Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

couple of times, before I remembered that fluttering my eyelashes didn’t exactly go over well in my current shape. “You took a check from some woman you don’t know?”
    “It was a check from her business. I called it into the bank; they said it was good.”
    “What sort of business?”
    “I don’t remember,” he said. “Store of some sort or the other. Art something.”
    Interesting. “Any chance you can find that cancelled check?”
    “I have work to do,” he said. “I’m busy.”
    I showed him a card, bent down, and put it under the rock. “If you happen to run across the check, there is another fifty bucks in it for you. The address and phone number are on the card.”
    “Maybe,” he said. “Like I said, I’m busy.”
    “Thank you for your time.”
    I walked off.
    “Now what?” Ascanio asked.
    “Now we go to the office and bathe.”
    I was sitting in the office, with my beastkin feet on the desk and a bottle of Georgia Peach Iced Tea, custom-made for me by Burt’s Liquor, where I’d made a strategic stop before arriving at the office. Outside the barred window, evening had dimmed the sky to a deep purple. Ascanio was in the back, trying to scrub himself clean in the office shower. He’d caught a nap on the way back to the office, so I expected him to emerge in his human shape and at least semi-conscious.
    I sipped my drink. All in all, a productive day. A hell of a lot of excitement.
    Footsteps. I twitched my furry round ear, listening. Light stride, sure steps…Kate.
    The door swung open and Kate walked in. Her jeans and T-shirt were splattered with blood and she was carrying a severed vampire head. The T-shirt had a smiley face on it.
    In my natural untanned state I was pale. If you put me into a pitch-black room, my face would probably light up like the moon. That’s why I cultivated a sun habit that resulted in a mild pigment formation in my skin. I liked to call this tan golden brown. My favorite cosmetics company, Sorcière, which had a slightly cannibalistic tendency to name all their foundation skin tones after food, liked to call my tan “cream.” Cream was only a couple of shades darker than the palest “milk.” If I really baked myself, I could get all the way to “vanilla blush,” which meant pale beige.
Woo-hoo.
    Kate would need “dusky honey” at the very least. I knew this because a few weeks ago I had to explain to her what concealer was and why she couldn’t use it by itself on the strange rash we got after clearing some odd rat-critters from an old warehouse. Putting concealer and foundation on Kate turned out to be a losing proposition, because after the first five minutes it bugged her and she kept rubbing her face until she looked like a clown who got painted up in the dark.
    Her hair, put away into a long braid, was chocolate brownand her eyes were dark too, framed in dense black eyelashes, and oddly cut, large, but slightly elongated with curvy corners. The first time I saw her, I had stared, trying to figure out what the heck she was. There were shades of India there, or maybe Arabia, or possibly a touch of Asia. She could twist it any way she wanted, depending on makeup, which she rarely wore.
    At first glance you looked at Kate and thought “fighter,” maybe merc. Five inches taller than me, she was all muscle—well, and some boobs—but mostly muscle. She moved like a predator and when she got pissed off, she exhaled aggression, like hot breath on a winter evening. Still, men looked, until they saw her eyes. Kate’s eyes were crazy. It was that hidden-deep crazy that told you that you had no idea what the hell she would do next but whatever it was, the bad guys wouldn’t like it.
    Kate looked at me for a long second. “Hey.”
    I saluted her with my bottle. “Hey.”
    Kate went into the kitchen, pulled a ceramic dish from under the sink, sat the vamp’s head into it, put it in the fridge, and washed her hands. She came back, slipped the sheath off her back with her sword still in it, hung it on my client chair, and plopped into it.
    “What are you drinking?”
    “Georgia Peach Iced Tea. Want some?” I offered it to her with my claws.
    “Sure.” She took a sip, and coughed with a grimace. “What the hell is in this?”
    Heh-heh. Lightweight. “Vodka, gin, rum, sweet and sour, and peach schnapps. Lots of peach schnapps.”
    “Do you actually get a buzz from this?”
    “Sort of.” Lyc-V made it very difficult to get drunk. “It