Kate Daniels 01 - Magic Bites

into his lungs in a sharp breath. “You’re crazy.”
    “Very.”
    His face went slack, and I knew we had stepped away from a cliff. The fight would not happen today.
    Bono leaned forward. “What if I told you that we have no involvement with the diviner’s death? And even if we did, we don’t have to speak to you.”
    That proverbial “we.” I chewed on it for a little while and said, “In that case, I’ll get up and walk over to the bar, where I’ll make two phone calls. First, I’ll call the knight-protector, for whom I now work, and tell him that a vampire belonging to Ghastek was involved in his diviner’s murder. I’ll tell him that an effort was made to conceal its brand—which is illegal—and that Ghastek’s journeyman declined to discuss the matter with me and threatened my life. Then I’ll call Ghastek and inform him that I know the reason why the world just started crashing down around his ears. And I’ll explain to him that the reason is you.”
    He stared at me. “I thought we were on good terms. We nod to each other across the room. We don’t bother each other. I shared my research with you.”
    I shrugged.
    “You won’t do this to me,” he said with great surety. “You know what Ghastek would do to me. You’re a nice person.”
    “Just what exactly in my track record gives you the idea that I’m a nice person?”
    He had no answer and shook his head. “Why me?”
    “Why not? Give me what I want and I’ll go away. Or I’ll hurt you one way or another.”
    Bono was in the corner. No way to go but outside the ring. “They’re called shadows,” he said, his handsome face marked with resignation. “Vampires with concealed brands. Ghastek isn’t the only one using them but he uses his a lot, if you catch my drift.”
    “What was that particular one doing?”
    “Tailing the diviner. I don’t know why.”
    “Who was piloting it?”
    Bono hesitated. “Merkowitz.”
    “What did he see?”
    Bono spread his hands. “Your guess’s as good as mine. Do you know what happens to a navigator when the vamp he’s piloting dies?”
    I had a general idea but more info never hurt. “Enlighten me.”
    “Unless you guard yourself, you’ll suffer death-shock. Meaning you think it’s your head being torn off, which leaves your brain very confused. Add to it the explosion of shit the diviner threw around and whatever magic the attacker emitted, and you’ll get Merkowitz. I never liked the asshole. I have to admit, he makes a fine vegetable.”
    My heart sank. “Nonresponsive?”
    “About as responsive as a brick wall.”
    “How long will he be like this?”
    “They’re working on him now, but when he’ll come out, nobody knows. It’s hard work convincing someone that he isn’t dead when his own mind has decided otherwise.”
    “Do the People have any idea who might have enough juice to beat a diviner and a vampire to a pulp?”
    Bono looked past me at the wall.
    “I need a name,” I said.
    “Corwin. You didn’t hear it from me.” He rose in a fluid motion and left.
    I waited a few minutes, went to the bar, and drank a cold Corona with a wedge of lime in it. I had frightened Bono.
    A small part of me felt bad about it. The larger part reminded me that he piloted vampires for a living and kicked his opponents when they decided to stay down.
    Greg’s face came to my mind. I took a big swig of Corona. I felt defeated and tired. What a long day . . . I had hoped for more than Bono had given me. Still, I had a name. And I had Greg’s database, against which I could reference it. The day was not a total waste.
     
     
    DARKNESS CLOAKED THE STAIRWAY OF GREG’S apartment building. Not a single lamp illuminated the concrete steps. When I came to the first landing, I saw why—the electric bulbs had exploded. It happened once in a while during a hard fluctuation in places where the magic hit the strongest. The fluorescent feylamps usually did the job just fine—they ran by converting environmental magic to weak, bluish light—but tonight they were dark, too. The fluctuation must have been too strong, and the lamp converters had overheated and burned out.
    I felt odd going back to Greg’s place. Not exactly ill at ease, but not happy to be there either. Unfortunately I had no choice. I would have to spend some time in this rotten city and I needed a base. Greg’s apartment was perfect: its wards were keyed to me and Greg had maintained a fair collection of basic herbs,