you? You had to learn exorcism from someone."
"Not me." She picked up the second glass and swirled it, the ice tumbling against the sides of the glass. "I was born knowing how to do that. Call it my birthright."
"Rare to meet a natural mage." He sat a little straighter in a show of respect. "Mother? Father?"
She stared down into her drink. "Both."
He let out a long, low whistle. Rarer than rare. He took several long drags on his cigarette while he thought on it. Magicians mixed like oil and water, each's own power unwilling to mingle with that of another. But to have a child together—
Big voodoo. It spoke of a will greater than power…and her power already spoke volumes.
He leaned forward to take a better look at who else was in the room. A sensation crawled up his neck as if where he should be looking was directly behind him. And he really didn't want to look, not until he had an idea what might be standing there. "You, ah, mind me asking who your folks are? Not like there's a lot of us around."
Chiara shook her head. "I don't need to tell you. Remember when I had a peek inside you? I tend to leave a trace so… I'm pretty sure you know what kind of power my father has."
He grunted and tamped out his cigarette. "Explains why I've been seeing darkness everywhere I look. No wonder I couldn't track that demon—that residue you left behind muddied everything up."
"It'll fade in a day or two." She didn't look at him. Not big on eye contact, it seemed. "But, this will help."
She rested her hand on top of his. Nothing like the first time she did it; this time, her mental touch was gentle, forgiving, a brush around the edges of his weary, sensitive mind.
He flinched, waiting for the shadowy tinge to worsen, but released a breath when things didn't go dimmer that they had been. If anything, the shade dissipated. She'd removed the remnants of the darkness she'd left behind.
"So. Your father, eh?" He slid the empty glass on its coater back toward the inside of the bar. "I'm pretty sure I'm not going to like hearing his name."
"Which is why I'm not going to say it. Besides, I don't like to draw attention to my heritage. Let's just say he's not someone you want mad at you. He's got a hell of a temper."
Most mages did. They tended to be an emotional bunch. Simon had first-hand experience. "Fair enough," he said. "Not in the mood to fight a girl's father today, anyway."
"So." Chiara smirked. "You do possess a bit of good judgement, after all."
He shrugged. It was known to happen. "What's the story, anyway? You just bump into demons on the street and whisper them away?"
"I have—leverage. But, pretty much, yeah. I don't call myself an exorcist. That's a title people use to give validity to their flaunting of spiritual magic."
He grumbled a retort, looking away a moment. When he looked back at her, he noticed her faint smile. She was only teasing him.
"I just correct things," she said. "That's all."
" Correct things ? I'd been tracking that demon for days when I first saw you. I didn't peg it for a mere error. He packed a lot of fire power."
"Doesn't matter their strength, their rank, their allies. They know who I have standing behind me." She sipped her drink dry before pushing the glass away, signally for another round. "Every possession is an error. Everything in the universe has its place. The dark things below, the bright things above. And the earth—that's for the spots of mortality that are still choosing their colors. It's not right for divine things to interfere. Speaking of which…"
She sighed and hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "Friend of yours?"
He twisted to look in the direction she pointed. A man leaned against the wall a few stools down from them. Mack stood motionless, inanimate, watching them with piercing, solemn eyes. "Aw, nuts. You can see him?"
"Unfortunately." She picked up her fresh drink and sipped, eyes front.
He smiled, open-mouthed in admiration. "I knew I liked you for a
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