Kate Daniels 01 - Magic Bites

I wouldn’t be able to help myself and have to ask him to shield his own ‘view’ with some clothes. Fortunately he withdrew to the bedroom.
    Saiman was driven by the desire to create his own Uberman, a super-male that would be irresistible to women. The sexual aspect of his quest interested him much less than the scientific motivation to craft an image of a perfect human being. He engaged in this pursuit of an ultimate shape for purposes unknown, for I truly had no idea what he would do with his Uberman if he ever succeeded. He approached the challenge with the same methodical logic he applied to everything, attempting to gather feedback from a wide pool of subjects, most of whom had no idea what he truly looked like.
    Long ago I argued that his Uberman simply could not exist. Even if he did succeed in creating an image of the essential male, it would fail his expectations. Too much depended on the interaction between two human beings, and ultimately it was that interaction that led to intimacy. He debated me with great passion and I had learned not to argue anymore.
    We met during a merc gig a year ago, bodyguard detail. All mercs did one sooner or later, and it was just my luck I drew Saiman. He was injured at the time, confined to his bed by a postoperative complication from a stomach surgery. His body kept changing while it fought the infection and he proved very difficult to guard. I managed to kill two of the assassins sent to dispatch him. He killed the third with a pencil through the eye. I thought I had botched the job but he had seemed grateful ever since. I didn’t complain. His services didn’t come cheap.
    Saiman returned wearing loose clothes of dark blue that were cut like common sweats but looked too expensive to be soiled by that moniker. He looked at the Almanac still opened in my lap, the article Bono had given me a few days back laying on the page.
    “Cut from the Volshebstva e Kolduni . What a pretentious title. As if writing ‘Spells and Warlocks’ in Russian would somehow lend them more credibility. I didn’t know you read that trash.”
    “I don’t. The article was given to me by an acquaintance.”
    “The problem with those rags is that the people who publish them don’t realize that magic is fluid. They print erroneous information.”
    It was an old argument and a valid one. People affected magic just as magic affected them. If enough people believed something to be true, sometimes the magic obliged and made it true.
    Saiman scanned the article. “It’s incomplete and full of garbage as always. They classify the upir as a corpse-eating undead. Look, they correctly state the upir has an enormous sexual appetite, but are unaware of the contradiction: an undead has no urge to mate, therefore an upir cannot be undead. They also mention that it will try to mate with anything mammal it can secure long enough to achieve a climax but fail to note that the product of such union usually survives to serve the upir.” He dropped the article in disgust. “If you ever need to know more about this creature, let me know.”
    “I will.”
    “So what brings you to my humble abode?”
    “I need an m-scan evaluated.”
    He arched his eyebrow again. I could learn to hate him. “Very well. I’ll charge you by the hour. Our usual discount starting . . .” He glanced at his watch. “Now. Do you want a complete workup?” he asked.
    “No, just the basics. I can’t afford the fancy stuff.”
    “Cheap client?”
    “I’m working pro-bono.”
    He grimaced. “Kate, that’s a horrible habit.”
    “I know.”
    He took the chart, holding it gently with his long fingers. “What interests you?”
    “A series of small yellow lines toward the bottom.”
    “Ah.”
    “What would register yellow? And how much is the answer going to cost me?”
    “A great question. Let me run a test to make sure this isn’t a mechanical failure.”
    I followed him to the lab. A forest of equipment that would make the personnel of an average college lab giddy with joy rested on black surfaces of flame-resistant tables and counters. Saiman donned a green waterproof apron and a pair of slick opaque gloves, reached under the table and produced a ceramic tray. With a practiced, economic movement, he took the tray to a glass cube in the corner.
    “What are you doing?” I asked.
    “I’m going to scan the m-scan to pick up any residual traces of magic. Full enclosure. I don’t want any contamination.”
    “I