I realised then, in a detached sort of way, that I was fixated on the success of this mission to the detriment maybe of the mission itself. I'm not normally a head-in-the-sand type of person. I'm realistic and set myself realistic goals. That doesn't mean I don't work my butt off trying to solve my cases.

  But this…this was something else.

  Ama was the curse that needed countering, I thought grimly. Not because she created The Involition Curses, but because she was the curse that imprisoned the magical world itself. Harlee's rescue was so intricately wound up in my mind with Ama's destruction, that I could no longer see one and not the other.

  So, in order to save Harlee, I had to beat the evil witch. And in order to believe I had a chance, I had to stick my head in the sand and conjure unrealistic goals for myself.

  It didn't help that Rafe's blood was swilling around inside my body making me feel invincible, either.

  I was just a confident, mixed-up, mess of a would-be witch.

  All that aside, however, we still needed a way to get into the port without setting off any triggers.

  "This will be your first official lesson," Rafe said as we approached the employee entrance to the port.

  Naturally, we — Rafe — had chosen magic.

  I shook my hands out as we walked toward the guard's shack. The tingling had been ever-present since we'd left the motel this morning. It was debatable whether my stomach roiled due to consuming so much blood or because my magical abilities were trying to tell me something. But I felt alive, like an electrical wire, and none of it was good.

  Rafe glanced at my hands and then flicked a steady gaze to my eyes. I met his look with one of determination. I could do this.

  "Remember when I said willing the words true makes it so?" Rafe asked. I nodded, not trusting my voice at this juncture. "With a maskara, one must also insert an image into the mind of one's target."

  "One might like to speak in plain old English," I countered.

  Rafe growled. An honest-to-goodness growl like a lion or some predatory animal. "This is not a game, Catalin."

  "It ceased being a game when you walked into my life, vampire. Get on with the lesson."

  "Will the target to see something else and then send them a mental image to envisage instead of reality."

  I understood what he was saying, but there was no way I could do it.

  "Okay. Show me how it's done," I said, nodding my head, bouncing up and down on my toes, and shaking out my hands like an overly caffeinated boxer.

  "You do it," Rafe instructed.

  "I'd like to see it done first," I countered.

  "The guard has spotted us, Catalin. He may well call for assistance at any moment. You'd better mask what he sees before he calls for backup."

  What? No! I shook my head. "I can't, Raphael. I'm too juiced."

  "Too juiced?" he enquired, continuing on toward the waiting guard. "I'm not familiar with that idiom."

  I ground my teeth together and stared daggers at him. He ignored me.

  "His hand is reaching for the telephone, Catalin."

  Oh, son of bitch! He was going to make me do this when everything had to go right or Harlee would die a terrible death at the hands of a psychotic sex fiend in the guise of a witch.

  "Hi!" I called out to the guard, my voice high-pitched and cringe-worthy. "I wonder if you could help us?"

  We asked for directions to the stadium and then walked away. You did not open the gate and see us walk through it.

  The gate remained closed and the guard picked up the phone's handset.

  "Um," I said, unsure what to do next. "Do something," I whispered to Rafe.

  "Wouldn't be much of a lesson if I did it for you, now would it, maitia?"

  Argh! I wanted to scream. But I looked up at the guard instead; fury and frustration and desperation gripping me. He was only a guard. There were many other options available to us. Badge him. Walk away from him and try another gate. Taser him. Knock him out. Fuck, even shoot him, but that was taking things a little too far in my opinion.

  He was just a guard. A human guard.

  We asked for directions to the stadium and then walked away. You did not open the gate and see us walk through it.

  Open the gate.

  The gate opened. We walked through it. The guard stared off across the street, his back to us, the handset back in its cradle.

  "Why did it work that time?" I asked Rafe.

  "I have no idea what you willed him to see, so I cannot say. The power is in the execution of the spell. Your will is the defining factor."

  "I didn't think of a picture," I said, realisation hitting me like a four-tonne truck.

  "You didn't?"

  "Just told him he didn't see us after opening the gate."

  "Interesting. Do you think in images?"

  "Um, no? I don't think so?" Could I sound any more unsure of myself?!

  "Then that's your answer. You're command-driven."

  "Was it still a mask? A maskara?"

  "Yes and no." He slowed and inhaled deeply. "I can smell unwashed bodies. A lot of them."

  I looked around the containers we were in amongst and recognised a particularly damaged one from the image Mikel had sent me. I'd managed to narrow down where the container was by using Google Satellite before we got here. This part of the port was used for long-term storage. It had just been lucky that the last satellite image had been taken after that damaged container had ended up stored here.

  I could have used NCB resources, of course, but something like that would have garnered Harry's attention, and I didn't want Harry's attention just yet, so I'd Googled it like a pleb. All I could think was that I had to get the boy extricated safely, and not have Dean or Kai show up guns blazing, which an Interpol satellite would have done.

  So, this required finesse: finesse and magia.

  We pressed our backs against the side of the nearest container and stilled. I strained to hear anything to indicate where the traffickers might be standing; Google Satellite couldn't tell me that sort of thing. From here on in, we were winging it.

  I looked up at Rafe. His eyes were completely violet now. A mesmerising colour that right then I couldn't afford to be sucked into. I arched my brow at him.

  Rafe held up four fingers, then pointed to the right and passed the end of the container we were pressing up against. Then he held up another three fingers and pointed in the opposite direction — seven traffickers, in two groups. We'd have to split up.

  I looked up at the roof of our container and checked line-of-sight to any others close enough to provide a sniper good elevation. Nothing stood out. I didn't think these guys were that sophisticated — The Involition had only needed a snatch-and-grab job done, and the ability for the traffickers to keep moving afterwards; hardly criminal mastermind stuff — so it was unlikely anyone was watching from above.

  And I hadn't checked with Rafe, but I was betting a sniper rifle was beyond them — Gio's fabricated story aside. And I also couldn't see Ama providing them with supplies like that. They were intended to be abandoned. Never found by the NCB. They were, in her mind, trash.

  I pointed at Rafe then pointed toward the right target group, then pointed to myself and then toward the left. Rafe held my gaze for a long moment and then nodded his head.

  Will the words true, I thought and then at the last moment drew my gun instead. Covering my bases wasn't an altogether bad idea, either.

  We rounded our respective corners of the containers at the same time. I held my gun in a two-handed grip before me, while Rafe did whatever trained magic users did with their hands. I didn't look back to see.

  The three men I surprised were playing a card game. Two had their backs to me. The one about to lay down what I assumed was a winning hand, by the look of the shit-eating grin on his face, glanced up and blinked.

  I didn't give him a chance to call out to his friends.

  "NCB! Hands up. Hands up, now!"

  Naturally, they had a problem with authority figures and refused to obey.

  I heard noises behind me, from over where Rafe would have been, but didn't take my eyes off the trio in front of me. The one who had spotted me first drew his gun and was lifting it up to take aim, so he got a bullet in the chest.

  The one on the right tried to turn to face me, his gun also out, but tripped over his stool and landed on his butt, the pistol skittering away from him. The final one got a shot off. It went wide when I mentally — and frantically — shouted, miss me!

  The twang of the bullet hitting the nearest container's side was deafening. The thought that it might have gone through the metal and hit one of the kids was sobering.

  I needed to be more precise in my mental commands, but I didn't have time right then to think in more than single-syllable words.

  "I will shoot you," I growled. "Drop it!"

  Two against one, but the 'miss me' directive had worked, so I followed up my verbal command with a non-verbal one as well. Drop gun. Hands up.

  It was the best I could do. My heart was hammering away inside my chest and my breathing was too fast. No matter how experienced you are in confrontations like this, there is always risk and danger, and your body responds in kind.

  I let out a long breath of air as weapons were lowered and both assailants placed their hands on their heads.

  "Rafe?" I called out, not taking my aim or eyes off the men.

  "Secured," he said and appeared beside me. "You shot one?"

  "He was about to shoot me."

  "You used your gun," he stressed.

  "It was handy. Now shut up and zip-tie them."

  Rafe shook his head disappointingly at me but did as I asked, producing some zip-ties from his pocket and tying the men up. At least he acted like an FBI agent. The trafficker I'd shot was dead, I realised then. I wasn't sure yet how to feel about that.

  Maybe Rafe was right and I could have magia'd them into cooperation and no one would be dead now. But I decided to worry about it later and save the kids instead.

  I recognised their container by the image Mikel had sent me. He'd managed to convey a lot in a single picture. I'd have to work on that. The door was bolted but the padlock was not locked. Clearly opening it from the inside was impossible, and the traffickers needed to get in and out of the container to check on their charges, so they'd opted for a simple latch and not a full-on lock.

  I glanced at the faces of the men Rafe had subdued before tying up my guys. They glared at me, but at least they were all alive. Unlatching the bolt, I swung the door to the container open.

  The stench hit me first. Piss and shit and vomit and sweat and tears and filth. The sight hit me next and I wanted to walk away, turn my back on it, and then shoot every single motherfucker who had done this in the head.

  My hands fisted, and a low growl emitted from the back of my throat; rather like Rafe's earlier attempt. Some of the nearest kids cringed away from me and cried out, but one kid stood up in the back. Skinny arms and knobbly knees, and violet shining in his eyes; illuminating every god-forsaken thing.

  "It's alright," he told the others. "She's a witch. She can't help the growl. She's made to protect us and she's angry about how we've been treated. You can trust her."

  Aw, Mikel, I thought. You can't trust me, kid.

  Cat

  "Did it ever occur to you to arrange backup?" Harry demanded.

  I'd called it in. Tac had been so happy to hear my voice, to know I was okay, that I'd almost broken down in tears as he'd excitedly told me Brant was getting out of the hospital that morning and wasn't it fantastic that we'd — I'd — solved the case?!

  Now I was facing the music.

  "I know you think you're better than the rest of us, Cat, but two against seven is taking the god-complex too far, don't you think?"

  I said nothing. The question was rhetorical, and Harry was on a roll and there was no stopping him now.

  "One man is dead because you thought you could go it alone. That could have been you, Chief Operative. Your hubris will get you killed one day."

  It was only because he cared, I told myself. Who was I kidding? This was Harry. He was just worried our fuck-ups would reflect poorly on him.

  "You didn't even let us know you were following a lead. Tactical is there for a reason, Chief Operative. Use him accordingly or you will be written up."

  I nodded my head but kept my lips pressed firmly closed. Over beside the container where the kids had been held, a couple of paramedics were tending to them; a makeshift staging point had been created to treat their more immediate injuries. And there were injuries.

  The traffickers hadn't been caring in the slightest.

  "I think it would be best if you're not involved in the questioning," Harry went on. "Clearly, you're not thinking straight, Cat, and I don't want you going off half-cocked in the interrogation room and causing me more paperwork."

  He thought he had problems with paperwork. He hadn't killed a man; fired his weapon. I knew what awaited me if I ever got back.

  "That's fine," I said because there was nothing the traffickers knew for Harry to extract. They were Ama's trash and didn't even know it.

  Harry sighed; a signal the ear-bashing was over and done with. "Harlee," he said. "Tac's got nothing." He looked at me and behind the furrowed brow and precisely trimmed ginger moustache were hunched shoulders and tired eyes filled with worry and a dash of hope.

  It wasn't that I thought I was the best at Goldie's. It was that I was. Magia for the win.

  Harry wanted me to pull a rabbit from my hat. How apropos, I thought numbly.

  "I've got a lead," I said, my voice flat and dangerously close to giving away how lost I was; how utterly bereft I was at what I had to do.

  "Do tell, agent," Harry said.

  Here goes nothing. "One of the kids knows something." I nodded toward the group of kids, but not yet singling Mikel out in case Harry stole him away before I could get my hands on him.

  Part of me wanted Harry to figure it out. The rest of me knew if he did, he'd be in danger, and Harlee would be dead.

  You can do this, Cat.

  You have to.

  "Knows something?" Harry pressed.

  "Managed to get a look out the door of the container before it was shut. Saw Harlee, I think. And maybe whoever's behind this."

  He considered this for a moment, but I knew I had him. My fingers had stopped tingling again.

  "You'll stay in touch with Tactical, of course," Harry said.

  I nodded. It was easy to lie.

  "Take Dean and Kai as backup, too."

  That was not happening, but Harry didn't need to know that.

  "I'll also need the kid," I said.

  "You can't take one of those kids."

  "It's Harlee, Harry. What choice do we have?"

  "Those kids have been through enough."

  "He wants to help and he thinks he can recognise the place, but not describe it well enough for us to find it."

  "This is a wild goose chase, Chief Operative, using a traumatised juvenile civilian. I can't get permission for that."

  "Then don't. Pretend you don't know anything. Just give me an hour with the kid. Maybe two. You can cover his absence that long, Harry."

  He stared at me. His eyes were hard and unreadable. This was the Harry Markham who used to be a good operative on his own merit. The Harry Markham who could see through the bullshit and dissect it six ways to Sunday. The Harry Markham who had received the Order of New Zealand for outstanding service to the Crown.

  "Get our girl back, Cat," he finally said. "Or don't bother coming back at all."

  He meant it. He was done with my pushing the limits. Done with me resenting my assignment to Banana House. If I didn't come back with Harlee, he'd see me disavowed. If I didn't come back and embrace the soggy bananas, he'd also see me out.

  This was Harry's line in the sand and he was risking so much to draw it.

  I nodded my head again, turned on my heel, and approached the group of kids. Some of them still cringed when they saw me. I guess I'd looked scary when I'd opened that container door. But Mikel stood up and came toward me, no fear in his eyes; just hope.

  What are you doing, Cat? I thought. This is wrong.

  "Hi, Cat," the kid said.

  "Hey, kid," I offered.

  "Mikel, silly," he scolded.

  The lump in my throat was damn near impossible to swallow past.

  "Time to go," I told him.

  "Okay," he said and reached up and grasped my hand in his. I stared down at where his tiny fingers wrapped around my larger hand and couldn't make my feet move.

  I could not have moved my feet even if the whole port was on fire.

  "Ready?" Rafe said from beside me, breaking the spell. Funny how that phrase has a different meaning now.

  I met his eyes. They were blue again. Maybe he was hiding the violet, maybe he wasn't using magia. What would I know? What he wasn't hiding were his tattoos.

  The snakes writhed and the thorny vines swayed. I touched my neck. Would I get tattoos like Ama's?

  "You have a banpiro servant?" Mikel asked in his innocent little boy's voice, bursting into the middle of my turbulent thoughts.

  "Rafe is a friend," I told him as we began to make our way out of the stacks of containers. I sent a mental 'stay away' message to Dean and Kai. It wasn't much, but I certainly placed all my will behind the words. It would do for now.

  "A banpiro friend?" Mikel said, staring at Rafe as if he were an insect to be studied.

  "A friend," I repeated.

  "Then he's my friend, too," the kid said.

  Just shoot me now, I thought. Throw me in a jail cell and toss away the key.

  Rafe looked down at our charge and said, "You should never trust a vampire, witchling."

  "My mom and dad said that, but I trust Cat, and if she trusts you, then I can too. Mom and Dad also said to follow my instincts. Instinct is magia that can't talk."

  "Usually sound advice, little one. But still," Rafe said. "I am not a vampire deserving of trust."