Page 113 of Cold Curses
“And remind us what will happen to the demons already inside city limits?” asked one of the mayor’s people. “They won’t be vaporized, right?” He looked up, apparently anticipating the risk of demon bits falling from the clouds.
“Per my email,”Uncle Catcher said, mimicking the bureaucrat’s aggressive passive-aggressive tone, “the bubble won’t affect demons already in town. It will keep demons from entering.”
“That’s our job, Miles,” Gwen told the man. “But it will be easier to do that job without new demon arrivals.”
Miles didn’t look satisfied by the answer.
“One hundred percent chance he did not read that email,” Theo murmured.
“He never does,” Roger said quietly. “He prefers to complain that we’re hiding information we’ve already provided. And when we point out that we already told him, he says we didn’t send the message correctly or it was unclear or he wanted to be sure we understood what we planned to do.”
I caught a whiff of something spicy in the air, and went on full alert. “Demons?”
“No, that’s my drink,” Petra said. “It’s a PSL.”
“Early for pumpkin spice, isn’t it?” Roger asked.
“Yeah, but that’s not what this is. Wrong kind of PSL. This is a Paranormal Spice Latte.”
I didn’t ask. Because that seemed best.
While the sorcerers got into position to cast the spell, Roger’s screen buzzed. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen.
“Problem?” Theo asked at his frown.
“Another story about drama on Lake Michigan and in one of Chicago’s ‘finest neighborhoods,’ ” he said, scanning it. Then he muttered a curse. “And someone gave the reporter Black’s name. Says he’s a person of interest in the investigation.”
“Not it,” Theo, Petra, and I said simultaneously.
Roger looked up, considered. “I bet the mayor did it. She wants Chicago on the road to normalcy, and she can’t do that if there’s an ongoing territorial war. Dante is dead. Black is the hot new story. The faster he’s caught, the better her approval rating.”
I wanted to get Black under wraps even faster than she did, I bet. And it was entirely possible someone from her office had leaked his name.
“Still no sign of him,” Roger said, then glanced at me. “But we’ll find him.”
“I know.” And I hoped I’d have some idea what to do about him by then.
“Okay,” Uncle Catcher called out. “We’re ready to get started.”
The sorcerers gathered together in an expanse of grass, each at a cardinal direction point, and facing inward. We’d made the same kind of circle when we’d sealed Rosantine. They each poured salt into the empty spaces between them, then began a series of hand gestures. The air glowed pale yellow with a complex magic that smelled a little bit citrusy, but layered with cedar and ocean water and something sweet.
Something pale and iridescent shimmered in the air between them.
A soap bubble. Or it looked like a soap bubble. It expanded, nearly touching the sorcerers as it filled the center of their circle. Then it grew to cover them completely. It would take about an hour for the bubble to move across the city, and we’d stay in place until it was done.
As the magic spread, I wished the Guardians could have been here to see the continuation of their efforts, and I wondered if they’d have been thrilled that their own system had lasted so long or irritated this crew was scrapping it.
And then the bubble’s iridescent sheen wavered.
“Uh-oh,” Petra said.
With apopof pressure that made my ears ache, the bubble of magic literally burst. Somewhere across the park a wolf yelped in surprise at the noise. I wondered who it was and pitied what would probably be merciless teasing for that perceived show of weakness.
It began to rain glitter. We covered the lids of our coffee cups as we were dusted with the residue of the magic. The sorcerers regrouped—with Uncle Catcher stomping forward—to dissect the problem and plan for another start.
“I mean, it’s not the worst thing that’s come out of a failed demon ward,” Theo said, raising his casted arm. “Exhibit A right here.”
“And I didn’t have to push an animal down a flight of stairs,” I agreed.
