Charlotte, Cepeda's prim administrator (no one has secretaries anymore), showed Heather into the office. Heather demurely crossed her ankles at first, but her quick read of Dominic Cepeda told her to flash a bit more leg. He noticed.
       "Ahem, Ms. Selenis, here's our problem. Cannacorp uses thoroughbred seeds with carefully monitored hothouse conditions, all-natural fertilizer, tested water quality, and controlled humidity. Clippings from the plants measured off the high end for THC content and aroma. But once we harvested and dried the marijuana, the mojo disappeared."
       "Disappeared?"
       "The entire crop is as intoxicating as shredded asparagus. There was no kick at all, no THC content. Six months of work shot, and there's no guarantee the next batch will be any better." Dominic scowled. "It's got to be a curse. We need to find the bastard who did this and force him to reverse it. I don't much care what methods are used. But we want good product and the curser's balls." He was sweating, and the room was cool.
       "Well, that's just awful, Dominic. May I call you Dominic?"
       "Sure."
       Heather was using the breathless voice that worked on about three-quarters of the men she met. "It sure sounds like a curse, and curses are often used by people who hate the victim." Heather looked directly at him, her eyes slightly wider than normal, her lips pursed in a gentle smile, and her brow furrowed in apparent concern. "You're very intelligent; I'm guessing you've already put together a list of people who want to harm you." The industry code prohibited casting a spell to obtain business, but nothing prevented her from being coy.
       Dominic stared at her legs again. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Heather. I'm not going to provide too many specifics until I've settled on a Hexographic consultant. I'll be interviewing one or two others before I settle on a company."
       "Of course. You sell a premium product, Domenic. Toledo Torpor is known to dopers worldwide as a premium product. My cures have a similar reputation, and if you like what I can provide, don't be swayed by a bid that's a few dollars cheaper. I'm so sure of providing a better solution that I'll offer an expenses-plus contract. If you're not happy with my solution, just pay my day-to-day expenses, and I'll reverse the spell."
       Dominic's smile hardened. "Please don't be too cute, Ms. Selenis. We both know that witches always build a back door into their spell that reverses the cure if they're screwed in the deal. Please send me your detailed proposal by next week, and I'll let you know our decision soon thereafter."
       Heather stood up and reached across the desk to shake Domenic's hand, leaning forward just enough so that her peasant blouse sagged. His head lifted as the blouse drooped. "I hope I can call you once or twice for clarifications, Dominic?"
       "Of course, Heather."
       As she was exiting the building, Heather keyed up her cell phone. "Jeanie? The old letch is only about half sold. Have you found out who we're competing against? Oh shit, him. So, no rigged bids. That's all right; we've beaten him before. Just see if we've got any recent dirt on him." Then she bumped into Trevor.

       Trevor Campbell was having a bad day. Worse even than being audited by the IRS last month. They didn't seem to believe that magic was a legitimate profession unless it involved bunnies and top hats.
       "Corporate magic? Give me a break," were the first words out of the auditor's mouth. And it had all gone downhill from there.
       "Okay. Let me get this straight," he said to the woman in front of him. He ran a hand over the thick mat of hair on his head. "You've already been hired, even though I just spoke on the phone to Mr. Cepeda ten minutes ago confirming my appointment?" Lying bitch, he thought, his green eyes half-lidded. The unusual combination of emerald eyes and dark skin normally made the ladies attentive, but he couldn't seem to blip Heather's radar.
       Heather Selenis had screwed him out of five very lucrative contracts this past year. Not enough to kill his business, but enough to hurt. She did what she was doing now--tossed her red hair over her shoulder, looked at him through her lowered lashes, and traced a finger across her bare collarbone--and he was usually out on his ass faster than you could say, "Tease."
       Since she was offering, he looked. From eyebrows to stiletto pumps, she had curves to make a snake jealous. Of course, she had the venomous personality to match. He knew that she wasn't really planning on following through with what her body language was offering,
       "Look, sweetheart," he said. She thought her slutty behavior would get her what she wanted, but he wasn't going to get fooled by it. Again, at least. "You step aside and let me through, or I'll make sure you regret it."
       "Is that so?" she purred.
       He reached out and put his hands on her upper arms, the dark color of his skin emphasizing her paleness. When her eyes widened, and her mouth opened to protest, he picked her up and pivoted her away from the door, placing her down behind him. Then, without another word, he yanked open the door and stomped inside.
       As he'd guessed, Cepeda hadn't hired anyone. But the first words out of the little shit's mouth when Trevor walked in were, "You're late."
       "Witch at the door delayed me," he growled. He slouched down in the chair across from Cepeda's desk. "Red hair, legs for miles?"
       The other man got slightly cross-eyed at the thought. Trevor didn't blame him.
       "Ms. Selenis," said Cepeda. "She offered a very competitive package to help me with my problem."
       "I bet she did." Trevor leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him. "Why hire a witch when a warlock's available? I'm the best you'll find. No offense, but you don't want to dabble in little-girl magic. Maybe if you needed her to remove a wart. But when it comes to your business…" He shrugged, palms up. "Aside from the eye candy, would you trust her to fix things? I mean, honestly?"
       Cepeda leaned back in his chair and eyed Trevor. "Tell you what. I'll make you a deal."
       Trevor smiled. Things were starting to look up.
       Cepeda's next words didn't initially register. "I'll hire both of you on a conditional basis. Basic expenses are covered for two weeks, no more. The first one to fix the problem in that time is the one to get paid the bonus of..." He wrote something down on a piece of paper and pushed it across his desk. Trevor picked it up and raised his eyebrows at the number. "Neither one of you solves my problem? Well, I'll find someone else. This city is lousy with witches."
       Trevor dropped his chin and scowled. "Are you kidding me? I'm not working with that... that...."
       "I didn't say work with, Mr. Campbell." Cepeda drummed his fingers against his thigh. "I need my problem solved fast. I have delayed shipments and angry customers. What I need is some--ahem--friendly competition."
       Trevor stood up and held out his hand to shake Cepeda's. "Thank you, Dominic. You're going to get it. You'll get competition in spades."
       He heard a soft laugh behind him. He hadn't shut the office door behind him when he came in, and he guessed she had heard the whole thing.
       "May the best woman win," Heather said mockingly.

       Heather had other appointments today. Her first stop was Sophia's Herbal Emporium. "Hello, Sophia."
       Sophia, all eighty-five pounds of her, was trying to stir two cauldrons at once while adding ingredients.
       "Let me give you a hand." Heather set down her purse and grabbed a wormwood paddle that rested inside one of the pots.
       "Thanks. Don't touch that stuff--it's corrosive. So, what's the job?"
       "Little dick Trevor and I are competing for a job. Our minimum costs are covered, but the first one to remove the curse gets a bonus."
       "What kind of curse is it?
       "The client's weed goes bad after drying."
       "Oh. What would you need me to do?"
       "Review of the customer's tests, plus your own exam of the green and dried plants. I'm looking for two things--how it was done and who did it."
       "The 'who' part is harder."
       "I know, but hopefully, he or she left a magical signature on the spell."
       "Okay, but I want to be there when Trevor loses the business."
       Heather's expression was sympathetic. Sophia continued without prompting. "I was miserable when he left. He made me feel that it was my fault. And he took off with my best spell book."
       Heather said her goodbyes, and her next stop was Amber's Psychic Parlor. Amber was incredibly popular, and Heather had made an appointment.
       "Hello, Heather, sit down. Tea?" Amber was dressed in gypsy finery that she bought at Goodwill.
       "Thanks. I hear you're coining money. Why haven't you upgraded your dinky little storefront parlor?"
       Amber laughed. "I bought this building twenty years ago, but my customers like it if I seem to be poor and seedy. Makes the reading more gypsy-like. What's the con?"
       "No con this time. Getting past and future readings for a client, so I can find out who cursed him. He's given me a hair sample you can use."
       "By Hecate, I haven't done a real reading in months. But if the money's right, I can put myself through it."
       "The money's wrong--union scale. But the competition is Trevor."
       "That's bad; he's good. Any chance of getting paid more?"
       "If we reverse the curse."
       "What's the curse?"
       "Spoiling a marijuana crop by removing the intoxicants."
       Amber poured the tea. "Okay, I'm in."

       Trevor would never admit his magical source to anyone, but he picked up his phone as soon as he got to his apartment.
       She answered on the second ring. "Sawubona," his mother said in Zulu.
       "Ninjani?" he greeted her.
       "Mntanami! "She switched languages easily, but her voice still carried the heavy accent of home. "You never call on a Monday. What is wrong?"
       He sighed. His mother was a sangoma, a Zulu diviner, and had taught him half of what he knew about magic. His grandfather, his mother's father, was an inyanga, often wrongly translated as a "witch doctor." He had taught Trevor the rest. It was unusual for someone to practice both forms of magic, but Trevor had never let the unusual hold him back. "I need help, Mama," he said.
       "Nxe! What is wrong now?"
       "Nothing is wrong, but I am competing against a talented witch. I am not as good with the dream magic as you."
       His mother sighed. "It is true. Very well. Tell me the problem."
       He told her, and she agreed to help, as she always did. "I will call you in the morning after I dream and ask the ancestors. This other witch, be careful. I do not like the signs."
       "Okay, Mama. Sala kahle."
       "Uhambe kahle."
       He hung up. Next, he needed to find out what was wrong with the plant. He'd asked for a small sample from Cepeda, both of the living crop and the dried. Trevor placed them on his dining room table, the green leaves on one side and the desiccated product on the other. He took out a plain linen bag about the size of a paperback book and poured the contents into his palm. He put his other hand over the first and murmured a prayer in Zulu. Then he cast the bones onto the table's surface.
       "Bones" was a bit of a misnomer, as they were shells, coins, nuts, and other sacred items mixed together, in addition to lengths of ivory and vertebrae from special animals. He peered over them, circled the table, and looked at the items from each angle.
       On the side nearest the living plant, the bones were innocuous. The plant was free of taint. Near the dried marijuana, though, the bones told a different story.
       It was a powerful curse. And the magic had been done by a strong witch, a woman.
       "Young," Trevor said aloud. His mind flashed to a particular redhead, but the bones were telling him something else. Was the young woman connected to the company in some way? Or perhaps connected to Cepeda? Trevor's hand hovered over a cowrie shell. Yes, a personal connection to Cepeda. A...lover?
       Trevor scowled at the bones. This type of magic was often vague. Asking the ancestors in a dream was much better, but they tended to talk more to his mother than to him. He supposed it was her age, that they felt closer to her. He was the young upstart, the non-traditionalist.
       On a whim, he picked up the shells again. This time, he focused his mind on his competition. He whispered, "Heather Selenis," before he threw.
       Here the signs were much clearer. Like him, she had enlisted help. He recognized the symbols.
       "Shit," he said. Sophia--the witch who had expected a marriage proposal after a couple of dates and had acted batshit crazy when he dumped her. And Amber, Sophia's best friend, who disliked him on principle. "This keeps on getting better and better," he groaned.
       Okay, he could deal with this. He opened his sideboard again, this time to get out his muti, his medicine, and his mixing bowls. He could make up a quick potion to deal with Heather's allies. Their magic was weaker than his, so his spell would work quickly to keep them away. The only problem was Heather, who was a magical match for him. None of his simple muti would work on her. He had to figure out another way to beat her.

       Heather crouched naked on a floor of cemetery dirt. Now, it was time to put her own talents to work. Trevor would be running his jungle juju at full tilt, and she needed to stay ahead of him.
       She removed a small obsidian knife from its skin sheath and pricked her left index fingertip. She held the dripping blood over a small charcoal brazier and listened to the hissing spatter as the drops hit live coals. The charcoal was made from fig trees cursed by a witch, in imitation of the fig tree cursed by Jesus. The fruity aroma was clotted with the smell of her blood.
       Heather waved her hands above the brazier, wafting the acrid smoke into her lungs. Unleashed thoughts began crawling through her mind. There had been no demand for ransom, so Cepeda's curse was one of vindictiveness rather than greed. But what if it had not been vengeance but theft? Perhaps another magus used the intoxicating essence in other magic?
       Her thoughts became random and inchoate as she let herself go adrift. Insane possibilities surged into her and ebbed back out. But nothing washed ashore and stayed with her. She needed to recontact the letch.
       Heather speed dialed. "Dominic? It's Heather Selenis. I need to see you again. I have an idea that might help. Would you be available this afternoon around four? Great. See you then."
       Okay, time to make herself sexy but not slutty. Something Diane von Furstenberg-y. Ah, perfect. Tight, thin wrap-around dress mid-thigh length. Puce for the fat puke.
       Heather Ubered her way over to the Cannacorp office. Charlotte buzzed her in, and Heather noticed a dope smoker's manual open on Charlotte's desk. "Are you involved in the business, Charlotte?"
       "Oh, no. But I like to know the terms so I can proofread the reports. He's waiting for you."
       Heather primed her breathless, throaty voice, and swayed into the office. "Hello, Dominic."
       "Hello, Miss, ah, Heather. Have you found out anything?"
       "Not yet. But I think we have a way to find out a great deal."
       "What is it?"
       "Hypnotism. Of you."
       "No way. Besides, doesn't that violate the witchery code?"
       "Not at all. Hypnotism isn't magic; it's science of a sort. I'll be able to resurrect your memories of the past few weeks, casual visitors who might have placed the curse after you let them in, someone you shared drinks with--we can learn a great deal in less than an hour."
       "I'm not letting you into my head."
       "Dominic, I'm bonded. I'm assuming you're recording conversations in your office. You have my word for the record that I will not ask you anything about your personal life or your private business affairs, and I'll also put that in writing for you. But if we don't do this, important information could remain lost."
       "An hour?"
       "Yes."
       "All right, let's do it."
       Heather lifted a gold pendant and chain from around her neck and held it up. She began slowly swaying the pendant, almost imperceptibly swaying her torso as well. He went under in less than a minute.
       She held to her breathless tone, knowing that Cepeda would check the recording later, and began asking questions. Fifty minutes later, she moved behind his desk and leaned over his chair, whispering in his ear softly enough that the microphones wouldn't pick up what she said.
       "Dominic, you will remember what you've told me but will not reveal this conversation to anyone else. You will not let yourself be hypnotized by anyone else. Nod if you understand."
       When he nodded, she continued to whisper. "Excellent. Now, I want you to see us standing very close together here behind your desk. You're excited by my closeness, by my breath on your cheek. You desire me."
       Dominic began breathing heavily and trembling. Keeping her lips near his ear, Heather whispered, "You will keep your feelings for me secret." She straightened up and woke Cepeda from his hypnotic state.
       "Jesus, did it work? Can you use the information?"
       "I think you've given me several possible leads. I'll let you know how they pan out. Thank you for your time; I'll get right to work." As Heather walked toward the office door, she smiled to herself.

       Heather was so involved in her little trick that she didn't notice Trevor leaning against the wall outside the office. He had "peeked" into the room and seen what was going on. It helped to have ancestors who were unseen by everyone except him and whose hearing had improved greatly after death.
       Heather strode out through the door, humming jauntily, but jumped when Trevor said in his most insulting tone, "You don't just use dirty tactics; you like being a dirty girl, don't you?"
       She recovered better than he would have if he'd been ambushed. The face she turned toward him was all smiles. "I don't know what you're talking about. And it's such a pleasure to see you again, Trevor."
       "I'd say the pleasure's all mine, but it was really Cepeda's." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Why don't you drop the bullshit? Oh, yeah, and you really shouldn't have enlisted my ex's help."
       Heather tossed her hair over her shoulder. "That's none of your business."
       "None of yours, either," he said. "You'll find you have some messages on your cell phone that were left for you during your 'business meeting.' Your two helpers are out of the game, and you'll find that replacements are nonexistent."
       Heather whipped her phone out of her purse and tapped at it. Brow furrowed, she glanced back up at him. "How did you--oh, never mind." She tossed her hair again as she pocketed her phone, but this time it seemed like a challenge rather than a flirtatious move. "Look, why don't we call a temporary truce? After all, if we spend all our energy fighting each other, we won't have any time left to find the actual culprit."
       Trevor narrowed his eyes at her. His reading of her gave him a feeling of sincerity, but he remembered what his mother had said. Don't trust her.
       He didn't have to trust her to lie to her. "Deal." He smiled.
       She eyed him, then drew a penknife from her pocket and flipped open the blade. Trevor held up his hands. "Whoa," he said. "I just agreed with you."
       Her smile was vicious as she pointed the blade at him. Then, with a quick flick of her wrist, she grasped the blade in her other hand and squeezed. A few drops of red trickled out of her closed fist.
       "We seal it with blood," she said. "The only way I know you won't renege on our deal."
       Trevor considered her. This meant business--blood was the only universal across all magical disciplines. A bargain sealed with blood was a bargain marked with life. Break it, and that life was taken away.
       Too deep to back out now. He rolled his eyes. "Fine." He held out his hand, let her mark him, and they pressed their palms together. Trevor could feel the sizzle of magic as their skin touched.
       Unfortunately, it was a bit arousing, too.
       "Truce between us until the culprit is found," she said, and he repeated it.
       He quickly drew back his hand from hers and sent icy thoughts down south. Throw in sex games, and he had a strong suspicion that Heather would come out on top. Literally.
       "Now what?" he asked.
       She wiped down the knife before putting it away. "We need to work together."
       "So, you can take all the credit when the culprit is found? No way," he snorted.
       "I wouldn't. Scout's honor," she said, holding up three fingers and laughing.
       "You were a boy scout? Somehow, that wouldn't surprise me," Trevor muttered. "Fine. You share what you've discovered, and I'll tell you what I have."
       "But baby," she purred. "I've already shown you mine. Now show me yours." She shimmied a little as she edged closer to him.
       He put his hands out and grabbed her shoulders. "You try and block me, and you're breaking the truce."
       She pouted but said, "I wouldn't dare." This time, he believed her. "Okay, here's what I've found out so far..."
       However, when they exchanged facts, they all led to different suspects. Several employees had been fired under bad circumstances--Heather gave him half of the list she had ferreted out of Cepeda, and she took the other. Six names total.
       When they separated in the parking lot, Trevor put the first address into his phone and followed the GPS to turn right out of the lot. But even without throwing the bones, he had the feeling these were dead ends. And after stopping at his three given addresses, he was sure of it. None had the magical skills to subvert a crop.
       As he got back into his car, his phone began ringing. He checked the readout: Heather. "What?"
       "Any luck?"
       "No, but what if we--" His phone beeped at him, and he pulled it away from his ear for one moment. A long string of numbers met his eyes. "I've got to call you back," he told Heather quickly and switched over.
       "Sawubona, Mama," he said.
       "I told you to watch out for the witch," he heard his mother's scolding voice. "And now you work with her?"
       Trevor should have known that his mother wouldn't just do as he asked her but would use this as an opportunity to spy on him. "It's necessary," he gritted out through his clenched jaw. "What did you find?"
        "The boss man knows the person who laid the curse. Be careful, my son; there is strong evil and rage."
       "Thank you, Mama."
       A skeptical snort.
       He added, "Sala kahle."
       "Uhambe kahle."
       He called Heather back. "We missed something. Cepeda knows the person who cursed him. Who's left?"
       She hesitated, and her voice was cautious when she spoke. "Okay, it's probably too trite to be true. Feel like breaking into an apartment?"
       "Your crowbar or mine?"
       The wage slaves had emptied out of the low-rise building well before Trevor and Heather arrived. Apartment 305 had a containment spell cast around the front door.
       Trevor cursed softly. "It'll set off a warning when we open it."
       "Can't be helped, sweetie. Double time it."
       There was no alarm noise when they pried open the door, but they both felt the etheric rupture like a whip crack. "We're on the clock," Trevor said. "Let's get to it."
       But the getting was only fifteen minutes along when Charlotte blazed through the doorway. Her buttoned-up blouse was half-yanked out in her rage, and she didn't bother talking, just grunted as she flung an attack spell at them. Counter-spells crackled across the room until Heather held up both her hands and waved them in the air like a ref calling a foul. "Wait!"
       Charlotte's chest heaved. "I'm not afraid of you assholes."
       "What if I told you we can all be winners?"
       The roiling air eddied. "I'm listening. Be quick." After Heather explained her idea, a slow smile crept across Charlotte's face. "Well, goddammit. I like it."
       That next morning, Heather and Trevor arrived together at Cepeda's office. With a sour look, Cepeda's head ping-ponged between the two of them. "So, you teamed up behind my back."
       Trevor nodded, taking the lead. "We've resolved your problem, Dominic. From now on, your weed will keep its potency."
       "Keep? What about my original crop?"
       Trevor shrugged. "There's no hope for the old stuff. But from now on, the new stuff you grow will have a killer buzz. We guarantee it."
       Cepeda shook his head. "Do you know how much money I lost on this?" He pointed a finger at the door. "Get out. Talk is cheap, and my dope is still going to the dump."
       Heather chimed in, "We're confident we isolated the problem. In fact, we'll wait for payment until after you process your next batch."
       "What if it's not full potency? I'll give you nothing but bad social media reps." Cepeda crossed his arms and glared at them. Trevor could see the dollar signs limping away in his thoughts, but the boss had one final question for them. "So, who did it?"
       Trevor shook his head. "We don't have that info to give you. But we did nail down the curse and the cure."
       Heather added, "And we can prevent the curse from ever returning."
       Cepeda's glance at her was greedy. "So, you say." His eyes traveled up and down her curves, and he finally seemed to realize the potential for a longer engagement with them to pay for their services. Heather restrained herself from letting her true feelings shine through in her expression as he reluctantly said, "Fine. But you get nothing until the cannabis proves out."
       Trevor glanced at Heather's neutral expression and back to Cepeda. "Lump sum payment. Meanwhile, we'll just bill you for our expenses."
       "Expenses? Maybe I don't pay."
       "Oh, you'll pay them. The agreement you signed has serious penalties for breach of contract." Trevor took one deliberate step forward and pulled a trick he seldom liked to use--his eyes began to flicker and glow like they were made of green flames. Mostly a mind trick, but...
       Cepeda yelped, then pushed back from his desk, his palms up in revulsion. "Get out! I won't renege. But don't come back until I can put Toledo Torpor back on the market." Trevor blinked, and his eyes faded back to their usual--and unglowing--leaf color.
       On their way out, Heather and Trevor stopped at Charlotte's desk. When Charlotte glanced up in inquiry, Heather leaned close to her ear to whisper, "Done. We only guaranteed the potency."
       Trevor grinned, lowering his voice and adding, "We can't help it if six months down the road, the weed has the delicate aroma of turd."
       While most of her was buttoned-up and proper, Charlotte's final smile as they walked through the door was anything but discreet.