Inked

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    A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the authors
    Copyright © 2010 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
“Skin Deep” copyright © 2010 by Karen Chance.
“Armor of Roses” copyright © 2010 by Marjorie M. Liu.
“Etched in Silver” copyright © 2010 by Yasmine Galenorn.
“Human Nature” copyright © 2010 by Eileen Wilks.
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skin deep
    KAREN CHANCE

1
    “GET it off! Get it off!”
    “I’m trying!” Caleb grabbed a numb stick out of a drawer. “It would help if you’d stay still for half a second!”
    “You stay still with claws in your ass!” I snarled, as they sank in a little deeper.
    “I can’t do anything if you’re going to continue hopping around like that, Lia,” he rumbled.
    I glared at him, but it didn’t do any good. It probably wouldn’t have anyway—Caleb did the strong, silent, imperturbable thing pretty well—but it was especially futile now. Like me, he was a war mage, part of the supernatural community’s police force. Unlike me, he was a respected, highly decorated member with years of experience. He was currently stuck with the worst job in the Corps—deactivating, categorizing and storing illegal weapons—only because he’d been wounded. An explosion had seared his retinas, leaving him virtually blind until his eyes healed.
    “Are you sure you can do this?” I demanded, eyeing the swath of gauze wrapped around his buzz cut.
    “Sonar vision,” he reminded me, tapping a small ward on his temple. The blue and silver tat showed up nicely against his cocoa skin, its colors flashing as the tiny dolphin smacked his finger with its tail. “I can see almost as well with echo-location as I could before. Now assume the position.”
    “It’s the almost I’m worried about,” I muttered.
    “I can let Jamie do it,” he threatened.
    “Sure, I’ll take a crack at it,” the wiry Scotsman punned shamelessly.
    Normally, I might have taken him up on it. Despite the ratty Arthur Dent bathrobe he insisted on wearing, Jamie was among the department’s foremost authorities on magical wards. But at the moment, he was also among the walking wounded, having been hit by a spell that had left him prone to fits of uncontrollable shakes. It set his hands and red-gray curls dancing on a regular basis, although it hadn’t noticeably affected his sense of humor.
    “You stay away from me,” I told him severely,