Grower's Omen (The Fixers, book #2: A KarmaCorp Novel) Read Online Free Page B

instincts.” Probably hard to avoid if you slept with a thin wall between you and a Shaman’s vibes.
    “I pick up lots of things.” Iggy’s fingers were on the move. Weaving, speaking of harmony, integration. “Raven’s mother-duck stuff. Your devotion. Kish’s tendency to bang her head into rock.”
    I had to laugh at that. “She’s not doing much head banging at the moment.” Or if she was, it was probably Devan’s fault—our bedrooms weren’t designed for guys his size.
    “She looks happy.”
    She did. And that still worried me. There were too many ways for it to end with my roommate yanked around by the whims of the universe again. I kept quiet and sipped my cider.
    “So.” In one of the mercurial mood shifts she was famous for, Iggy reached over and dumped her bag out on the coffee table. “You want flower tats again, or something a little sexier this time?”
    Flowers could be plenty sexy. “I’m due up for assignment soon, so something that won’t make the natives blush.”
    She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows. “Natives of where, exactly?”
    Good point—some planets were definitely more open-minded than others. I pulled out the special powder I’d mixed for us. “Let’s stick with staid and boring on the stuff that’s going to be visible.” I crossed my arms and pulled off my warm shirt, leaving just a silk cami, and grinned at the woman who was already getting busy with her henna pots. “You can be more creative on the rest of me.”
    “Yes.” Iggy dove for her brushes. “You totally have to seduce someone tonight, though, so they can admire my handiwork.”
    “Wasn’t on my agenda,” I said dryly.
    She snorted. “Sex is always on your agenda.”
    “And what’s wrong with that?” Like fried fish and gossip and free potions, sex was just another way I drank from the good energy in the universe—and put back out what I could.
    “Nothing.” She grinned and kept stirring. “Even if some of us would be exhausted if we tried to keep up with you.”
    Iggy traveled through the world totally differently than I did. “You dream. And wield sexy paintbrushes.” I handed over the tea kettle so she could add hot water to the henna.
    The smell made my nose happy—earthy and a bit pungent and something I entirely associated with meandering afternoons and friendship. Kish thought it smelled like four-day-old sock rot, which is why we usually did our face decorating in Iggy and Raven’s pod. I reached for the pile of stencils. I could freehand simple stuff, but I didn’t have Iggy’s artistic skill. “You want sexy this time, or cool and sophisticated?”
    “Right. Like I could pull either of those off.” She blew a red curl off her face. “Let’s try for vaguely mysterious—that’ll give me good cover for my lost-in-space routine.”
    One that she spent too much time practicing. “You don’t give people much chance to take you seriously.” Another conversation we had fairly frequently.
    “Says the woman who walks around with dirt on her face.” She dipped a skinny brush in the henna pot and tested it on one of the spare bowls sitting nearby.
    I brushed at my cheeks just in case, and then held a hand out over the henna, testing the energy. Iggy was the artist, but I wanted what touched our skin to mesh with who we were. Augmentation of self, in the best possible way. Ethereal strength for her. I thought of Mundi’s worry and added an extra shot of rooting and healthy growing for me. The strength of here—just in case.
    Iggy held out a brush toward my collarbone and sighed. “I can’t believe you’re going to hide most of this away under your clothes.”
    I frowned. “I don’t hide.”
    “You do so, at least when you’re on assignment. Prim and proper Tyra Lightbody, with her neatly coiffed hair and the face of a virgin queen.”
    I tried not to laugh—it would screw with her painting. “There are good reasons for that.” When I turned my Talent on full, I exuded