Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

Senior,” he said. “He says that they were approached by Gloria Dahl and asked to bid on Blue Heron. I thought maybe Gloria and Anapa were working together. It would make sense: he would put in a bid and she would put in the second-highest bid, so in case something went wrong with his bid, he’d still get the building. But Garcia said that Gloria’s bid was almost eighty grand below mine, which would make it one hundred and fifteen thousand below Anapa’s. Basically, she had no chance. If they were working together, their bids would be closer together. Anapa bid way too high and she bid way too low.”
    Huh. I could’ve sworn Gloria was Anapa’s flunky. Well, showed what I knew.
    “I hope you went home,” Raphael said. “I’ll be driving by later. Don’t do anything stupid without me.”
    Don’t do anything stupid without him. I wouldn’t be doing anything with him, stupid or otherwise.
    I checked the world outside the window. It was a few minutes past nine and the evening sky was vast and dark. Perfect.
    I had to go back to Gloria’s crime scene. It was highly likely that Gloria, whoever or whatever she was, and her pals must have murdered Raphael’s people. That explained both the wide fang spawn and the location of the bite wounds. But I had no concrete proof. I didn’t have access to Gloria’s corpse, so I couldn’t measure the exact distance between her fangs and I still didn’t know where her associates were or what she was after.
    I had a good suspicion that the knife in the photo that I’d seen in Anapa’s office was involved. In fact, I was sure of it, but again I had to obtain evidence of that. I had to figure out what the knife was and what it was for, and the only way to shed light on this situation would be to break into the crime scene and I would have to do it alone. If I got caught, I’d be detained, but I was just a private citizen. If anyone from the Pack was detained with me, the matter would take on a completely different light.
    Everything inside me hurt. I felt like I’d been chewed up by a beast with small sharp teeth. My bones felt so heavy, you’d think they were made of lead.
    I didn’t want to go anywhere. I just wanted to lie there and fall asleep so I wouldn’t hurt anymore. But there were people dependent on me for answers and I wouldn’t get those answers by taking time out to rest. Besides, with the magic down, now was the best time to search the room. Who knew how long technology would last?
    Come on, Ms. Nash. Get your ass in gear.
    I forced myself to sit up. Doolittle had said no physical activity, but time was of the essence. I’d just have to take it easy.
    I drove to Pucker Alley two blocks from White Street and hid the car in the shadow of a ruin. A vast, cloudless sky stretched above me, and the night was gauzy with curtains of silvery moonlight. Just my luck. I grabbed my duffel bag out of the backseat and pulled it open. It held my emergency kit: matches in a plastic bag, gauze, antibiotic ointment, Band-Aids, knife, roll of duct tape, flask of alcohol, bottle of water, an MRE—a Meal Ready to Eat courtesy of the United States Army—spare knife, rope, gloves, hat, and a towel. I had once read a book that said a traveler should always have one and it made a lot of sense.
    I slipped on the gloves, hid my hair under the hat, zipped the duffel, and set off.
    My forehead immediately began to sweat under the cotton hat. Hats and muggy Atlanta spring didn’t exactly play nice. But I’d suffer a little sweat to keep from leaving stray hairs at the scene to be found by PAD crime techs.
    The street in front of Gloria’s Antiques looked very much the same, deserted and foreboding. No sign of the cops’ presence remained. I had figured as much. Atlanta was a busy city and the PAD was stretched thin. They’d likely resume processing the scene tomorrow.
    My ears caught no close noises. White Street lay empty.
    I approached the door. A large paper seal was plastered across the door and part of the door frame with a big red DO NOT ENTER on it. Most police departments didn’t have the budget for the infamous yellow crime scene tape. Ninety percent of the time, a sticker was the only indication of sealed premises. It wasn’t meant to physically prevent anyone from entering the scene. It was meant to give the cops proof of your intent to enter despite the seal.
    I pulled my lock pick ring out of my vest pocket, sliced the sticker with the thicker pick, and