Free Dirty Magic by Jaye Wells Page B

real issue was I couldn’t afford to use them. Especially since I’d spent part of the ride over calling in a favor from my neighbor, Joe the Mechanic, who said he’d give me a discount on the labor and parts for the repair, but that he couldn’t get around charging me for the tow into the shop.
    “Fine.” I shoved the card across the seat at the taxi driver. While he ran it through the machine, I glanced out the window and up at the building. Gardner had told me the offices were on the second floor.
    “Here,” the cabbie said. He passed the receipt over along with a pen. As he did, I saw that his fingertips were green.
    I hesitated taking the receipt. “What’s that?”
    “Oh, this?” He held up his fingers and wiggled them. “It’s from the special fuel.” He lovingly stroked the headrest of the passenger seat. “Makes this baby fly like a dream, but you get a little on your skin and you’re green for days.”
    “Hmm.” People thought clean magic was safe no matter what. They never questioned the weird little side effects that were sometimes worse than the thing they were supposed to fix. I kept my opinion to myself, though. If he wanted to turn green it was his own business.
    I took the receipt and prepared to sign it, but when I saw what he’d done, I forgot all about my impending meeting with my new team and his green fingers. “The service charge is five bucks? That’s bullshit.”
    He shrugged. “Convenience is costly, lady. The potion-fuel it took alone cost more than that a gallon.”
    “And how do you explain the additional ten-dollar tip you added here?” I stabbed a finger at the receipt.
    “For service with a smile?” He grinned, exposing crooked front teeth. “Plus seeing how I got you here so quick since ya had your panties in a twist about not being late.”
    That much was true, but my annoyance didn’t reduce any as I signed the receipt. The time I’d gained by taking the stupid special taxi to begin with was burning with each second I sat there arguing with the asshole. “Fine.” I threw the receipt over the seat at him.
    “Have a nice day,” he said in an overly friendly tone that made the back of my teeth itch.
    “Whatever.” I exited the cab and slammed the door. A muffled “Hey” reached me from inside. I turned my back on the hexed cab and started across the lot. A whoosh of wind flirted with the hem of my skirt as the driver zoomed away.
    On my way toward the door, I could feel eyes on me through the cloudy windows. The inspection made me feel self-conscious and I hated that my new colleagues had the benefit of checking me out first. Regardless, I threw my shoulders back and strutted toward the building like I owned the shithole.
    The faded sign bolted to the roof told me the second floor used to be an old-fashioned boxing gym. Thugs once worked out their aggression in places like this where they could kick each other’s asses with the law’s blessing. Now that gyms like this one weren’t around anymore, they fought in the streets with guns and potions instead of gloves and fists.
    On the ground floor, a small bodega clung to existence by the quicks of its nails. A door next to the one for the grocery had faded gold lettering, which told me the place upstairs used to be called Rooster’s Gym. Under that someone had spray-painted the word
cock
with a helpful graphic of a penis for the illiterate. I pushed it open and was faced with a tall set of narrow wooden steps. As I climbed, the scent of old sweat and decayed wood assaulted my nose.
    My low heels clomped on each riser and echoed through the space above no matter how much I tried to have a light step. When I reached the top and found my new team waiting for me, I wasn’t all that surprised. I’d made enough noise to raise the dead.
    The room behind them opened up like a cathedral. The large windows made up two walls. Two doors led off the back, maybe to an office and a john. The old ring still stood in the