Kate Daniels 01 - Magic Bites

should go,” he said.
    I pushed away my mostly intact salad. “Good idea.”
    A waiter materialized by our table. Crest paid cash and we walked out into the night. Outside Crest turned to the left.
    “My car is that way,” I said, nodding to the right.
    He shook his head. “I’ve got a surprise planned. Since we cut our dinner short, we might be early. Do you mind walking?”
    “Yes, actually.” Not in these heels and not with a red-hot needle in my hip. “Would you mind driving me?”
    “It would be my privilege.”
    As we walked to his car, I felt someone watching me. I paused to adjust the strap on my shoe and made him across the street, leaning against the building. The leather jacket and spiky hair was unmistakable. Bono. Ghastek was keeping an eye on me, but this time instead of a vampire he sent his journeyman. Nice choice. Bono still had a grudge against me for our little chat at Andriano’s. Had Ghastek found out that I’d squeezed the journeyman who had clued me in on Ghastek’s unmarked vampires? Or maybe I was thinking about it all wrong.
    Bono shifted slightly to keep me in his view. Why keep surveillance now, when Olathe was dead? Unless Bono had served Olathe. It made sense. If she had wished to take over Nataraja’s operation, she would’ve tried to recruit young journeymen, and with her looks and power, luring them to her side wouldn’t have been that hard. Was Bono here for revenge? Or was there another player to this drama and now Bono took orders from him?
    It wasn’t over. My instincts told me that it was too easy, too convenient, and now I had the confirmation from Bono. What did he know that I didn’t? I thought about crossing the street and beating it out of Bono, pummeling him into pulp until he told me every last detail he knew. I could ram his head against the bricks and take him deeper into the dark of the alley. Or even better, smash him against the wall and take him to the car. In this neighborhood nobody would pay attention to a woman in an evening dress and her handsome companion that had a touch too much to drink and had to be supported by her. I could stuff him into the car and drive him someplace secluded.
    “Kate?”
    Crest’s pleasant face came into view. Bloody hell.
    “Which one is your car?”
    “That one.”
    I smiled at him, or at least I tried. Casting one last look after Bono, I let Crest open the door of his vehicle for me and forced myself to sit down. Later, Bono. I can always find you.
     
     
    CREST’S RIDE WAS EXPENSIVE, METALLIC GRAY, AND bullet shaped. He held the door open for me and I arranged myself on the leather passenger seat. He got in and we took off. The inside of the car was spotless. No used tissues wadded and stuffed into the cup holder. No old bills or worn receipts littering the floor. No grime on the panels. It looked immaculate, almost sterile.
    “Tell me, do you own a single pair of worn jeans?” I asked. “Just one pair so old that it has permanent dirt in it?”
    “No,” he said. “Does it make me a bad person?”
    “No,” I said. “You do realize that most of my jeans have dirt embedded in them?”
    “Yes,” he said, his eyes laughing. “But then I’m not interested in your jeans, only what’s in them.”
    Not tonight. “Okay, just as long as we’re clear.”
    The city scrolled by us, its streets channeling an occasional gasoline-burning car feeding on the death throes of technology. I counted as many horsemen as I did cars. Fifteen years ago the cars had dominated the streets.
    “So who was that man?” Crest said.
    “That was the Beast Lord.”
    Crest glanced at me. “ The Beast Lord?”
    “Yes. The top dog.” Or cat.
    “And that woman was one of his lovers?”
    “Probably.”
    A snow-white Buick cut us off, squeezing into the lane and screeching to a halt before the traffic light. Crest rolled his eyes. The traffic light flickered, flaring with blinding intensity and dying to a weak glow.
    “Residual magic?” Crest wondered.
    “Or faulty wiring.” The good doctor was picking up the magic jargon. I wondered where he’d learned about the residual magic effects.
    “It makes sense.” Crest parked next to a large building. “We’re here.”
    A valet opened my door. I stepped out onto the pavement. Crest’s car was in distinguished company. All around us Volvos, Cadillacs, and Lincolns spewed well-dressed people onto the sidewalk: women, smiling so wide, their lips threatened to snap and men,