Magic Slays kd-5 Page 12

Ghastek mulled it over for a second and nodded. “Ah. That explains it.”

  The vampires continued their crafting marathon. “Why knitting?”

  “It’s intricate. I could’ve had them thread beads or set up dominoes. It’s an exercise.”

  Fainting had rattled him. He was trying to reassure himself that he still had it all under control. Maybe I could put in a request for a pair of handmade socks.

  “How is Emily?”

  Ghastek’s stare gained an icy edge. “Her leg had to be amputated. She will have the best prosthetics we can provide. The city owes her a debt. I intend to pursue this matter with all the resources at my disposal.”

  Technically the law was on the PAD’s side. When faced with a loose bloodsucker, they were obligated to do everything within their power to wipe it off the face of the planet, no matter the casualties. But the People wouldn’t forget it. They held grudges forever, and then some.

  I reached into my pocket. “I’ve brought you an invoice for the capture of the vampire.”

  Ghastek sighed. “Of course.”

  The vampire on the right scuttled over, took the paper from my hand, and delivered it to Ghastek. He scanned it. His eyes widened. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a leather wallet, extracted a dollar, and passed it to the vamp. The undead brought it to me and I placed it into the folder. “Paid in full. Would you like a receipt?”

  “Please.”

  A receipt for a dollar. Why didn’t that surprise me? I wrote out the receipt, leaned over, and handed it to him. “When you called me Wednesday morning, how did you do it?”

  “I wasted a few valuable seconds at a pay phone.”

  That was what I thought. “I did some thinking.”

  “That is a very dangerous pastime,” Ghastek said.

  He’d made a joke. Surely the apocalypse wasn’t far behind. “The vampire was loose. You had no way of knowing it would run toward my office. Loose vampires are attracted to blood. In the absence of blood they tend to blunder about aimlessly. However, vampires have scent glands near the base of their digits. They mark the ground as they run. The scent is very weak, but when a vampire follows the same route over and over, they create a tangible scent trail.”

  Ghastek nodded. “That’s one of the reasons we prefer to run them along the rooftops.”

  “That and it makes killing people easier by leaping on your unsuspecting victims from above.”

  “Indeed.”

  “A loose vampire will naturally follow a vampiric scent trail if it stumbles on it, because there might be food on the other end.” I took a map out of my folder and pointed to the red line veering its way through the streets. “This is a section of your patrol line. At least three vampires pass along this route every day. I’d say this is as strong a scent trail as you could get. Was the journeywoman patrolling that route when she fainted and dropped the vampire?”

  “Correct.” Ghastek was watching me with acute interest. “Since the vampire was already following the scent trail, I felt it was unlikely she would deviate from its course. Your office sits right under our outer patrol line. The building itself is in the Pack territory, but the parking lot is in ours. I’m sure it was by design.”

  It was. The location of my office had put me into a perfect position to watch the border with the People. Curran and I had discussed it at some length. That was part of the reason why my door could withstand concentrated bombardment from a tank. In case the shapeshifters got in trouble in their midnight adventures in vampire land, they could hightail it to my office and hide behind my sturdy door.

  “It was a smart move on the Pack’s part,” Ghastek said. “The cooperation agreement forbids any fortified Pack or People structures within one mile of the border, but it doesn’t forbid a business licensed by either party.”

  “And I’m sure you license several businesses near the border.”

  “It wouldn’t be in my best interests to confirm or deny.” Ghastek permitted himself a small half smile.

  Here came the hard part. I had to say enough to hold his interest but not too much to betray the Red Guard’s confidentiality. “I’m working a case in Sibley. During my investigation, I encountered a ward that disappeared.”

  Ghastek leaned forward. “What do you mean, disappeared?”

  “It vanished, as if it’d never been there.” I turned the map and pointed to Johnson Ferry. “This bridge is one of the two primary ways out of Sibley and into the city. Yesterday the wards guarding the Bridge Troll also disappeared.” I trailed Johnson Ferry until it crossed the red line of the vampire patrol. “I’m guessing this is the point where your girl dropped the vampire.”

  Ghastek said nothing.

  “Something passed this way out of Sibley, over the bridge, and along this street. Something that ate the wards and tainted your vampire. Your own journeywomen told me that they couldn’t grab its mind. I think that it took all of your power to hold it.” That was why he made it curtsy and put on a show. It was a huge, shocking bluff.

  Ghastek laughed softly.

  “The thing that ate the ward left Sibley on a cart or a car, and your girl probably saw it just before she fainted. I need to know what that vehicle looked like.”

  Ghastek considered it. “I’ll think about it.”

  I’d saved his life. Apparently it wasn’t worth a tiny crumb of information. Thrashing Ghastek in his own office was out of the question. First, he had two vampires with him, and second, I would cause an interfaction incident. I rose. “Do that.”

  I was almost to the door, when he spoke. “Kate?”

  “Yes?”

  “I liked you better as a merc.”

  “I did, too.” I could kick people and say what I actually thought without causing a diplomatic disaster. “But we all have to grow up sometime.”

  WHEN OUR TWO-JEEP PARADE ARRIVED AT THE office, Andrea was already there. I knew this because there was a new pile of steaming dog puke three feet outside our side door.

  The two teenage shapeshifters pondered the puke.

  I pointed to the spot in front of the door. “Ascanio, stand right here.”

  He moved to the spot. “Why?”

  I stepped to the side and opened the door. One hundred pounds of Grendel caught in intense canine joy burst through the door. The attack poodle launched himself into the air. Ascanio grabbed him and clamped Grendel tight.

  Good reaction time.

  Ascanio stared at the poodle. “What is this?”

  “A faithful canine companion.”

  “He stinks like a sewer.”

  The mutant poodle squirmed and licked Ascanio’s chin.

  “Ugh. What do I do with him?”

  “Bring him inside.”

  I stepped into the office. Behind me Derek said, “I’d sterilize my face if I were you.”

  “Mind your own business, wolf.”

  The office smelled like coffee. Inside, Andrea raised her head from a small laptop sitting on top of paperwork spread on her desk. “What took you so long?”

  “Good morning to you too, sunshine.” I dropped my bag by my chair.

  Andrea tossed an envelope at me. I glanced at it. The Order’s shield logo marked the top left corner. Uh-oh.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s Shane,” she growled. “He wants me to ‘cease my efforts’ to get my weapons, because they are currently being used to apprehend real criminals.”

  Ha, I thought it was something dire. “He’s just jerking your chain. If you want, I’ll get Barabas to draw up a letter with his lawyer credentials on it. We’ll send it to the Order and you’ll get your weapons back. Shane can’t hold your property.”

  “I know that. I’m still pissed off. It’s your duty as my best friend to be outraged with me.”

  “I’m outraged!” I snarled. “That bastard!”

  “Thank you,” Andrea said.

  Ascanio cleared his throat. “Consort? May I put him down now?”

  I turne
d. He was still holding Grendel, who seemed to be enjoying it, judging by the way he kept licking Ascanio’s shoulder. Behind him, Derek was trying to choke off a laugh.

  “Yes.”

  Ascanio set Grendel on the floor.

  Andrea peered at Derek. “What are you doing here?”

  “I hired him,” I told her.

  Andrea’s blond eyebrows crawled up a fraction of an inch. “And him?”

  “Him, too.”

  Andrea pointed at Ascanio with her pen. “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “He can’t work here. He’s too young.”

  I shrugged. “The legal age for employment is fourteen.”

  “Yes, with the exception of hazardous jobs.”

  “He will be an office helper. How is that hazardous?”

  “Kate! Would you like to go outside and look at the bullet holes in the pavement?”

  “He isn’t a full-time employee. He’s an intern.”

  Andrea looked at me for a long moment. “I don’t think you understand this whole business thing. Clients produce money. Employees cost money. We want fewer employees and more clients, not the other way around. We don’t need teenage bouda sex fiends as interns.”

  “How do you know he is a sex fiend?”

  Andrea looked at me like I was mentally challenged. “He is fifteen and he is a bouda. Hello?”

  Good point. I nodded to the boy wonder and the sex fiend. “Pull up some chairs.”

  When I came back from the kitchen with a carafe of coffee and four mugs to pour it into, everyone had gathered around Andrea’s desk.

  I opened the file with the case and ran through it. By the time I finished, Derek was frowning. A crazy glow lit up Ascanio’s eyes. “Do you think people will try to kill us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cool.”

  Cool. Right. “There is a freezer in the back room with de Harven’s body in it. Go and examine it. Look at his face and memorize the scents. After you do that, walk through the office so you know the layout.”

  They took off.

  “What’s eating you?” Andrea asked.

  “I had a fight with Curran.”

  “What about?”

  “He’s managing me.”

  Andrea raised her eyebrows.

  “He maneuvers events, taking away my choices until there is only one possible solution to a problem. It pisses me off.”

  “That’s what alphas do.” Andrea grimaced. “I got a note from Aunt B last night.”

  Warning, warning, spiked traps ahead. “And?”

  “She wants to meet. For a ‘nice chat.’”

  I knew exactly what this chat would be about. Andrea was a shapeshifter, and no shapeshifter could exist within Atlanta without becoming a member of the Pack’s furry horde. Before, Andrea was a member of the Order, and the boudas kept her secret. Now she was unattached. Andrea would have to make a choice: enter the Pack and become one of Aunt B’s boudas or move. After her childhood, Andrea would rather cut her arm off than become a bouda.

  “I’m not going,” Andrea said suddenly.

  Aunt B wouldn’t just let it go. Of all the alphas in the Pack, two gave me pause: Mahon, the Pack’s executioner and the head of Clan Heavy, and Aunt B. Screwing with Aunt B was like sticking your hands into a meat grinder. She was all sweetness and cookies, and then giant claws came out and people’s guts ended up as garlands on the chandelier.

  “It’s a courtesy,” I told her. “She’s letting you come to her on your terms. You blow her off too many times, and she’ll have you brought to her.”

  “I know.” Andrea locked her teeth. Right. No intelligent life there. Arguing about it would just make things worse.

  The two shapeshifters trotted back and took their seats at the table.

  I explained about Chernobog, Adam’s last name, and the fact that he likely had ties to a Russian community.

  Andrea frowned. “A sacrifice gives the priest a magic boost.”

  I nodded. “It only lasts a couple seconds, but yes.”

  “Could he grab Adam and his doohickey, and teleport out?”

  Now there was a thought. “If he was a really, really powerful volhv, probably. But why would the volhvs need Adam?”

  “I don’t get it,” Derek said. “Why can’t we just go to talk to them directly?”

  “When I was a merc, I took a job to guard a man. He had stolen something from the volhvs, and I kept them from killing him. They won’t talk to me or anyone associated with me.” I paused to make sure I had their attention. “Volhvs throw around heavy-duty magic. Once we start asking questions, they will be on us like white on rice. We need a security protocol in place.”

  I looked at Derek. Start earning your keep, boy wonder.

  He pushed away from the edge of the desk. “From this point on, we’re on high alert. We leave together, we arrive together. This office is a small fortress.” Derek pointed at the door and looked at Ascanio. “While in the office, that door stays locked. The back door is reinforced with a metal grate. That door stays locked and barred at all times as well. We do not open the doors unless we know the person on the other side and they smell right. If you have to leave, let someone know where you’re going and when you will be back, unless it’s an emergency.”

  The phone rang. I picked it up.

  “Kate?” Ksenia’s voice said. “Evdokia says meet her at John White Park. I’d run, not walk, if I were you.”

  “Thanks.” I hung up. “I have an audience with the witches.”

  “We divide and conquer.” Andrea rose. “Derek, you and I need to dig into de Harven’s background. His house, his neighbors, history, everything we can get.”

  “What about me?” Ascanio asked.

  “You hold the fort,” I told him.

  “But . . .”

  “This is the point where you say, ‘Yes, Alpha,’ ” Derek said.

  Ascanio shot him a look that was pure murder. “Yes, Alpha.”

  This wasn’t going to end well, I just knew it.

  CHAPTER 9

  IN ANOTHER LIFETIME, JOHN WHITE PARK HAD housed a golf course flanked by a nice middle-class neighborhood of brick houses and arbitrarily curving streets. The houses still survived, but the park had gone to hell some time ago. Dense underbrush flanked the crumbling asphalt road, and past it tall ashes and poplars reached their way to the sky, vying for space with mast-straight pines.

  The pre-Shift maps put the park at around forty acres. The recent Pack map, which was the envy of every law enforcement official in the area and of which I was now a proud owner due to being the “Consort,” put it closer to ninety. The trees had eaten a chunk of the subdivision south of Beecher Street and chomped their way through Greenwood Cemetery.

  Ninety acres of dense woods was a lot of ground to cover.

  I turned the corner. A large duck sat in the middle of the street. To the left of the duck, a deep ditch took up half of the road. No way through.

  The magic was up and my Jeep made enough noise to give a thunder god a complex. You’d think the stupid bird would move. I honked the horn. The duck stared at me, ruffling its brown feathers.

  Honk-honk. Hoooonk!

  Nothing.

  “Move, you silly bird.”

  The duck remained unimpressed. I should get out more. This mated life made me too soft. I couldn’t even scare a duck off the road.

  I got out of the Jeep and walked over to the duck. “Scoot!”

  The bird gave me an evil stare.

  I nudged her gently with my boot. The duck rose and flopped on my foot. The bill pinched my jeans and the bird tried to pull me to the left. One of us was nuts and it wasn’t me.

  “This isn’t funny.”

  The bird turned left and let out a single loud quack.

  “What is it? Did Timmy fall down a well?”

  “Quack!”

  I took a few steps forward and saw a narrow gap in the wall of green. A path, diving
deep into the park. I peered at the forest. It didn’t give off an “I’ll kill you with my trees” vibe the way Sibley did, but it didn’t look welcoming either.

  The underbrush was too dense for a duck flight. Hard terrain to cross on foot, especially if you have to waddle.

  “How am I supposed to follow you in there, you demented bird? You can’t fly through that wood. Unless you’re planning on dropping ten pounds . . .”

  The duck shivered. Feathers crawled, sinking back into flesh, folding on themselves. My stomach lurched. Dense fuzz sprouted as the duck’s body flowed, reshaping itself. The blob that used to be duck stretched one last time and snapped into a small brown bunny.

  I closed my mouth with a click.

  The bunny swiped some nonexistent dust from his nose with both paws and hopped down the path.

  I went back to the Jeep, shut off the engine, and chased the duck-rabbit down the path into the dense thicket of the John White woods.

  THE FOREST TEEMED WITH LIFE. TINY SQUIRRELS dashed up and down the trees. A ruffed grouse shot from the forest floor. Somewhere to the left a feral pig grunted. Three deer watched me pick my way down the path from a safe distance. I sank into the quiet measured gait I used when walking through the woods: quiet and deceptively unhurried. The little rabbit fell in step and scampered down by my side.

  A bowstring snapped. I jerked to the side and jumped behind an oak. The rabbit crouched by my feet, shivering.

  I leaned out just enough to see. An arrow sprouted from the ground where my foot had been a second ago. The angle was high. I looked up. Across the path, a man crouched in an old tree, poised in a spot where the trunk split into two massive branches. Young, mid- to late twenties. Tattered jeans stained with brown and green, plain brown T-shirt. Looked like Army issue. Hair cut short. The branches obscured his face and most of his chest. No place to sink a throwing knife.

  When unsure of the stranger’s intentions, the best policy is to open a meaningful dialogue. “Hey, dickhead! Who taught you to shoot, Louis Braille? That arrow missed me by a mile.”

  “I was aiming at the rabbit, you stupid bitch.”

  “You missed.” If I pissed him off enough, he might move to get a better shot at me. My throwing knives couldn’t wait to say hello.