los Angeles or New York. That is, until I looked behind the glasses and into his eyes.
    I saw there a cold, hard ruthlessness, with all the warmth of frozen metal. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell the color of his irises, but it didn’t matter. There was power in those eyes, uncaring power that would take and take and have no remorse about who it had to destroy to keep on taking. Power and no conscience, the most dangerous combination in the world.
    “You didn’t cast the hex?” I asked him.
    “No. Nice one, though.”
    “Can you tell us who did?”
    Emmett dabbed his nose as he tried to stare me down. Lucky for me, I’d grown up staring down my grandmother, a small Diné woman who would have had this man crumpling at her feet.
    He shrugged and turned away, implying he’d let me go, though I knew better. He strolled to a wall and put his hand on it.
    “Ah, a double hex. Very clever. And it used your own wards to ride in and infect the place. This took power. Precision. Planning. I can see why you thought I’d done this.” He sniffed the wall, then brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted them. “There’s demon in this. Succubus, I’d say. But more than that. A demon-goddess, who enjoys playing succubus for her own reasons . . .” His voice died, and his dark aura suddenly constricted. “Oh, no. Oh, you didn’t.”
    “What?” I demanded, marching to him. “Oh, we didn’t, what?”
    Emmett looked at his handkerchief again, his voice rising. “Damn it to hell. You brought me here. You summoned me to lock me in her trap.” He raised his hand, darkness surrounding it. “You stupid bitch, you brought me here!”
    He let the darkness fly, not at me but at Cassandra. Pamela jerked Cassandra out of the way, but the arrow of darkness followed her like a heat-seeking missile. But Nash was there. He shoved himself in front of Cassandra, and the spear of darkness—so black it shone with its own light—shoved itself right into Nash’s chest.
    Nash flinched the slightest bit, his mouth firming as the magic met the void inside him. Emmett watched, openmouthed, as his magic was sucked into nothingness. Without so much as a flicker, the magic vanished, gone as though it had never existed.
    Nash straightened up, eyeing Emmett coldly, none the worse for wear.
    “How the hell did you do that?” Emmett asked, dazed.
    Nash didn’t answer, because of course, he had no idea.
    Emmett slowly turned his ruthless gaze on me. “What is this, Stormwalker? What did I ever do to you that you’ve brought me to my death?”
    “She didn’t do anything.” Cassandra’s