Sinners & Sorcerers: Four Urban Fantasy Thrillers by Scott Nicholson, Robert J. Crane, Daniel Arenson, S.M. Reine, J. R. Rain Page B

the sidewalks looking for things to tag with spray-paint. Trees were swaying with the breeze, a dog barked in the distance.
    The guy who met me at the front door of the house on the corner looked like he belonged. Sweat suit, nice sneakers, crew-cut hair. His tattoos were hidden by sleeves. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to make your way here.”
    I sighed. “I didn’t want to bring this to your door, but I just…I’m out of options, man.”
    Domingo pushed open the security screen and held his arms open. I stepped into his embrace, squeezed him tight. I’m not so much of a man that I can’t hug my brother hard when I’m having a shitty week. Domingo hugged back just as fiercely.
    “You look like shit on a stick. Do I want to know why?”
    “I fought off two assassins in the desert. Kicked their asses. Pulled out all the ninja moves.” I mimicked a few karate chops, and Domingo laughed.
    “Sure you did. Couch in the den is yours as long as you want it.”
    I didn’t want Domingo’s couch at all. It was stiff and old, and Domingo’s wife wouldn’t be happy to see me on it.
    What I really wanted was his ritual space.
    Domingo and I had gotten into a lot of bad shit together as teenagers, but we’d gotten into a lot of good things, too. Like magic. Abuelita had been the one to identify that we had the old magic in the first place, taught us how to tap into it, but we’d worked together to find the limits of our abilities. Domingo still had an altar in his basement—everything a guy needed to whip up a batch of strength and energy potions.
    The house was mostly dark when he let me in. It was well after midnight, but that shouldn’t have mattered in my brother’s house. He was a night owl.
    I leaned around the end of his stairs to check the second floor. All the doors were open and the rooms were dark.
    “Sofia already in bed?” I asked.
    “She isn’t here.” A sigh. “We’re taking a little time apart. And before you say it—”
    “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
    “—she’s in love with someone else.”
    She wasn’t my wife, but the announcement still felt like a punch to the face. I sucked in a hard breath. “You know who?”
    “I don’t, and I don’t want to think about it.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. He’d always been the spitting image of our dad, except without the mustache. Now, with heartache etched on his face, he was practically Dad’s twin. “Either she’ll break it off with him or me, and I’ll deal with either when it happens. You’ve got bigger problems. Sit down, I’ll get you a beer.”
    “Shouldn’t I clean up first?” I gestured at my dusty jacket and jeans.
    “I’m not the one in the house who cares about the upholstery, dude.”
    There wasn’t anyone in the house who cared about upholstery anymore. And his home felt a hell of a lot emptier for it.
    I was the one on the run from murder charges, but I’d take my week over Domingo’s. He was nuts for Sofia—she was his moon and stars and all that romantic crap. She was the reason he’d stopped knocking over 7-Elevens for petty cash and gotten a real job. She was the reason Domingo had a nice life in the first place.
    I took the couch in the living room. It was a lot softer than the den couch.
    “Anyone come looking for me?” I asked, eyeing Sofia’s footstool and trying to decide if I wanted to risk putting my dirty shoes on it.
    “You busted out of jail. What do you think?” Domingo called over his shoulder as he went for the kitchen. “Agent Takeuchi hit up Pops first, so I got the courtesy of a warning phone call before she appeared at my doorstep.”
    I whistled. “Suzy? Really?” I knew I’d probably been given a file like Isobel’s and assigned to an agent, but I never would have thought that the OPA would assign me to my desk mate. Weird that it was the OPA visiting my family instead of the LAPD, though. “Did Pops have fun with her?”
    “He says