Tempt the Stars

feel like I could shift.
    “That war mage called a while ago—”
    “What did he say?”
    “—and I don’t think Casanova wants to talk to you.”
    “Marco.” I grabbed his shoulder in a grip that would have been painful on a human. Marco didn’t even flinch. “What. Did. He. Say?”
    “That you’re not to worry, ’cause nothing’s happened.” Marco shot me a look. “Do I need to know what’s supposed to be happening?”
    “No. And stop stealing my food.” That last was aimed at Fred, who appeared to have an appetite that would have done a trucker proud.
    “It’s not food; it’s coffee,” he said, shooting me a look. “And you have a whole pot.”
    “Not
now
,” I pointed out, moving the purloined pot farther away from him. He rolled his eyes. And then he stole some of my cream. “Why are you here?” I demanded.
    “I live here.”
    “Not in my bedroom!”
    “Yeah, but the only alternative has witches in it.”
    I stopped eating. “What?”
    “They showed up an hour ago—” Marco began.
    “Well, send them away!”
    He just looked at me. “They have an appointment. Remember?”
    And I did. I suddenly, definitely remembered telling one of them to make an appointment. And
shit
.
    “What do they want?”
    “They haven’t said.”
    “You didn’t ask?”
    He frowned. “I’m not your secretary. And they’re not forthcoming.”
    “Marco!”
    “Well, I asked,” Fred said, his mouth full of something.
    “And?”
    He swallowed. “And they told me to mind my business. Only they weren’t that nice. I think they’re mad they had to wait.”
    I fell back onto the bed. For someone who had just had almost a day of sleep, I didn’t feel rested. I felt achy and stiff, and sluggish from the five pounds of breakfast I’d just consumed. I so did not feel like dealing with three irate witches.
    “It’s your call,” Marco said, and he sounded serious. Like if I said I wasn’t up to it, he would march out there and tell them to get lost. If it was anyone else, I’d have assumed he was bluffing, but Marco had seen scarier things than a trio of pissed-off magic workers. I was afraid he’d actually do it.
    And I didn’t know the reverse spell for chicken.
    “It’s okay,” I told him.
    “You’re sure?”
    “Yeah. Just give me a couple minutes.”
    He nodded and they left me to finish eating, which I did because I needed the energy, but I’d sort of lost my appetite. I felt a little better once I’d finished, though. Still tired and sore as hell, but less like a good gust of wind might blow me away. I faced up to it, put the tray on the bed, and swung my legs off the side.
    And crap.
    “What’s wrong?”
    I looked up to see that Fred had returned, maybe because there were no witches in my bedroom. Well, other than me, and I didn’t count. “Trying to remember where Marco put the codeine,” I told him truthfully.
    “You can’t have that stuff. Messes up your Pythia power. Remember?”
    “That doesn’t feel like it’s on board right now, anyway. And I feel like death.”
    “No, you don’t. Death doesn’t hurt,” he told me, and presented something on a small tray. “Well, you know. Not after the first bit.”
    “What’s that?”
    “What does it look like?”
    “An Irish coffee,” I said, perking up. And damn. It was like he’d read my mind.
    “Better?” he asked, flopping on my bed.
    I licked whipped cream off my nose. “Getting there.”
    And I was, with a warm tingle that didn’t so much soothe away the aches as make me not care about them anymore. Until I peered into my closet. And realized that, in this case, the age-old lament was totally true.
    “What now?” Fred asked as I just stood there, drinking and scowling.
    “I don’t have anything to wear.”
    “You got a whole closet full of stuff.”
    “Yeah. But not the
right
stuff.”
    “What difference does it make what you wear?” he asked. “We’re talking about people who show up, uninvited, in the middle of the night and terrorize everybody. Why dress up for them?”
    “They’re not uninvited tonight,” I pointed out. “And it’s not for them.”
    “Who, then?”
    “Me,” I said grimly, flipping through the hangers. Like the perfect outfit was just going to magically appear.
    But no. Magic gets me
into
trouble; it rarely gets me out. And this obviously wasn’t one of those times.
    “Meaning?”
    “Meaning I’m tired, stressed, and my power is feeling wonky—”
    “But you