Street Magic

stare to reach the truth underneath. And she could ignore it, but she'd never stop the
knowing
, stop seeing things she shouldn't know for truth or fiction, or be able to deny what the witchfire wreathing Jack meant.
    It spilled off him in waves now as he jerked against the cuffs, touching the spiked tips of his hair and gathering at the corners of his mouth, racing over the dials in the Mini's dash. Where it kissed Pete's rigid body, it stung.
    A shudder passed through her, like she'd just been doused with ice water. Jack's breathing was the loudest thing inside the car, ragged and enraged. Everything was bathed in blue.
    "Bloody hell," Pete whispered. "You weren't lying."
    "Magic," Jack agreed with a hiss, his lips parting. The witchfire retreated and coiled about his head like a blazing ice crown, angry and chained.
    Pete swallowed as a lorry whooshed by her window, horn blaring. "I know you can tell me what happened to those children." She didn't add,
And now I have to believe that what happened to you really
happened,
and God, Jack
,
    you just made every nightmare I've had for twelve years real again
. Her stomach and her vision both lurched but she kept herself steady, from the outside anyway. The outside mattered.
    "Very probable," Jack agreed, settling back into his seat. The witchfire abated until there was only the slightest glow to his eyes.
    "Then tell me," Pete said. She heard a begging tone creep in, and hated herself for it.
    Jack eyed her for a moment and Pete tried unsuccessfully not to feel naked. The drugs had muted Jack's vitality but they did nothing for his gaze, which burned hotter than she'd ever remembered, fired with rock-bottom desperation.
    "I
might
tell you," he considered. "But I've got a couple of conditions if I should decide to divulge my specific arcane knowledge."
    "Name them," said Pete instantly. She'd clear whatever-it-was with Chief Inspector Newell later—right now Diana and Patrick's timetable was winding inexorably down.
    "Condition one: I get a shower, clean clothes, a place to stay—and not some dodgy hostel you shove witnesses into either, a
real
place," Jack said. "Whether or not I decide to tell you anything, you take me there right now."
    He'd never tell her anything useful, of course. Pete wasn't stupid and she could see from the way Jack talked and held himself that he was hating her for something, that her need for what he had was getting him off.
    But she
wasn't
stupid, so she said, "Done."
    "Condition two," said Jack. "If I tell you something, Pete, no matter how bloody outlandish it sounds to your cotton-packed copper ears—you listen. And you believe me."
    How she'd wanted to do that, every second they'd spent together. Couldn't, because admitting the truth of the matter with Jack would have driven anyone reasonable mad. Believing him would be admitting that everything in the world wasn't in plain sight, and it ran contrary to Pete's whole life, the new one she'd built after Jack.
    "Pete," Jack snapped. His expression was hard-edged, the mask in place, waiting to see if she'd give in to his demands.
    "Yes, Jack," she said with a sigh. "I'll believe you."

----
Chapter Nine

    Jack glared suspiciously at the door of Pete's flat. "This doesn't look like any bloody hotel I've ever seen."
    "It's not," said Pete, peeling the package notices and the card from the estate agent off the door and sliding her key home. "It's my flat."
    One dark eyebrow crawled upward on Jack's forehead. "And this is part of our arrangement how, exactly?"
    Pete flicked on lights and put up her bag and coat, motioning Jack inside. "It's a very nice flat. You can have a shower and put on some of Terry's old clothes."
    "Who in bloody fuck-all is Terry?"
    "My ex-fiance," said Pete shortly, "Bath's down the hall. I'll put the kettle on."
    She left Jack standing and went into the kitchen, careful to keep her back turned so he wouldn't catch on she was watching him. After a moment and a spate of muttering, she heard Jack go down the hall. A door closed and water ran in the basin, rattling the old pipes like a disgruntled poltergeist.
    Pete moved swiftly. She threw the bolts on the front door and locked the padlock she and Terry had never used because the area wasn't that bad, shoving the key deep into the catch-all drawer in the kitchen. All the windows were painted shut and covered with safety lattice, so he wouldn't be getting out that way. No back stairs.
    Pete crossed herself reflexively, a