Black Magic Woman

black magic woman

I had to cut off Iggy’s coffee and whiskey at one point. He’s oddly nervous about this meeting and, for the first time, I can’t tell if it’s because we don’t have all the answers or because of the woman we’re visiting. I’ve known him for so long it feels like I can barely remember a time when he wasn’t a major part of my life, but this is a side of him I’ve never seen.

Ignatius Briarton might actually like this woman.

Chuckling to myself as I drive back from Belle’s with the feast we ordered, I swing into the drive of our townhouse and park Iggy’s Bentley. I’m not overly fond of tooling around in a car that costs more than most people’s yearly income, but when you live with a Briarton, you have to get used to that kind of shit. Iggy has ties that could pay someone’s rent for a month, and I’m still terrified to ask how much his damn pocket watch is worth. It’s clearly pre-Witch Trials, inscribed in Aramaic, and looks as though it belongs in a museum under twenty-four-hour guard. But Iggy swears it’s been passed down to the heir apparent of every generation forever and doesn’t seem to be bothered because it’s worth so fucking much.

I grin and shake my head. Fucking rich people. Pulling out my phone, I text my roommate impatiently.

MusicMan: Iggy, time to go. Please tell me you didn’t drink more while I was gone.

MagicMan: No! I’m sober as a judge. Okay, maybe as an American Idol judge, but I can certainly walk.

MusicMan: Fucking hell, Iggy.

MagicMan: I’m coming; I’m coming. Keep your pants on.

If only…

Of course, Iggy has no clue I wish he’d look at me that way. I’ve always kept that little crush to myself because I value his friendship so much. I never want to destroy that relationship by broaching something I’m not sure he’s even into. Although, sometimes, I swear he’s either taunting me or daring me—I’ve never been able to figure out which. I’m too much of a coward to take the bait.

The tease in question walks out with a tipsy grin, his magic kit in hand and every inch of him looking casually hot. Iggy has the sexy professor look down to a science and, though students fawn over him like he’s a rock star, he typically does his playboy act amongst staff and graduate level women. It wouldn’t be against the rules to date an underclassman, but I think he knows those girls simply haven’t seen enough of the world to be with someone who has no intention of putting a ring on their fingers. Not to mention all the damn rich parents who’d be knocking his door down trying to sell their darlings for a chance at being part of the Briarton legacy.

I’ve always played wingman and gatekeeper for that kind of shit when he’s…inebriated in some form. It doesn’t make me a lot of friends, but it keeps my friend safe and free from scandals. I’m much less concerned about being popular; hell, if I flouted my connections from home, I’d have hangers-on and wanna-bes draped all over our front door. Nothing like ‘connected’ bad boys to get chicks’ motors running—trust me. It’s why my father hasn’t stayed faithful to my mother for a day in his entire marriage.

“Slade, you look like someone pinched you very hard,” Iggy says as he opens the door. “I suggest you clear whatever thoughts you’re having about your dad out of your head before we get to Morgana’s.”

How does he always know?

“It’s spooky how you do that, man.”

He grins and shrugs. “You have a specific expression that gives it away. Whenever you think about home, you look like a crab climbed in your ass and started pinching you. It’s a cross between pain and anger that is a dead giveaway.”

“You waited this long to tell me that? What the hell, man?” I grumble as I pull out of the driveway.

Iggy shrugs, the look on his face telling me everything I need to know. “I enjoy you believing I’m more powerful than I am. Reading micro-expressions is far less impressive than looking like a mind reader.”

“As if you’re not impressive enough without being psychic,” I retort, turning off of our street and onto the main drag of the campus. “Your ego does not need more fluffing.”

“Everyone needs to be fluffed every once in a while.”

This. This is what I fucking mean!

“Do we need to pick up Zuzanne?” I change the subject as I grumble internally at his erratic flirting. It has to be a reflex; Ignatius Briarton has never been shy about sex. He rather enjoys detailing his various adventures, so I doubt he’d be shy if he was really interested in me that way.

“No. She’s going to work in her lab and call us if she finds anything pertinent. You know how she gets when she finds a mystery,” Iggy chuckles. “The woman would live in that lab if she could.”

“Okay, so it’s going to be Channing, Lucas, Morgana, and us?”

He looks over at me with a rueful look. “You know, I seem to have forgotten to invite Channing. Do you think she’ll mind?”

Ignatius never forgets.

“Uh-huh. Well, we’re going to have to remember her invitation because Morgana left her office without any of her things when Lucas got sick. At least, that’s what you told me. All her necessities are there, and she’ll want them. Give Channing a call while we’re making our way through the dinner crowds in the square.”

With so many dorms on campus, dinnertime is a flood of students coming from facilities, classes, and other areas of the green to either their dorms or to cars to leave campus. The admin housing is opposite us, so we must navigate through the middle mess to reach Morgana’s house. Usually, we’d avoid going anywhere at this time that required traveling across the quad, but with rush hour traffic outside of campus, we can’t cut around it, either.

“Fine. I’ll call her.” Iggy rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone, dialing my favorite icewoman. “Channing, love! How are you this evening?”

My lips quirk as he lays on the charm. He deserves to have to make excuses; he’s the one who tried to exclude her.

The real question is… why?

Before today, I’ve never cared to find out what the houses in the elite staff housing block looked like. The arts program isn’t one that garnered a lot of attention for the school—at least not to the level sports or high-profile research does. No invites for parties at the Dean’s house or high teas at other homes here.

Honestly, I have no idea who the hell lives in the other three houses on Chancellor Row.

“Who else lives back here?” I whisper to Iggy as we unload the car. “I thought only the Dean had special quarters.”

My roommate chuckles, his eyes dancing as he points at the houses. “Private Royal Residence, Visiting Society Member Lodging, and housing for visiting families of high-profile sports recruits. Mostly, they sit empty.”

That irritates the hell out of me because they’re larger homes, kept in pristine condition with no one even living in them to keep watch. So many scholarship students would readily accept a work study in one of these and make certain they stay clean even after visitors. With the opportunity to stay in the houses, I can think of twenty grad students who would be thrilled to have that offer. Instead, they sit wastefully empty as shrines to the wealthy.

Fucking bullshit.

“Slade, stop obsessing about unfair housing practices and pay attention.” Iggy pokes me in the arm, handing me two more shopping bags. “We have to help cure this beefcake—he’s important to Morgana, and his grandmother has immense power and sway. There is no room to fuck this up.”

I narrow my eyes at him, unsurprised by his singular focus, but disapproving of his callousness. “Iggy, we also don’t want this shifter to die. That’s kind of important, too.”

He finishes getting the rest of the food out and nods. “That’s true. Lucas seems like an okay kid and he might not even be as dumb as most jocks. Plus, I’m curious how Morgana is going to deal with accidentally mating with the Wolfenberg heir.“

Something about that makes my chest tighten, and I shake my head. “She will face considerable negative publicity when the truth emerges, especially given the incident at the rink.”

“I don’t want the board to give her the boot. She’s beautiful, but beyond that, I think she may be good for the university. Morgana will work hard to fix Magnus’ messes, but she’ll also work to rebalance this place.”

“Then let’s get in there and help cure her boyfriend, dummy. Otherwise, she doesn’t have a chance.” I wink at him and start up the steps to the house with my half of the dinner.

Iggy follows, bounding up to the door and pushing the Ring button with a jab. It buzzes, but the door doesn’t open, nor does anyone answer. Frowning, he pushes it a couple more times, irritation flashing over his features. “Where did they go?”

I tilt my head, listening for sounds of life inside, and a noise catches my ears. “I think they’re on the back porch. I hear people outside. Maybe Morgana doesn’t have access to the video feed from this thing.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Iggy murmurs as we walk down the stairs and around the house on the small stone pathway. “The board was not happy with her appointment.”

When we get to the enclosed porch, a smile spreads over my face. The tall hockey player is lying on the big patio sofa with his head in Morgana’s lap. He doesn’t look good, but his eyes are trained on the TV hanging on the wall as the Dean runs her fingers through his hair. It’s sweet and if I had to guess, I’d bet she wouldn’t want anyone to see this side of her.

“Ding dong,” I call out, hoping we won’t scare them.

Morgana’s eyes dart in our direction, and the bear lolls his head to us as well. “Slade, Ignatius! You’re early. And you have a lot of bags.”

“Yes, fair lady. We brought some of the best food in the city and in great quantities, so we have sustenance while we work.” Ignatius beams as he holds up the bounty.

“Is that from Belle’s?” Lucas asks in a weak tone.

Man, he is not doing well.

“Shrimp and grits, fried green tomatoes, spoon bread, creamed corn, hot brown sliders, green beans, black-eyed peas, mashed potatoes, fried chicken… everything you can imagine. Of course, two peanut butter pies for dessert.” I wink at him, and surprisingly, the sick dude flushes a little.

“We came bearing gifts because we only have a minute amount of new information and a lot of new questions. May we sit?” Iggy walks over to an overstuffed armchair and places his bags on the table in front of the couch. “I have a feeling this will be a long night.”

Morgana gives me a quizzical look and I shrug. “Iggy worked really hard to find a specific answer, but we ended up with unclear results.”

“As if that’s anything new. Welcome to my crazy life, boys,” she mutters.

I know she’s being sarcastic, but I’ll take the invitation just the same.