Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

thought out loud. “She was unaffected by the glow, so either she’s immune or she knows how it works.”
    “The boy didn’t cry when you took him from his mother?” Doolittle asked.
    “No,” I said.
    The medmage glanced at the door again. “The child is very passive and compliant. He doesn’t speak unless spoken to. He doesn’t take initiative. This boy is doing his best to be invisible. Sometimes this is a sign of a shy nature. Sometimes it’s a sign of emotional abuse or neglect.” Doolittle crossed his arms. “Such an accusation can’t be made lightly. This is just something to keep in mind in dealing with her. If she is emotionally distant, she may not have any attachment to him. Let me run some tests. The sooner we identify what the necklace is, the better.”
    We left the infirmary and walked down the long hallway, heading toward the stairway leading up to the top of the tower, to our rooms. The Keep’s hours were skewed toward the night. For most people ten p.m. meant evening and probably bedtime—both electricity and the charged air that powered feylanterns were expensive and people tended to make the most of daylight. For shapeshifters ten p.m. was closer to four in the afternoon. The hallways were busy. Random shapeshifters ducked their heads as we passed them.
    Something had occurred to me. “When the journeyman handed Amanda the necklace, did it seem paler to you?”
    Curran frowned. “Yes. Almost white gold.”
    “And now it’s almost orange.”
    “You think it feeds on the host?”
    “It would make sense. Maybe it develops hunger. The girl died instantly, because the necklace was hungry. Now it’s satiated, so it’s biding its time.”
    “We’ll need to talk to the journeyman,” Curran said. “And the boy’s mother.”
    “Yes, the woman. The supernaturally beautiful woman with long flowing hair…Can’t forget her.”
    Curran turned his head to look at me.
    “What?”
    “That’s what I’d like to know.”
    I shrugged. “I’ll speak to the journeyman tomorrow.”
    “I’ll come with you.”
    And why would he want to do that? I pictured trying to conduct an interview in the presence of the Beast Lord. The journeyman would take one look at him and run for the hills screaming.
    “No.”
    “You always say that word,” he said. “Is it supposed to mean something?”
    “It means I don’t want you to come with me. The moment you muscle your way into the room, he’ll clam up out of sheer self-preservation. Let me handle this.”
    We started up the stairway. Our quarters were at the very top and I really could’ve used an elevator right about now.
    Curran kept his voice even. “Somehow I have managed to deal with the People just fine for almost fifteen years without your help.”
    “As I recall, you almost had yourself a war. And I won’t be dealing with the People. I’ll be dealing with one specific journeyman, facing sanctions and scared out of his mind.”
    “If you think you’ll be able to get anywhere near Ghastek without me, you’re crazy,” Curran said.
    I stopped and looked at him. “I will take my boudas and personal guard, dress them in black, put them on horses, and ride up to the Casino. Then I will pick the scariest-looking shapeshifter in the bunch and send him in to announce that the Consort seeks an audience. Do you really think the People will keep me waiting for long?”
    It’s good that we didn’t have any kindling or paper around or the sparks flying from our butting heads would set the Keep on fire. We were both tired and pissed off.
    Above us Jim rounded the corner on the landing and came to a dead stop, obviously wondering if he could get away with turning on his foot and going back the way he’d come without our noticing. Curran turned to face him.
    That’s right, you’re busted.
    Jim sighed and headed toward us at a brisk pace.
    Tall, his skin the color of rich coffee, and dressed all in black, Jim looked like he was carved from a block of solid muscle. Logic said that at some point he must’ve been a baby and then a child, but looking at him one was almost convinced that some deity had touched the ground with its scepter and proclaimed, “There shall be a badass,” and Jim had sprung into existence, fully formed, complete with clothes, and ready for action. He was the alpha of Clan Cat, the Pack’s chief of security, and Curran’s best friend.
    He braked near us.
    “Have you vetted the Wolves of the Isle yet?” Curran