Kate Daniels 02 - Magic Burns

either one would be like ripping a chunk out of my body. Guild gigs paid well but I had a small territory near Savannah and a big job happened there maybe once every six months. The lure of steady money proved to be too strong.
    My affiliation with the Order wouldn’t last. But for now, it worked. I had yet to default on either payment and once I filled out these forms, I’d ensure I could cover my bills for another month or two.
    After writing my merc ID number ten times on every imaginable piece of paper, I was treated to a “check yes or no” questionnaire. Yes, I acted in self-defense. No, I didn’t believe excessive force was used in subduing the suspect. Yes, I perceived the suspect as presenting imminent threat to myself and others. By the time I reached the “fill in the blank” portion my eyes needed match sticks to stay open. In the “state the suspect’s intent as perceived by you” section, I wrote down, “Intended to burn down the city due to being a complete crackpot.”
    When I finally stepped out of the Mercenary Guild’s heavy, reinforced steel doors, the sky was pale gray with that particular color that usually meant the sun was rising. At least I had the bolt from Jeremy’s back. And I was three hundred bucks richer, thanks to my advance. The rest of the money would have to wait until the cops approved the kill. By the time I got to the intersection, I had the advance divided between various bills. I still had it—if I thrust my hand in my pocket, I would feel the soft paper of four worn fifty-dollar bills and five twenties, and yet the money was already gone.
    The great mystery of the Universe.
    Â 
    TWO HOURS LATER, I STUMBLED INTO THE ATLANTA chapter of the Order, bleary-eyed and armed with a huge mug of coffee, the mysterious bolt wrapped in a brown paper bag and tucked securely under my elbow. The office greeted me with its plethora of vivid color: a long hallway with gray carpet, gray walls, and gray light fixtures. Ugh.
    As I stepped in, the magic hit. The electric lights went out. The bloated tubes of feylanterns flared a gentle blue as the charged air inside them reacted with magic.
    This was the third wave in the last twenty-four hours. The magic had been going crazy the last couple of days. Shifting back and forth like it couldn’t make up its mind.
    The faint clicking of an ancient typewriter echoed in the empty office, coming from the secretary’s nook by the door of the knight-protector. “Good morning, Maxine.”
    â€œGood morning, Kate,” said Maxine’s voice in my head. “Rough night?”
    â€œYou could say that.”
    I unlocked my office door. The Atlanta Chapter of the Order made an effort to appear as inconspicuous as possible, but my office was small even by their standards. Little more than a cube, it was barely large enough to house a desk, two chairs, a row of filing cabinets, and some bookshelves. The walls showcased another radiant shade of gray paint.
    I paused in the doorway, arrested in midstep. I had inherited the office from Greg. It had been almost four months since his death. I should have gotten over it by now, but sometimes, like this morning, I just…had a hard time making myself enter. My memory insisted that if I stepped in, Greg would be there, standing with a book in his hand, his dark eyes reproachful but never unkind. Always ready to pull me out of whatever mess I had gotten myself into. But it was a lie. Greg was dead. First my mother, then my father, then Greg. Everyone I ever cared about died violently, in a great deal of pain. If I took a moment to let it sink in, I’d be howling like a Pack wolf during a full moon.
    I closed my eyes, trying to clear the memories of the office and Greg within it. Mistake. The image of Greg only got more vivid.
    I did a one eighty and walked down the hall to the armory. So I was a coward. Sue me.
    Andrea sat on a bench cleaning a handgun. She was short, built with strength in mind, and had the kind of face that made people want to tell her their life stories in a checkout line. She knew the Order’s Charter front to back and could rattle obscure regulations off the top of her head. Her radios never lost contact, her magic scanner never malfunctioned, and if you brought her a broken gadget, she would return it the next day fully operational and clean.
    Andrea raised her blond head and gave me a little salute with her