Kate Daniels 01 - Magic Bites

kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. I had lost a lot of blood. I forced one glass down, refilled it and came back, sipping the water. The dress lay on the sheets, bathed in the last rays of the tired sun. Of a simple cut, it had an unusual color, a nameless shade somewhere on crossroads between peach, khaki, and brass. Anna had picked it out for me. I remembered her going through the dresses hanging on wire hangers, briskly sliding them out of the way one by one, while an impossibly thin saleswoman watched in distress. “You don’t need thinning,” Anna had explained, “or padding. What you need is softening, which is a touch more complicated but can be done with the right dress. Lucky for us, you have the right complexion for the color. It will make you look darker, which in itself isn’t a bad thing.”
    I looked at the dress and recalled the unsettling feeling of not recognizing myself when I put it on. I was proportionate, even lean, but not slender. Most women don’t bulk easily, but if I flexed my arm, I could see definition. No matter how hard I tried to lose weight or become thinner, all I managed to do was to wind more muscle on my frame, so I’d quit trying to match the willowy standard of beauty when I was fourteen years old. Survival took precedence over fashion. Sure, I didn’t weigh a hundred and ten pounds, but my narrow waist let me bend and I could break a man’s neck with my kick.
    This dress camouflaged the muscle, tricking the eye into seeing soft flesh where there was none. The trouble was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to wear it today for Crest.
    I touched the soft fabric and wished Anna would call.
    The phone rang.
    I picked it up and heard Anna’s voice say, “Hello.”
    “How do you do that?”
    “What? Calling when you want to talk to me?” She sounded amused.
    “Yes.”
    “Most clairvoyants are slightly emphatic, Kate. The empathy with the person serves as a bridge for the things we do. I’ve known you for a very long time—I remember when you were learning to walk—and I’ve formed a permanent bond. Think of it as being tuned to a certain radio station that’s off-line most of the time.”
    I sipped my water. I knew she wouldn’t mention the vision, unless I asked her about it and I didn’t feel like asking.
    “How’s the investigation?”
    “I’ve found Greg’s killer.”
    “Aha. What did you do to him?”
    “Her. I disemboweled her and then crushed her heart.”
    “Lovely. What did she do to you?”
    “I’ll have a scar on my upper thigh and my stomach is still healing. But at least I had a professional medic this time.”
    Anna sighed. “I suppose it’s not too bad for one of your outings. Are you satisfied?”
    I opened my mouth to tell her yes and stopped. The cause for my unease became clear.
    “Kate?”
    “No, I’m not satisfied.” I told her about Olathe and her pre-Shift vampires. “Too many loose ends,” I said. “One, I’m still not sure who killed Greg. I’d thought it could be one of her vamps, but that doesn’t explain the animal power prints on the m-scanner and I saw no animals during the fight.”
    “There is no way to check now?”
    “No. The building is kaput. Two, where are the missing women and why were they kidnapped?”
    “As food for the vampires?” Anna ventured.
    “Four women wouldn’t have sustained her stable for more than a day. Why didn’t she grab more?”
    “I don’t know.”
    I sipped my water. “Neither do I. And the enemy in your vision was male. There is more, but I can’t remember right now. I have this awful feeling that I’ve overlooked something. Something ridiculously obvious.”
    I fell silent. Anna waited on the line.
    “Anyhow,” I said finally. “I’ll have to wait until my brain sorts this out.”
    “Ah,” Anna said. “Is there something more pressing?”
    “A handsome plastic surgeon expects me at Fernando’s at six.”
    “Aha. Did you happen to mention that you abhor Fernando’s?”
    “No,” I said. “But I expected him to figure it out. Formal dining isn’t me, Anna.”
    “Understatement of the year,” Anna murmured. “Is he fun?”
    “Who?”
    “The plastic surgeon. Is he fun? Does he make you laugh?”
    “He tries,” I said.
    “Doesn’t sound like he’s successful.”
    “I think I may have tried to force this thing too hard,” I said.
    “Which part? Intimacy or sex?”
    “I suppose both.” For me casual sex was an oxymoron. Sex placed me in a