Kate Daniels 02 - Magic Burns

wore these seamless T-shirts under armor. I added a leather vest, securing the strings tight enough to be able to move, and completed my kick-butt outfit with a pair of combat boots: black leather toes, leather heels, and black nylon mesh sides. Almost light enough to play tennis in.
    I spun and kicked at my shadow on the wall, adjusted the left vest seam to hug my body better, and slid Slayer’s sheath into the rings along the vest’s back.
    Next, I took my dog-eared Craft Chronicle off the shelf, found the mirror lock spell, put a pencil on the right page to use as a bookmark, and went down the long concrete staircase into the vault. Hidden behind a foot-thick steel door lay five rooms storing everything from weapons and books to objects of minor power, the inventory the Knights of the Order felt was prudent to keep on hand. The foremost room contained a sink, a fridge, sleeping bags, even a closet-sized bathroom.
    Andrea was already there, loading firearms and laying them out on the table. Julie froze when I came in. I thought we were past that. I tried my best to grin. “Getting settled?”
    â€œAndrea has jerky and there is pizza.” Her voice wilted. Any kid would be thrilled about the pizza. Boy, it just wasn’t going too well with me and her today.
    â€œI’m sorry you’re mad at me. I brought you a book to read.”
    I put Craft Chronicle on the table.
    She didn’t say anything.
    Oh, screw it.
    I stepped right across the heavy silence hanging between us and hugged her. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Stay here. Andrea is very cool. You’ll be safe with her.” She looked about to cry. “Who knows, I might come back with your mom.” I’d go to hell for making promises like that. Straight to hell with no detours.
    â€œYou think so?”
    â€œI hope so,” I told her. “I’ve got my saber and I’ve got my belt.” I touched the belt, equipped with a half dozen pouches containing herbs and silver needles.
    â€œBatman belt!” Julie said.
    â€œThat’s right, Barbara. Protect the cave while I’m gone.”
    Julie took the monisto off her neck. “Here. I’m not giving it to you. I’m just letting you borrow it for a little while. You’ll bring it back, right?”
    â€œRight.” I slid the monisto into a pocket under my leather.
    Andrea and I nodded to each other and I went.

CHAPTER 13
    WE MOVED THROUGH THE STREETS OF BUCKHEAD AT a brisk pace. Few things looked stranger than a vampire forced to run on the ground. No longer bipedal but still too disjointed to achieve good speed on all fours, it loped forward in a jerky gait, leaping and running, at times pressing low to the ground and at others jumping too high. Its gallop was completely soundless, betrayed neither by a scrape of the claw on the asphalt nor a whisper of an errant breath. A vampire belonged to the night, to the darkness, hidden from the world, a stealthy and deadly assassin. Out here, brazen in the sunshine of early afternoon, in full view of the stately old mansions drowning in verdant greenery, it looked grotesque, unreal, a nightmare come to life.
    I watched the vampire and couldn’t help but think of Julie. She had this abandoned look on her face. But to make any headway, I had to understand what was going on, and for that I needed Saiman. Hopefully, he would give me enough information to sort through this tangled mess, and then I could go back and check on her. She would be behind the wards. In the vault. Nothing should go wrong.
    Something always could go wrong.
    But as long as she didn’t leave the vault, she should be okay. Nothing should force her to leave. Unless there was a fire. Was there anything flammable down there?
    I stopped. That way lay insanity.
    The vamp crossed the road in front of us for the fourth time. The Order’s horses had been trained to work with all sorts of creatures, but no matter how much you train a horse, it still remained a horse. They didn’t like the vampire. They didn’t buck, but they danced in place and shied.
    â€œI think he’s doing it on purpose,” Derek growled under his breath.
    â€œHe is. He hates horses,” I told him. “Allergies.”
    The purple vampire loped along on the right side of the street and launched itself at the telephone pole. The undead climbed with a gecko’s agility to about twelve feet, took its bearings, and casually