Conjuring Max

By CarolynCrane

**This tale (25k words) originally appeared as part of the Fire & Frost anthology**

The witches of the world ridiculed and rejected nerdy Veronica for trying to use her newfangled computer to enhance old world spellcasting. Well, it’s 1984 now, and Veronica has perfected her spellcasting computer program. And as usual, she’s all alone, with nobody to share her victory with. Probably for the best—the code is far too powerful and dangerous to let out. And hey, who needs friends when you can conjure virtually anything...or anybody?

When Veronica uses her new powers to solve a crime, she makes powerful Chicago mafia enemies. No problem: she conjures Max, a pit bull of a cop so dangerous to organized crime that they had him killed some months back. Who better to deal with the hit men who keep coming around than a cop like Max?

But tough-guy Max might be more than Veronica and her magic can handle—and he is in no mood to play lapdog to a witch.

**Note: Conjuring Max stands alone, but it also serves as the prequel to Mr. Real**

• Language: English
• Publisher: CarolynCrane
• Release date: Jun 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310092183

CarolynCrane

Carolyn Crane writes romantic suspense, urban fantasy, and other tales of adventure and romance; she’s been published by Random House, Samhain and the indie route. She lives in the American Midwest with her husband and two cats. During rare moments when she’s not at her computer, she can be found reading in bed, running, or helping animals.

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Conjuring Max

Smashwords edition

Copyright 2013 by Carolyn Crane

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this ebook, and sharing as permitted by your ebook vendor.

Cover art: Jaycee DeLorenzo, Sweet N Spicy Designs

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or business establishments, organizations or locales is completely coincidental.

Chapter One

January 12th, 1985

Malcolmsberg, Minnesota

MAX DRUMMOND SAT IN THE OLD stuffed chair, sketching the snow boots piled up by the fireplace while half watching Miami Vice.

Veronica lounged on the couch, fully watching Miami Vice. She slid the lid of her rectangular tin of lip stuff back and forth. Click, click. The clicking sped as a car chase heated up. The synthesizer music swelled. A truck slammed into a wall.

But all the crashing and music didn’t keep Max from hearing a twig snap just outside the window. The distinct two-part crunch of a human foot. He sprung up, pulled out his piece, and flicked off the TV. Hey!

Max put his finger to his lips.

Nobody’s out there. My wards are perfect, Veronica said. Turn it back on.

Someone’s out there, he said, listening for more snaps.

Oh, you just hate Miami Vice.

He did hate Miami Vice. Don Johnson wasn’t any kind of detective. Your protective wards failed, Veronica.

Veronica tilted her head, one dark brow raised over blue-shadowed eyes. She was gorgeous and brilliant and cool as hell. Bitch Queen of the Witch World, he sometimes called her, which just about summed it up. FYI, my wards don’t fail, she said simply. I’m feeling them now.

FYI. Max turned off the lights. I heard what I heard.

The moonlight reflected off the snow outside, brightening the night and sharpening Veronica’s fine features. She blinked at him once, a long blink of patient annoyance.

Veronica’s magical wards usually made the air crackle a good twenty minutes before a hit man would arrive. There had been no crackling this time. Never mind, he’d take care of whoever it was all the same.

Rich people had maids to clean their houses, cities had sweepers to clean the streets, and Veronica had him there to kill the hit men being sent after her. She could handle it herself, but she preferred to expend her energy on her computer experiments and her ogling of Don Johnson, aka Detective Sonny Crockett.

He motioned with the gun. Get over there. Hide next to the clock.

Her brows knit. I don’t hide.

Humor me, he said. You think I don’t know my business?

Fine. I’ll go work in the basement while you handle this.

You think I’m letting you waltz through that fishbowl of a kitchen right now? Wake up, Veronica. There are people out there looking to shoot you. They broke your wards without you knowing it.

She crossed her arms. I don’t see how.

Maybe they brought a witch of their own.

She sniffed her haughty little sniff. I very much doubt that. No witch would come after me.

How about two witches? How about a group of really strong ones? You telling me there’s nobody who could bring you down?

With an air of amusement she tightened the flowered scarf that separated her dark, floppy bangs from the rest of her hair. Let me think… Oh, his witch had a very high opinion of herself. It was hot as hell, but it wouldn’t do her any favors in a real fight.

You want to stay alive? he growled. Let me do my job. You think Salvo didn’t get curious about how eight of his hit men died trying to kill you? You think he hasn’t got wind of the townie tales about you by now? Figured out witches exist, and that you might be one? You got the attention of somebody very dangerous. You think he’s stupid? Then it means you’re stupid.

A slight smile played on her lips and her green eyes glinted against her porcelain skin. She liked his tough talk. The woman was addicted to cop shows—Columbo, Baretta, Hill Street Blues. He sometimes wondered if he was there partly for her entertainment.

How would a mobster know about witches?

How about you check for witches out there all the same, he said. You can check that, right?

Her bracelets jangled as she made the hand motions that told him she was doing magic. It was her power that he loved most. Not her magical power, but her inner power. She was a scrapper who’d keep her chin up through anything. She thought he didn’t know her, but he did—he knew all about her. He was in love with her.

Alarm replaced her weary expression. He’d never seen alarm on her face. It’s the Council.

What does that mean? Can you fight them?

She wasn’t listening. Salvo sent the Council? A man like that shouldn’t even know witches exist.

What is the Council? What does that mean?

Four witches, she said. The four most powerful.

In the world?

Her silence told him yes. He’d never heard of a Council before. He’d put it together that she was some sort of outcast in the witch world.

Can you defeat them?

Could you defeat the four best cops in the world, Max?

It would be a mother of a fight.

She smiled. She liked that.

Max listened for more snaps. So. You got Salvo’s attention and he’s gone with the biggest guns he could find. If I was him, hiring witches for the first time, I’d team them with my best hitter—something familiar, something new. He had wondered if this day would come.

They could kill me, Max. And we can’t let them get ahold of the computers.

I’ll keep you safe. He motioned at the grandfather clock. You’re going to stand in that shadow.

Stand in a shadow? That’s your answer?

We do this the old school way, he said.

She winced as she pushed up from the couch, puffy bangs brushing her pale forehead. She wore a baggy cardigan sweater over leggings and leg warmers. He’d figured out that she liked the way leg warmers covered her mangled leg. He always wanted to tell her she didn’t need to cover the leg, not for him.

Never for him.

As if she’d care about his opinion. He was the help, the thug of a cop who knew the Salvos better than anyone. The man who killed because killing was beneath her.

Hurry. He motioned at the clock. Keep down.

I am, she whispered, disguising her limp. She didn’t like him knowing things about her, but in the past three months, he’d learned plenty. Like the fact that her haughtiness was camouflage for desperate loneliness. And that her vast power was supposed to protect her, but it made her weak in all the ways that counted. And he knew that the way she was living was no way to live.

He nudged the curtains aside with his Glock, wondering who the hitter would be this time. He caught movement in the woods, somebody heading around back, it seemed. Moving like military. More distinctive movement some yards away. Two. Two hitters. At least. Gotta think there’s more in back. He pulled his other piece from his ankle holster.

We’ll fight them together, she said.

Can you or can you not take these four witches?

Reviews for Conjuring Max

[Alexandra Beautyman · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

DNF. Too much nonconsensual stuff presented as romantic and appealing