feeling it wouldn’t stay that way long. “You done many of these?”
“Hmm?” He didn’t look up.
“Stakeouts.”
He sighed as if I were a five-year-old who asked too many questions.
“Hey,” I said. He ignored me.
I grabbed the magazine. His head jerked up and a fierce scowl was suddenly aimed at me. “What the fuck?” he snapped.
“I was talking to you.”
“So?”
I jerked my chin up. “You got a problem with me, Morales?”
He chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, I got a problem, Cupcake.”
“Well?”
He sat up straighter. “Look, I can tell you’re ambitious, and that’s great. But don’t be getting your hopes up that we’re going to be real partners or anything.”
I blinked once, twice. Finally, I said, “Let me get this straight: You’re being a dick because you don’t want me to get too attached to you?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Something like that.”
“Get over yourself. This isn’t a fucking date. I’m here to do my job. For the record, I’ve worked for five years without a partner and that suited me just fine. But if Gardner wants us to work together to get the job done, then we’ll have to make the best of it. Starting with you never calling me ‘Cupcake’ again.” I tossed the magazine back to him. “Asshole.”
He stared at me with a poker face for a good five seconds. Then he lifted the magazine and started “reading” again without another word. But he was smiling like he was amused, so that was something.
I sighed and resumed my surveillance of the corner. Luckily, a bum limped on the far side of the building and distracted me from being irritated with the knucklehead next to me. The bum’s skin had the jaundiced cast of a man addicted to a greed potion. Poor bastards took the stuff hoping the potion would help them win the lottery or get a raise at work. First time, the potion usually worked. They’d find a twenty on the sidewalk or win ten bucks on a scratch-off ticket. Barely enough to cover the cost of the potion, but enough to make them go back for more on the chance they’d get even more money next time.
Wasn’t long before the potion started working on them from the inside. Large, yellow warts would sprout all over their skin. Even as the outward symbols of their greed appeared, their money—what was left of it—disappeared down the black hole of the Cauldron. Eventually, their addictions would take away everything: their houses, their families, their jobs. Most ended up digging in trash for aluminum cans to sell so they could buy their next hit, hoping this next time they’d finally get lucky.
Unlike Mundanes, Adepts rarely became addicted to potions. Some did, but since we could manage the magical energy better it rarely changed how we looked. Instead, Adepts who cooked dirty became slaves to the two Ps: Power and Profit.
That’s why I knew street wizards like John Volos never fully got out of the game. He had plenty of money through different sources, but he’d always be addicted to magic’s power.
My inner skeptic spoke up: You’re addicted to power, too, you just found a different source for it. A sudden awareness of the weight of the gun and badge at my hip made me shift uneasily.
“According to Harkins, the dealers are being really selective about who they’ll sell Gray Wolf to.” Morales’s casually shared information after he’d been so standoffish caught me off guard. Maybe I’d gained some ground there after all. “That’s why we sent him out alone to do a buy to begin with. We were hoping he’d have a better chance of scoring a potion than we’d had on the corners with buy walks.”
“Buy walks?”
“That’s what we call it when we send an agent in undercover to buy a potion. Corner boy got a little trigger-happy with Shadi, so we put a stop to that.”
My pulse sped up a little. Maybe it was lame to be excited about learning MEA lingo, but I was. After spending most of my time performing reactive police
“Hmm?” He didn’t look up.
“Stakeouts.”
He sighed as if I were a five-year-old who asked too many questions.
“Hey,” I said. He ignored me.
I grabbed the magazine. His head jerked up and a fierce scowl was suddenly aimed at me. “What the fuck?” he snapped.
“I was talking to you.”
“So?”
I jerked my chin up. “You got a problem with me, Morales?”
He chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, I got a problem, Cupcake.”
“Well?”
He sat up straighter. “Look, I can tell you’re ambitious, and that’s great. But don’t be getting your hopes up that we’re going to be real partners or anything.”
I blinked once, twice. Finally, I said, “Let me get this straight: You’re being a dick because you don’t want me to get too attached to you?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Something like that.”
“Get over yourself. This isn’t a fucking date. I’m here to do my job. For the record, I’ve worked for five years without a partner and that suited me just fine. But if Gardner wants us to work together to get the job done, then we’ll have to make the best of it. Starting with you never calling me ‘Cupcake’ again.” I tossed the magazine back to him. “Asshole.”
He stared at me with a poker face for a good five seconds. Then he lifted the magazine and started “reading” again without another word. But he was smiling like he was amused, so that was something.
I sighed and resumed my surveillance of the corner. Luckily, a bum limped on the far side of the building and distracted me from being irritated with the knucklehead next to me. The bum’s skin had the jaundiced cast of a man addicted to a greed potion. Poor bastards took the stuff hoping the potion would help them win the lottery or get a raise at work. First time, the potion usually worked. They’d find a twenty on the sidewalk or win ten bucks on a scratch-off ticket. Barely enough to cover the cost of the potion, but enough to make them go back for more on the chance they’d get even more money next time.
Wasn’t long before the potion started working on them from the inside. Large, yellow warts would sprout all over their skin. Even as the outward symbols of their greed appeared, their money—what was left of it—disappeared down the black hole of the Cauldron. Eventually, their addictions would take away everything: their houses, their families, their jobs. Most ended up digging in trash for aluminum cans to sell so they could buy their next hit, hoping this next time they’d finally get lucky.
Unlike Mundanes, Adepts rarely became addicted to potions. Some did, but since we could manage the magical energy better it rarely changed how we looked. Instead, Adepts who cooked dirty became slaves to the two Ps: Power and Profit.
That’s why I knew street wizards like John Volos never fully got out of the game. He had plenty of money through different sources, but he’d always be addicted to magic’s power.
My inner skeptic spoke up: You’re addicted to power, too, you just found a different source for it. A sudden awareness of the weight of the gun and badge at my hip made me shift uneasily.
“According to Harkins, the dealers are being really selective about who they’ll sell Gray Wolf to.” Morales’s casually shared information after he’d been so standoffish caught me off guard. Maybe I’d gained some ground there after all. “That’s why we sent him out alone to do a buy to begin with. We were hoping he’d have a better chance of scoring a potion than we’d had on the corners with buy walks.”
“Buy walks?”
“That’s what we call it when we send an agent in undercover to buy a potion. Corner boy got a little trigger-happy with Shadi, so we put a stop to that.”
My pulse sped up a little. Maybe it was lame to be excited about learning MEA lingo, but I was. After spending most of my time performing reactive police
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