Nick wrinkled his nose. “I’m not that bad.”
“Who was it who watched the documentary about Monarch butterflies and ripped out all the milkweed in my yard?” I asked.
“Well, the foreign stuff is terrible for them,” Nick said. “It messes with their seasonal rhythm and changes their migration… You’re winding me up.”
I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Do as much gardening as you want. I like how you look with your dorky hat and shovel.”
“This wouldn’t be a problem if you hired a real gardener,” Nick said.
“Hey, we aren’t all rolling in money,” I said. “Plus, I enjoy leaving the yard a little wild. It helps me find the right kind of plants for my magic.”
“You mean the kind of plants that can survive no water for months and then a flood when you finally remember they need hydration?” Nick said. “Or weeds that are so hardy they can grow in the cracks in your concrete patio?”
“Hey, if I’m building a fighting team, I only take the best of the best,” I said.
Nick muttered something about the plants matching my style, but before I could argue with him, the gate for the underground garage rose. We both turned like hunting dogs who’d heard the shot of a rifle. An Acura slid out, its license plate 7CDB813.
I turned on my car, the engine choking before it caught and then I pulled out into the street to follow Damon Griffith wherever he was going. He couldn’t bring his apartment security with him everywhere, which meant, wherever he was going, we would have an in.
I followed him through the streets of San Amaro, my complete attention on making sure we were far enough back that he didn’t notice us while never losing him. Beside me, Nick had taken out his alchemy notebook and was tapping the edge on his knee. He didn’t seem to realize he was doing it, and it didn’t bug me enough to bring it up.
Damon pulled up to a storage facility a few miles away.
“Crap,” I said.
He was going to go through the gate, and we might be able to follow him, but once inside it would be very obvious we were on his tail. To my great relief, he didn’t pull inside. Instead, he pulled into a parking space and got out of his car.
We got our first good look at him, and I had to admit I was surprised. Damon Griffith didn’t look like someone who had a moving company. He dressed like a rock star on his day off: expensive shirt, expensive jeans, and shoes Nick probably had in his own closet.
He walked into the office for the facility. There wasn’t much time.
Reaching into my snack bag, I took out one of the miniature muffins that came in a package with a pink rooster on it. Then I reached into the pile of trash on the floor in the backseat and drew out an old coffee cup, the lid still on.
“Wait here,” I said.
I crossed the street and waited half a storefront down from the office where no one inside could see me and the exterior cameras didn’t cover. Damon Griffith came out, an envelope clasped in his hand, and I took a few long strides, until I was right up on top of him.
As though distracted, I ran into him, smashing the muffin against his dark gray shirt.
“Oh, man. I’m so sorry,” I said. I ineffectively rubbed at his shirt, only proceeding to get more crumbs on him.
Damon shoved me off using both hands and glaring as though I was a piece of gum on the sidewalk that had started talking.
“Get off me,” he ordered.
I held up both hands, saying, “Whoa, whoa. No problem here, mi amigo.”
He ignored me and got back in his car. With a screech, he pulled back and then close enough to the gate to enter his code. I jogged back to the car and slid inside.
“How do you feel about getting a tour?” I asked.
Four
Normally, on a case like this, I would get inside the building by some extralegal means. Pretending to be a cop worked sometimes, and other times I could convince whoever was working upfront to let me in by either slipping them a couple of twenties or using some magic on them. With Nick at my side, I wasn’t enthusiastic about trying either of those options.
So, instead, we got a tour.
“Are you sure you’re okay walking?” the employee asked, breathing heavy.
