Black Magic Woman Read Online Free

friend/relative/acquaintance/partner-in-crime he’d seen brought to justice recently. The thought offered him a small amount of comfort. The position also, however, severely limited his escape routes, since in order to leave he would have to move away from the wall and through the crowd to reach the nearest exit.
    Life was about nothing if not compromise.
    Luckily, Asher didn’t feel ready to leave. Not quite yet. He could see the need building—crowds, after all, did not constitute his favored environment—but he still had half a glass of gnomish beer to finish and the night was young. By midnight, Lurk would begin to fill with its regular contingent of shifters and shifty characters, and by 2 A.M. would be bursting at the seams. If the nightclub held true to form as one of the most active and least restrictive of Manhattan’s Other nightspots, before dawn it would play host to at least one magical altercation, three Lupine and/or Feline wrestling matches, and at least a handful of chairs broken by drunken imps or demons.
    Asher intended to be long gone by the time any of that happened, but for now he just wanted to finish his drink in peace. He deserved it.
    He also deserved a vacation after three straight assignments, all of which had taken him out of the city and kept him out for more than a year, and not one of them a stroll through the rosebushes. Unless, of course, he wanted to count the thorns they’d left in his ass. Between the man who’d unknowingly made a binding contract with a fiend known to traffic in mortal souls, and the scouting troop that had managed to plan its annual jamboree in a national park in the middle of the territory of Eastern Canada’s largest Lupine pack—during the decennial wild hunt week—Asher couldn’t recall taking a day off since, oh … birth. Five hundred and forty-three years ago. And that wasn’t even counting the customers of the brothel on the Mexican border that was owned, operated, and staffed entirely by succubi. It had been a busy couple of months to be a Guardian.
    Frankly, if Asher never saw another human in supernatural distress, it would be too soon. The weight of his wings was starting to give him a bad back. He could stand to put them away for a week or two. Or twelve.
    In fact, after he finished his drink, he might take a little detour on his way home. Maybe if he went straight to the Watcher, he could finagle a few days of R & R before his next assignment. If he told the big man he was on the verge of losing his damned mind without a couple of vacation days, the creepy bastard might cut him some slack. After all, it would be the truth, clear and unvarnished.
    Asher took another swig from his mug and swept his gaze around the room. Although the tinted windows kept out the sun during even the brightest part of the day, he could see from the level of shadows that the sun had set while he’d nursed his first beer. By the time he finished the one in front of him—his third—it would be past time to make his exit.
    A quick glance at his wrist confirmed that it was now well after ten o’clock. Of course, his survey of the crowd told him pretty much the same thing. Although the club wouldn’t really do the bulk of its nightly business until after midnight, many among the more mortal of the Others had already found their way inside. Asher could easily identify half a coven of witches, three half-giants, assorted varieties of changelings, and several brownies, dwarves, trolls, gnomes, and other demihumans all unwinding in the immediate vicinity. Before long, the shifters would begin to drift in, followed by the vampires and then the demons and the fiends. He wanted to be well away before that point. Too much potential for trouble to crop up, and he was decidedly off duty. Tonight it could be someone else’s turn to clean up the inevitable messes.
    That was precisely the thought in his head when he saw her walk in the door. It was followed closely by a resounding