Kate Daniels 02 - Magic Burns

here.”
    The recognition crept into his eyes. He lowered his hand. “Sokay,” he called. “I know her.”
    A dirty head poked above the tower of crates and a thin girl climbed into view. Ten, maybe eleven, she had the waifish sort of look that had little to do with her petite frame and everything to do with being underfed. A wispy cloud of grimy hair framed her narrow face, making the deep circles around her eyes seem even deeper. She looked tainted with adult skepticism, but not beaten yet. Life had abused her and now she bit all hands first and looked to see if they offered food later. Her hand clutched a large knife and her eyes told me she would be willing to use it.
    â€œWho are you?” she asked me.
    â€œShe’s a merc,” Red said.
    He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a stack of papers, held together by a string. He dug in it with dirty fingers and deposited a small rectangle in my hand. My business card, stained with the brown whorls of a thumbprint. The print was mine; the blood belonged to Derek, my werewolf boy wonder.
    Derek and I had been trying to drag ourselves home after a big fight that hadn’t gone too well. Unfortunately, Derek’s legs had been torn open and Lyc-V, the virus to which shapeshifters owed their existence, decided to shut Derek down so it could make repairs. When we met Red, I was trying unsuccessfully to load my bleeding, unconscious sidekick onto my horse. Red and his little band of shaman kids helped, and I had given Red my card and a promise of help if he should need it.
    â€œYou said you’d help. You owe me.”
    Now was not a good time, but we didn’t often get to choose the time to repay our debts. “That’s true.”
    â€œGuard Julie.” He turned to the girl. “Shadow her, sokay.” He darted to the side and out the door. I followed and saw him scrambling up the slope like a pack of wolves was snapping at his heels.

CHAPTER 4
    â€œBASTARD!” THE GIRL YELLED. “I HATE YOU!”
    â€œAny clue why he took off in a hurry?”
    â€œNo!” She sat down cross-legged on the crates, her face a picture of abject misery.
    Alrighty then. “I take it you’re Julie.”
    â€œYou’re real smart. Did you figure it out all by yourself?”
    I sighed. At least she had dropped out of street speak for my benefit.
    â€œJust because my boyfriend thinks you’re all that, doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to you. How are you going to guard me? You don’t even have a gun.”
    â€œI don’t need a gun.” A small hint of metallic sheen within the crates caught my eye. I approached the pile. “Any clue what I’m guarding you from?”
    â€œNope!”
    I peered into the space between the crates. A broken bolt, stuck tight in a board. Blood-red shaft. The fletch was missing, but I bet it had three black feathers. My bowman had been here and had left his calling card.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she asked.
    â€œHunting.”
    â€œHunting what?”
    I wandered to the ring of stones, crouched, and reached for the nearest rock. My fingers slipped through it. Whoever set this ward really didn’t want his hiding spot disturbed. But the trouble with wards was that sometimes they didn’t just hide. They also contained. And a ward of this caliber could contain something nasty. “Where are we?”
    â€œWhat are you, retarded?”
    I looked at her for a second. “I came through a tunnel from the Warren. I don’t know what neighborhood this is.”
    â€œThis is the Honeycomb Gap. Used to be Southside Park. It pulls metal to itself now. Gathers the iron from all over—Blair Village, Gilbert Heights, Plunket Town. Pulls it all into itself, the iron from all the factories, from the Ford Motor plant, cars from Joshua Junkyards…The Honeycomb’s right above us. Can’t you smell the stink?”
    The Honeycomb. Of all the hellholes, it had to be the Honeycomb.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” I asked.
    She stuck her nose in the air. “I don’t have to tell you.”
    â€œSuit yourself.”
    I pulled Slayer from its sheath.
    â€œWhoa.” Julie crawled forward on top of the crate tower and flopped on her stomach so she could get a better look.
    I put my hand on Slayer’s blade. Magic nipped at my skin, piercing my flesh with sharp little needles. I fed a little of my magic into the