Tempt the Stars

then he nodded, looking a little calmer. And let Rico lead his sopping-wet form out of the shower.
    Fred didn’t follow. “Who you want me to call?”
    I scowled at him. “How do you know I want you to call anybody?”
    He just looked at me.
    I sighed. “Central, the Corps’ HQ. Ask for Caleb Carter.”
    “Who?”
    “One of Pritkin’s friends. You met him that night at the pizza place. Tell him what happened and ask him to get over here.”
    Fred sent me a look. “So I guess it’s bad, huh?”
    “I don’t know. But Caleb will. And he knows how to keep his mouth shut.”
    “So does Pritkin,” Fred pointed out. “Why not just call him?”
    “He’s . . . busy.”
    “Busy where? We haven’t seen him all week. Some of the guys have been wondering—”
    “I didn’t think they’d miss a war mage.”
    “Miss might be a little much,” he admitted. “But he’s less of a pain than most, and he brings beer. So where’d he go again?”
    “I sent him on an errand.”
    “Oh, jeez. Not back to Faerie? Didn’t he almost get killed the last time?”
    “He isn’t—” I stopped myself. I wasn’t getting caught up in this. The fewer lies I told, the better.
    Unlike Roger, I wasn’t that great with them.
    “Look, just get Caleb, okay? Before Jules has a nervous breakdown.” Or I did.
    “Too late. He’s Jules. He was born that way.”
    “Fred!”
    “All right, all right. Relax. Have a bath.” He looked me up and down, and then he smiled slightly. “Or, you know. Another one.”

Chapter Twenty-three
    I had the bath. And toweled my hair dry. And put on a T-shirt and jeans, because I was tired and fed up and had done all the pretending I was going to do for one night. Then I went on a witch hunt.
    And found them in the lounge playing pool.
    Well, two of them. The third was visible through the sliding doors to the living room, which were open again. Maybe because Marco had decided to turn on the charm. Or possibly to get himself a date; the jury was still out.
    But he was talking to one of the witches, anyway, who I immediately christened Jasmine, because she looked like the Disney character. You know, if Jasmine had worn Armani and had her hair cut in a short, swingy style that framed her beautiful face. She was as lovely as a vamp, which might explain why Marco was chatting her up over by the bar. I couldn’t tell if he was getting anywhere, because her sultry eyes were half-lidded, and the faint smile on her dark red lips could have been amusement or scorn.
    But the other two witches were definitely veering toward amusement.
    One was standing on a stool beside the pool table, cue in heavily beringed hands, lining up a shot. The stool was needed because she was maybe four foot eight or nine, if you didn’t count a truly magnificent Afro, which must have added an extra five inches. She was wearing a green silk muumuu, had long nails painted a glittery gold, and had on a bunch of matching gold chains that clinked together as she took the shot. And sank the eight ball, causing her companion to say a bad word.
    The tiny witch cackled and got off her stool, reclaiming a beer she’d left on a side table. Her opponent racked up another game, since she’d just lost that one. It didn’t appear to faze her. I had the impression that there wasn’t a lot that did.
    She was the one who had attempted to talk to me in the lobby. I was kind of amazed that I’d just blown her off now, since she was maybe six foot two in her hose and easily six-four in the short-heeled black pumps she was wearing. The pumps complemented the rest of the look: hair short and gray, eyes piercing and steel-colored, suit pin-striped and more serviceable than stylish. She didn’t look like a witch. She looked like an aging Valkyrie. And more than a bit like Eugenie, my old governess, which probably explained why my stomach had started to hurt.
    Since they weren’t paying me any attention anyway, I went to the kitchen to find something to settle it down. And instead found another witch. At least, I guessed so, although it sort of messed up the Macbeth thing the trio had going on. But I guess you couldn’t stick to that stuff all the time, especially if you thought you might need backup.
    Not that she looked likely to provide very much.
    She was young, for one thing, maybe five or six years younger than me. Or maybe even that was optimistic, because while the body was that of an adult, she was wearing a long white,