Kate Daniels 02 - Magic Burns

Trust me, if there was a ward on this trailer, the Honeycomb would’ve gobbled it up by now.”
    I examined the lock. Nothing fancy, but I was never good at lock picking.
    Footsteps. Coming toward us, three pairs. And something else. Something sending ripples through the volatile fabric of the Honeycomb’s magic. Julie felt them too and ran up the porch to me.
    The footsteps drew closer. I turned slowly. Three men were approaching the trailer, the first stocky and thick across the shoulders, the other two leaner. The taller of the leaner guys carried a long chain wrapped around his arm. The other end of the chain disappeared between two trailers. All three looked suitably menacing. The chain carrier hung back, sidestepped an eddy of magic, and jerked the metal links.
    A local shakedown team. Out in force, three on one, plus whatever it was on the other end of the chain. They knew where I was headed, they knew I had money, and they knew who I worked for, otherwise there was no need for the three of them to intimidate one woman.
    Thank you, Custer. I’ll remember this.
    â€œLarry, Moe, and Curly?” I guessed.
    â€œShut your mouth, bitch,” the thinner man said.
    â€œNow, now.” The thicker bravo smiled. “Let’s be polite. I’m Bryce. That over there is Mory and my buddy with the chain over there is Jeremiah. We’re just here to make sure you pay your way. Or the thing will get ugly. And nobody wants that.”
    â€œMove on,” I said. “I already paid for the information.”
    â€œFrom where I’m standin’, you didn’t pay enough. Make it two fifty: another hundred for the entrance fee and some to us for the trouble of walking here.” Bryce put his hand on the cop baton thrust into his belt. “Don’t make this hard. You got a little girl with you. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.”
    Julie hid behind me.
    Bryce smiled like a pit bull before a fight. “The more we work, the higher the bill will run. Time to be smart about this.”
    The chain trembled. An eerie metallic rustle came from behind the trailers. Jeremiah leaned back and tugged the chain. A hoarse growl answered him. The chain snapped taut and his feet slid a little.
    Judging by Bryce’s eyes, they wouldn’t leave until someone bled. I still had to try. “You think you’re tough guys,” I said, moving off the porch to the ground. “I can respect that. But I do this shit for a living. I’ve had a lot of practice. You won’t get more money out of me.”
    â€œThis here”—the beefier bravo stomped his foot in case I failed to get his point—“is our fucking turf. Keep running your bitch mouth, and I’ll put something in there to shut you up.”
    The chain slacked, and metal links rattled on the ground, as something large moved toward us. A clawed paw bigger than my head appeared from behind the trailer, followed by a grotesquely muscled shoulder. Another paw emerged, and a dog trotted into view. He had to be over thirty inches at the shoulder. Muscle bulged on his forequarters and barrel-wide chest, so broad that his hips seemed disproportionately narrow by comparison. His square head sat low on his shoulders as if he had no neck at all.
    The dog jogged forward with a faint metallic jingling, like loose change shaking in a pocket. Long blue-gray spikes protruded from his chin. Another row of spikes ran along his spine to the long tail, forming a crest.
    The dog halted and stared at me with intense aquamarine eyes. Rage shivered in the wrinkles of his flat muzzle. His maw gaped open and the beast showed me his teeth, long, jagged, and gleaming. He tensed, legs thrust wide, chest open. His spikes snapped upright with an iron click. All over his body metal needles stiffened, like raised hackles.
    Nothing kills a party like an oversized metal hedgehog.
    Bryce and Mory shuffled to the flanks, giving Jeremiah and his puppy room to work. Mory was out of my reach, but Bryce ended up only eight feet away. They’d done this before. One small flaw in their reasoning: there was thirty-five feet between me and the dog, and the chain would slow him down.
    The puppy jerked his head and roared.
    â€œThe money, skank,” Jeremiah said.
    â€œNo.”
    Jeremiah shrugged the chain loop from his arm. The links hit the dirt with a thud.
    The dog charged.
    I moved, pulling Slayer from its sheath. I