Gunmetal Magic (kate daniels)

by Ilona Andrews

  “See?” Jim pointed to me. “Your mate is doing the same thing I’m doing. Prioritizing.”

  I would get him for this. Oh yes.

  Curran looked at Jim. “Do you need my help with the background checks?”

  A muscle in Jim’s face jerked. “No, I’ve got it.”

  Ha! He didn’t want Curran in his hair either. “Don’t worry, he’s coming with me to investigate things.”

  “In the city?” Jim asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a great idea. You both should go. To the city.”

  Curran and I looked at each other.

  “He’s trying to get rid of us,” I said.

  “You think he’s planning a coup?” Curran wondered.

  “I hope so.” I turned to Jim. “Is there any chance you’d overthrow the tyrannical Beast Lord and his psychotic Consort?”

  “Yeah, I want a vacation,” Curran said.

  Jim leaned toward us and said in a lowered voice, “You couldn’t pay me enough. This is your mess, you deal with it. I have enough on my plate.”

  He walked away.

  “Too bad,” Curran said.

  “I don’t know, I think we could convince him to seize the reins of power.”

  Curran shook his head. “Nah. He’s too smart for that.”

  We finally made it up the stairs, through the long hallway, up the second flight, and into our quarters. I dropped my bag down, shrugged out of my sword and scabbard and took a deep breath. Aahh, home.

  Generally, tackling someone from behind is very effective, because the person doesn’t know you’re coming. However, after being tackled a dozen times, the victim becomes accustomed to it. Which is why when Curran made a grab for me, I danced aside and tripped him. He grabbed my arm, then we did some rolling on the floor, and I ended up on top of him, our noses about an inch apart.

  He grinned. “You’re jealous.”

  I considered it. “No. But when you stared at that woman like she was made of diamonds, it didn’t feel very good.”

  “I stared at her because she smelled strange.”

  “Strange how?”

  “She smelled like rock dust. Very strong dry smell.” Curran put his arms around me. “I love it when you get all fussy and possessive.”

  “I never get fussy and possessive.”

  He grinned, showing his teeth. His face was practically glowing. “So you’re cool if I go over and chat her up?”

  “Sure. Are you cool if I go and chat up that sexy werewolf on the third floor?”

  He went from casual and funny to deadly serious in half a blink. “What sexy werewolf?”

  I laughed.

  Curran’s eyes focused. He was concentrating on something.

  “You’re taking a mental inventory of all the people working on the third floor, aren’t you?”

  His expression went blank. I’d hit the nail on the head.

  I slid off him and put my head on his biceps. The shaggy carpet was nice and comfortable under my back.

  “Is it Jordan?”

  “I just picked a random floor,” I told him. “You’re nuts, you know that?”

  He put his arm around me. “Look who’s talking.”

  We lay together on the carpet.

  “We can’t let the necklace kill that boy,” I said.

  “We’ll do everything we can.” He sighed. “I’m sorry about dinner.”

  “Best date ever. Well, until people died and vampires showed up. But before that it was awesome.”

  We lay there some more.

  “We should go to bed.” Curran stretched next to me. “Except the carpet is nice and soft and I’m tired.”

  “You want me to carry you?”

  He laughed. “Think you can?”

  “I don’t know. Do you want to find out?”

  It turned out that carrying him to our bed wasn’t necessary. He got there on his own power and he wasn’t nearly as tired as he’d claimed to be.

  Morning brought a call from Doolittle. When we arrived at the medward, Roderick was sitting on the cot, the same owlish expression on his face. The necklace had lost some of its yellow tint during the night. Now it looked slightly darker than orange rind.

  I crouched by the boy. “Hi.”

  Roderick looked at me with his big eyes. “Good morning.”

  His voice was weak. In my mind the necklace constricted around his fragile neck. The bone crunched…

  We had to get a move on. We had to get it off him.

  Doolittle led us toward the door and spoke quietly. “There is a definite change in the color of the metal. He’s beginning to experience discomfort.”

  “So that thing is getting hungry,” Curran said.

  “Probably.” Doolittle held up a small printout. A pale blue stripe cut across the paper. The m-scan. The m-scanner recorded specific types of magic as different colors: purple for the undead, green for shapeshifter, and so on. Blue stood for plain human magic—mages, telepaths, and telekinetics all registered blue. It was the basic human default.

  “Is that the necklace or Roderick?” Curran asked.

  “It’s the boy. He has power and it’s obscuring whatever magic signature the necklace is giving out.” Doolittle pointed to a point on the graph. I squinted. A series of paler sparks punctured the blue.

  “This is probably the necklace,” Doolittle said. “It’s not enough to go on. We need a more precise measurement.”

  We needed Julie. She was a sensate—she saw the colors of magic with more precision than any m-scanner. I stuck my head out into the hallway and called, “Could someone find my kid, please, and ask her to come down here?”

  Five minutes later, Julie entered the medward. When I’d first found her, she’d been half-starved, skinny, and had had anxiety attacks if the protective layer of grime was removed from her skin. Now at fourteen, she had progressed from skinny to lean. Her legs and arms showed definition if she flexed. She was meticulously clean, but recently had decided that the invention of brushes was unnecessary and a waste of time, so her blond hair looked like a cross between a rough haystack and a bird’s nest.

  I explained about the necklace. Julie approached the boy. “Hey. I’m going to look at the thing on your neck, okay?”

  Roderick said nothing.

  Julie peered at the metal. “Odd. It’s pale.”

  “Pale yellow? Pale green?” Any tint was good.

  “No. It looks colorless, like hot air rising from the pavement.”

  Transparent magic. Now I had seen everything.

  “There are very faint runes on it,” Julie said, “hard to make out. I’m not surprised you missed them,” she added.

  “Can you read them?” Curran asked.

  She shook her head. “It’s not any runic alphabet I was taught.”

  Doolittle handed her a piece of paper and a pencil and she wrote five symbols on it. Runes, the ancient letters of Old Norse and Germanic alphabets, had undergone several changes over the years, but the oldest runes owed their straight up-and-down appearance to the fact that historically they had to be carved on a hard surface: all straight lines, no curves, no tiny strokes. These symbols definitely fit that pattern, but they didn’t look like any runes I’d seen. I could spend a day or two digging through books, but Roderick didn’t have that long. We needed information fast.

  Curran must’ve come to the same conclusion. “Do we know any rune experts?”

  I tapped the paper. “I can make some calls. There is a guy—Dagfinn Heyerdahl. He used to be with the Norse Heritage Foundation.”

  The Norse Heritage Foundation wasn’t so much about heritage as it was about Viking, in the most cliché sense of the word. They drank huge quantities of beer, they brawled, and they wore horned helmets despite all historical evidence to the contrary.

  “Used to be?” Curran asked.

  “They kicked him out for being drunk and violent.”

  Curran blinked. “The Norse Heritage?”
<
br />   “Mhm.”

  “Don’t you have to be drunk and violent just to get in?” he asked. “Just how disorderly did he get?”

  “Dagfinn is a creative soul,” I said. “His real name is Don Williams. He packs a lot of magic and if he could have gotten out of his own way, he would be running the Norse Heritage by now. He’s got a rap sheet as long as the Bible, all of it petty stupid stuff, and he’s the only merc I know who actually works for free, because he’s been fined so many times, it will take him years to get out of the Guild’s debt. About two years ago, he got piss-drunk, took off all of his clothes, and broke through the gates of a Buddhist meditation center on the South Side. A group of bhikkhunis, female monks, was deep in meditation on the grounds. He chased them around, roaring something about them hiding hot Asian ladies. I guess he mistook them for men, because of the robes and shaved heads.”

  “And why didn’t anybody point out the error of his ways to this fool?” Doolittle asked.

  “Perhaps because they are Buddhists,” Curran said. “Violence is generally frowned upon in their community. How did it end?”

  “Dagfinn pulled a robe off one of the nuns and an elderly monk came up to him and hit him in the chest with the heel of his hand. Dagfinn did some flying and went through the monastery wall. Bricks fell on his face and gave him a quickie plastic surgery. Since the old monk had raised his hand in anger, he went into a self-imposed seclusion. He still lives near Stone Mountain in the woods. He was greatly revered and the monks got pissed off and went to see the Norse Heritage Foundation. Words were exchanged and the next morning the Foundation gave Dagfinn the boot. The neo-Vikings will know where he is. They kicked him out, but he’s still their boy.”

  Curran nodded. “Okay, we’ll take the Jeep.”

  “They don’t permit any technology past the fourteenth century AD in their territory. You’ll have to ride a horse.”

  Curran’s face snapped into a flat Beast Lord expression. “I don’t think so.”

  “You can jog if you want, but I’m getting a horse.”

  A low rumble began in Curran’s throat. “I said we’ll take the Jeep.”

  “And I said they will put an axe into your carburetor.”

  “Do you even know what a carburetor is?” Curran asked.

  I knew it was a car part. “That’s irrelevant.”

  Doolittle cleared his throat. “My lord, my lady.”

  We looked at him.

  “Take it outside my hospital before you break anything.” It didn’t sound like a request.

  A careful knock echoed through the door. A young woman stuck her head in. “Consort?”

  What now? “Yes?”

  “There is a vampire downstairs waiting to see you.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The vampire sat on his haunches in the waiting room, an emaciated monstrosity. Vampires were nocturnal predators. Daylight burned their skin like fire, but the People had recently gotten around this restriction by applying their own patented brand of sunblock to their undead. It dried thick and came in assorted colors. This particular vampire sported a coat of bright lime-green. The sunblock covered the undead completely, every wrinkle, every crevice, every inch. The effect was vomit-inducing.

  The vampire turned its head as I walked in, its eyes focusing on me with the intelligence of its navigator, sitting in an armored room miles away. The nightmarish jaws opened.

  “Kate,” Ghastek’s dry voice said. “Curran. Good morning.”

  “What are you doing here?” Curran asked.

  The vampire folded itself, perching in the chair like some mummified cat. “I have a direct interest in determining the nature of that necklace. We have suffered great losses, we must account for them. Have you found a way to remove it?”

  “No,” I said.

  “So the boy’s life is still in jeopardy,” Ghastek said.

  Thank you, Captain Obvious.

  “It’s being handled,” Curran said.

  “I would like to be involved in that handling.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Curran said. “It’s hard to believe, but I go whole days without worrying about your likes and dislikes.”

  The vampire opened its mouth, imitating a sigh. It was an eerie sight: his jaws unhinged, his chest moved up and down, but no air came out.

  “I believe in civil discourse, so please forgive me if I sound blunt: you took a child away from his parents against their will. In other words, you abducted him by force. Last time I checked, that constitutes kidnapping. I have a very capable staff, which, should I give the word, would present a very compelling case to the Paranormal Activity Division.”

  “The PAD can bite me,” Curran said. “I also have a very capable staff. I’ll drown you in paper. How would you like to be sued?”

  “On what grounds?” The vamp looked outraged.

  “Reckless endangerment.” Curran leaned forward. “Your journeymen dropped two vampires in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”

  “There were extenuating circumstances and you were unharmed.”

  Curran’s eyes acquired a dangerous glint. “I’m sure the public will take that into account, especially after my people plaster the sordid horror story of the Arirang Massacre over every newspaper they can find.”

  The vamp bared its fangs.

  Curran’s upper lip trembled in the beginning of a snarl.

  I stabbed a throwing knife into the table between them.

  The man and the monster fell silent.

  “There is a child being slowly choked to death upstairs,” I said. “If the two of you could stop baring your teeth for a second, you might even remember that.”

  Silence stretched out between us.

  “I simply wish to help,” Ghastek said.

  Yeah, right.

  Curran’s face looked set in stone. “We don’t need you.”

  “Yes, you do,” Ghastek said. “You have the necklace, but I have Lawrence. He dated Amanda for over a year. I think you will be interested to know that Colin Sunny, Amanda’s father, has a sister. She is married to Orencio Forney.”

  “Orencio Forney, the DA?”

  “Precisely,” Ghastek said. “After yesterday’s affair, the Sunnys are staying in Forney’s house. I trust you understand the implications.”

  I understood them, alright. The Sunnys had just become untouchable. If the Pack attempted to pick a fight with the DA, the tide of negative publicity would drown us, not to mention that every cop in the city would make it his personal mission to complicate shapeshifters’ lives whenever possible.

  Curran’s face hardened into that blank, unreadable expression. He saw the writing on the wall as well, and he didn’t like it. “Have you asked for an interview?”

  “In the politest terms possible. We were extremely persuasive, but they are unavailable for comment.”

  “They aren’t asking for Roderick?” What the hell?

  “No, they are not,” Ghastek said. “I found it extremely odd as well. The DA has circled the wagons. If you want any background on the boy and his mother, our Lawrence is your best bet. Give me access and I will share.”

  I looked at Curran. We needed that background.

  His face was unreadable.

  Come on, baby.

  “Fine,” he said.

  A wise man once told me that a man’s house said a lot about his soul. Over the years I had come to the conclusion that was complete bullshit. The Keep, with its foreboding, grim towers and massive fortifications, might have indicated something about Curran’s need to protect his people, but it said nothing about how much responsibility he dragged around. It said nothing about the fact that he was fair and generous. And it sure as hell gave no hint that underneath all that Beast Lord’s roaring, he was hilarious.

  The Casino, on the other hand, looked like a beautiful mirage born of desert heat, sand, and magic. White and elegant, it nearly floated above the ground of the large lot decorated with fountains, statues, and colored la
mps. All that beauty hid a stable of vampires. Undead, forever hungry, and gripped in the steel vise of navigators’ minds, haunted its slim minarets. A casino milking money from human greed occupied its main floor, and deep inside it, the People brewed their schemes and machinations with the ruthless precision of a high-tech corporation, interested only in results and profits.

  I parked the Jeep and peered at the Casino through the windshield. I didn’t want to go in. Judging by the surly look on his face, Curran didn’t want to go in either.

  We opened our doors at the same time and headed toward the Casino.

  “We’re doing this for the child,” Curran said.

  “Yes.” It was good to remember that. “We’re just going to go in and talk to them.”

  “And not kill anybody,” Curran added.

  “Or anything.”

  “And not break things.”

  “Because we don’t want a giant bill from the People.”

  “Yes.” Curran’s face was grim. “I’m not giving them any of the Pack’s money.”

  I nodded. “We’ll be good, we won’t have to pay any damages, and then we’ll come out and take a nice shower.”

  “Wash the stench off. I can smell the bloodsuckers from here.”

  “I can feel them from here.”

  I could—the sparks of vampiric magic tugged on me from the white parapets.

  “Thanks for doing this,” Curran said.

  “Thank you for coming with me.”

  Get in, get out, don’t cause a giant war between the Pack and the People. Piece of cake.

  We passed through the tall arched entrance guarded by two men with curved yataghan swords. The guards wore black and looked suitably menacing. They very carefully didn’t look at us.

  Inside, a deluge of sound assaulted us: the noises of slot machines, refitted to work during magic, metal ringing, music, beeping, mixing with shouts from the crowd surrendering their hard-earned money for the promise of easy cash. Lemon-scented perfume drifted through the cold air—the People were keeping their customers awake, because the sleeping couldn’t gamble.

  Curran wrinkled his nose.

  “Almost there, baby,” I told him, zeroing in on the service entrance door at the far end of the vast room.