Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

it was time to quit and head home.
    “That mechanic said he’d found the check from the woman he towed,” Ascanio said.
    “Yes?” He was going to be my next stop.
    “I can pick up that check for you,” Ascanio offered.
    I eyed him. “Promise not to get yourself killed.”
    “I promise.”
    “And if there is any threat, you will run like a scared bunny.”
    He nodded.
    “Okay.” I gave him the money. “Do not kill, do not get killed, do not mess up. Go, faithful apprentice!”
    He flashed me a grin and took off. Well, it would keep him out of trouble for a little while. Hopefully.
    I stared at the now-dead computer terminal. Tonight Raphael and I would go to Anapa’s house.
    If all went well, we wouldn’t kill each other.

CHAPTER 8

    Raphael was on time. He was always on time. At seven, a small rock hit my bedroom window and bounced off the bars with a loud clink. I glanced through the glass. Raphael stood below, wearing a tuxedo.
    Like we were kids going to the prom.
    I swiped my oversized clutch off the bed and checked myself for the last time in the mirror. The evil dress was still stunning and badass. My blond hair floated around my head in a beautifully disarrayed cloud that had taken half an hour to arrange and coax into place. I’d tweezed my eyebrows into a perfect shape, applied a narrow line of eyeliner around my eyes to make them stand out, brushed a light dusting of bronze onto my eyelids, and finished off with a double coat of mascara. My lips were a shimmering, intense red, matching the ruby of the dragon’s eye.
    I slipped a bracelet on my wrist: red garnets mixed with white sapphires. It was the only noncostume piece of jewelry I owned. My mother bought it for me when I graduated from the Order’s Academy. I always thought it brought me luck.
    I checked my clutch to see if the outline of my Ruger SP101 showed through the black leather. Nope. All good. With the magic up it wouldn’t even fire, but it comforted me to have it with me. I didn’t bring a knife. I could count on Raphael having several.
    For some reason, when a typical weresomething got into a fight, nature flipped a switch in its head that dictated it grow claws and fangs and rip things apart instead of shooting them from a distance or cutting them with knives like smart people do. I always thought it was to Raphael’s credit that he was the exception to this rule.
    He was waiting. No more stalling. I was as hot as I was going to get.
    I shrugged my shoulders and walked out of the apartment in my four-inch black heels.
Click-click-click
down the stairs and out the door.
    The evening breeze swirled around me, flinging scents into my face. Raphael waited for me on the sidewalk. My brain took a second to process what I was seeing and got stuck. My coordination unraveled. I stopped.
    Raphael wore a black tuxedo. The light of the early evening played on his face, painting the left side golden, while the right remained in cool shadow. He looked perfectly poised between darkness and light. The elegant jacket mapped the strength of his broad shoulders and the supple resilience of his narrow waist, bringing to the forefront both the natural beauty of his body and its dangerous edge. His blue eyes looked hard and focused, hammering home the point—crossing him would be extremely unwise.
    He didn’t wear his tuxedo like a relaxed gentleman would wear a dinner jacket, nor did he wear it the way a knight wore his armor. Raphael wore it the way an assassin wears his leathers and cloak. He was a dagger in a black sheath. I wanted to reach for him, even knowing he would slice my flesh to pieces.
    My heart hammered in my chest. This was such a bad idea. But it was my only chance at Anapa and his office, and I owed it to Nick and the families of four dead shapeshifters to take it.
    Raphael was looking at me and I just stood there, unable to move. I had to do something. Say something.
    Sad, sad Andrea cradling her pitiful broken heart. Pathetic.
    The vitriol did its job. The world stopped spinning, my mind snapped into gear, and I finally registered the significance of Raphael’s expression. He looked blank. Completely blank, as if he was gazing at something that had broken his brain.
    “Raphael?”
    He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
    “Are you okay?”
    Raphael’s lips moved. He swore.
    Ha! I got him! Drink it in, darling. Where’s your seven-foot-tall fiancée now?
    “Is there something wrong with my dress?” Rub it in,