Evil Ways by Justin Gustainis Page A

those occasions when I so choose." The smile became a grin. "I just don't bloody well choose to," he said. "Irritates the pompous bastards of academe no end, that does."
    When the drinks came, John raised his glass with curiously delicate, nicotine-stained fingers. "Here's to luck, mate," he said solemnly. "'Cause you're gonna bloody well need some."

    Sandra Jenkins was in a pissy mood as she opened the door to her apartment. She'd started her damn period, and had a pounding headache, besides. And when she'd dropped her car off at the garage on the way to work this morning, the idiot behind the service counter had assured her that the cracked wheel bearing that had been causing so much trouble would be fixed by 4:30pm, with the oil and filter changed, to boot. After work, she'd cadged a ride to the garage with one of her co-workers, who'd offered to wait while Sandy made sure that her car was ready.
    "No, it's fine, you go ahead," Sandy had told the woman. "They've had it all day, and they promised me it would be all set. Thanks for the lift!"
    And of course Mister "It'll-be-ready-today-I-promise-lady" had said, with no trace of embarrassment or contrition, that the replacement wheel bearing had turned out, mirabile dictu, to be neither in stock nor available locally, but would almost certainly arrive tomorrow in plenty of time to be installed by the end of the workday. Probably.
    Sandy had been trained, patiently and well, never to lose her temper. For a woman adept in witchcraft, even of the benevolent variety, maintaining emotional control was essential, lest something both unfortunate and embarrassing take place. As she'd called for a cab, Sandy had found herself wishing that there was a spell that could induce machinery to fix itself. She'd have to bring it up at the next meeting of the Circle, to see if her Sisters had any ideas.
    But some clouds actually do have silver linings. The increased adrenaline flow that accompanied her bad mood had made Sandy's reactions just a hair faster than they might otherwise have been. So when she walked into her apartment and saw the man rising from his seat on her sofa, a man she had never seen before and had certainly never invited inside, her response was a tad quicker then it would normally be. She was moving even before the man behind her, who had been hidden by the open door, snaked his arm around her throat.
    As a kid, Sandy had been enamored of a short-lived TV series entitled, improbably, T.H.E. Cat. The titular character, a former cat burglar turned professional bodyguard, used to wear a dirk concealed up his sleeve. When he was threatened, moving his arm a certain way would cause the weapon to drop into his hand, usually ruining some bad guy's day.
    All of that had long been forgotten, until Sandy had come upon a re-run of the show on TV Land a couple of months ago. Although she did not find T. Hewitt Edward Cat quite as cool as she'd remembered (and the plot, truth be told, seemed pretty lame), she still thought the trick with the knife was a good one. She'd wondered if it could be duplicated with a magic wand.
    It could. With a slim, pressure-sensitive sheath worn on her right forearm, Sandy was able, by flexing some muscles just the right way, to cause the wand to fall free and into her hand. True, she had dropped it the first twenty or thirty times she'd tried, but had eventually become quite proficient. All she had lacked was somebody to impress with her new skill.
    Until now.
    In the instant she had seen the intruder, Sandy had known he was an enemy. And if he had been skilled enough to get past the wards protecting her home, he was dangerous. The magically charged wand was dropping into Sandy's hand, even as the other man tightened his grip around her neck.
    You can't work a spell if you can't speak, but Sandy was able to gain a few seconds' grace by the distinctly non-magical technique of stomping on the attacker's instep with the heel of her right shoe. The man