Wild Magic by Ann Macela Page B

going through such a horrible experience. “How old were you? Did you have other family?”
    “Twenty-two. Only my sister, Charity. She’s dead now, too.” He almost mumbled the last part.
    She was about to reach out her hand to offer more physical support, but before she could, the waiter brought their meals. When he had finished serving, Irenee looked again at Jim. His attention was totally on his steak. She wasn’t going to let him stop there, however. “Were you a regular city policeman, or more?”
    “This is really good,” he said, taking another bite.
    “Or did you go straight to the feds?”
    One side of his mouth quirked up in a half smile. “You’re going to make me talk to you, aren’t you?”
    “Hey, you’re the one who ‘wants to talk,’ remember?” She grinned and raised her eyebrows. “Talk.”
    “Okay, okay. I always wanted to be in law enforcement. Majored in criminal justice in college. Worked on my Spanish, too. After I graduated, and my parents were killed, I went into the San Diego department. After Charity died, I joined the Drug Enforcement Administration, and I’ve been with the DEA since then.”
    “Now you’re after Finster and Ubell.”
    He sighed. “Yeah, I thought we had the case sewed up with the info from the flash drives, but you people are changing my mind.” He waved his fork at her. “How about you? How’d you get into planning events? I’d have thought you’d be like those two who showed up at your office. The Blakes?”
    “Oh, please, don’t remind me,” she said with a shiver of repugnance. “Tiffany’s getting married, and they wanted me to manage her wedding. No way. In the first place, I don’t do weddings, and in the second, I wouldn’t run hers, no matter whose daughter she is. It would be a fast trip to either insanity or homicide. No, I run charitable and corporate events, period. My talents for organizing and detail came to me early—I guess I’ve always had them. My brother always teased me about how tidy my room was. Of course, he lived in a pigpen.”
    Jim laughed, and his golden-green eyes twinkled. He looked so darned wonderful Irenee suddenly wanted to throw herself into his arms. She was barely holding onto the chair arms as it was. His expression abruptly sobered, and he stared right back at her.
    Only the waiter’s return to remove their dinner plates broke the impasse. She rearranged her napkin, took a sip of water, and pretended nothing had happened. Jim didn’t say anything and only looked off into space—although he seemed as baffled as she was.
    Jim’s eyes grew round when he saw their desserts—large pieces of fudge cake with raspberry sauce. “This is your ‘usual’? Where do you put it all?”
    “Casting spells uses energy. It has to come from somewhere, and since we don’t have a god to give it to us or a long extension cord to a power plant, it’s our body’s internal caloric energy. The higher the spell level, the more often you cast, the more energy you use. If you don’t replenish yourself, you’ll lose weight. The only fat practitioners you’ll see are usually pretty old and not casting much. I’ve been casting a lot of spells lately” She took a bite. “Hmmmm. It’s warm, too.”
    His eyes zeroed in on her lips when she licked them. His gaze had a tactile quality, and she wondered how it would be if he touched her mouth—or kissed her. She blinked and came back from her reverie. Where was she going with these crazy notions? Where were they coming from?
    He seemed to be caught up in the same sort of problem—she wasn’t alone in these long eye-locks. To see what he’d do, she savored every bite of her cake, making sure she licked all the fudgy goodness from her fork.
    On her third lick, he groaned and applied himself to his own dessert. She stifled a giggle. When he finished, he studied the other diners, but she could tell he was watching her out of the corner of his eye.
    When she put her fork down