Kate Daniels 01 - Magic Bites

position of vulnerability and there was nothing casual about that. I never slept with a man I didn’t trust and admire. I didn’t know enough about Crest to either admire or trust him, yet I had wanted to get him into the sack. I had paraded naked in front of him, for God’s sake. “It bothers me. I think it has something to do with Greg’s death.”
    There was silence on the line. Finally Anna’s voice murmured, “Lo and behold, a chip in your armor.”
    “I intend to repair it tonight.”
    “You’re a maximalist, Kate. All or nothing. Perhaps he deserves a chance.”
    “I didn’t mean that I would break it off. I’ll just reassess the situation. I’ll try to see if he is fun.”
    Anna sighed. “Will you wear the dress we bought that time?”
    “Yes.”
    “A word of advice,” she said. “Let your hair down.”
     
     
    I WALKED INTO FERNANDO’S WITH MY HAIR DOWN. It fell to below my waist, framing my face and softening the edges. With makeup on my face, a dress and matching heels, at least I looked like the kind of woman that would be eating at Fernando’s. The heels made my hip hurt.
    I gave my name to an impeccably dressed host and he led me deeper into the restaurant. My shoes made faint clicking noises on the marble floor as we walked past the round tables draped with crisp white tablecloths. Men in expensive suits and well-groomed women wearing gowns worth more than I made in a month conversed at the tables, eating at their leisure. Several vines heavy with pungent white flowers grew from ceramic urns. Someone had taken a lot of care in arranging their stems on the walls with artful precision.
    I hated this place.
    Crest sat at a corner table, studying the menu. He looked glum. He glanced up, saw me, and froze. It was shallow but the dumb look on his face made me feel better. Beautiful I would never be. Striking, that I could manage.
    Moving with the grace of a dancer, the host held the chair for me. I thanked him—which was probably against the rules—and sat. Crest stared at me.
    “Have we met?” I asked.
    “I think so,” he said. “You look different.”
    It was time to break the illusion. “Different? Amazing, radiant, gorgeous, any of those might get you laid, but I don’t know about different.”
    It worked. He stopped staring. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
    “Work,” I said. “Besides, since I’ve tortured you with Las Colimas, the least I could do is let you return the favor.”
    “You don’t like it here?”
    No. The atmosphere is stuffy, the food is bad, and the only thing I can afford is a bowl of grits. Do they even serve grits here? I shrugged. “It’s not too bad. Do you come here often?”
    “Every three weeks or so.”
    Oh boy.
    The waiter showed up and engaged Crest in conversation that I didn’t understand and didn’t listen to. I watched the patrons until the waiter murmured the code words, “And the lady?”
    “What salads do you serve?”
    I ordered a twenty-two-dollar salad and the waiter departed.
    “No main course?” Crest asked.
    “Not today.”
    A silence reined. Crest seemed content to gaze at me while I had no idea what to do with myself.
    “You look stunning,” he said finally. “So different.”
    “It’s an illusion,” I told him. “I’m still me.”
    “I know.”
    He smiled. By the way he looked at me, I knew he was wondering what I would be like in bed. Why wasn’t I wondering the same thing about him? He did cut a nice figure in the dark suit. A few women overtly glanced at him.
    I caught a man looking at me from a table nearby. I suppose I should’ve been flattered.
    “So how’s work?” I finally said to say something.
    “I’m thinking of leaving the practice,” he said.
    “Oh?”
    “I’d like to spend more time studying Lyc-V,” he said. “I think it’s fascinating, particularly how the very structure of bones changes under the influence of magic. To develop that ability further would mean incredible advances for reconstructive surgery. No invasive procedures, no implants, no recovery, just the elimination of imperfections through will.”
    I smiled at him. Perhaps one day I’d introduce him to Saiman.
    The waiter arrived with the wine menu. Crest ordered and then rattled on about the fascinating nature of Lyc-V, going into more technical detail than my limited comprehension could handle. I dutifully watched him, wondering why Olathe kidnapped the women. Something about it just didn’t add