Kate Daniels 03 - Magic Strikes

issues to themselves.
    Andrea eyed the file on my desk. “I thought you were off today.”
    “I am.” I jumped down. I had caught three hours of sleep, dragged myself to the office in search of background information on the Midnight Games, and promptly passed out at my desk facedown on the open file despite the near-critical amount of coffee in my system. Which explained why I had failed to hear Andrea enter the office. Typically I didn’t go zero to sixty out of dead sleep unless I was startled.
    I rubbed my face, trying to wipe away the layer of fatigue. Somebody had poured lead into my head while I was sleeping, and now it rolled around in my skull, creating a racket. “I’m looking for some info on the Midnight Games.”
    Unfortunately, the file on the Games proved to be anorexic. Three pages of shallow overview on structure, no specifics. This meant there was another file, a big fat one, with a nice CLASSIFIED stamp on the cover, which put it squarely out of my reach. As security clearances went, mine was bare minimum. This was one of the rare moments when I regretted not being a full-fledged knight. As it was, getting my hands on the secret file would prove slightly harder than getting an ice cream cone in Christian hell.
    “I don’t know much about it,” Andrea said. “But one of my instructors was in it, before the tournament was outlawed. I can tell you a little bit about how it worked back then. Over lunch.”
    “Lunch?”
    “It’s Friday.”
    That’s right. Andrea and I always had lunch on Fridays. Typically she just waylaid me in the office and didn’t give me any choice about it. In Andrea’s book, lunch was something friends did. I was still getting used to the idea of friends. Steady relationships were a luxury I wasn’t allowed to have for most of my life. Friends shielded and protected you, but they also made you vulnerable, because you sought to return the favor.
    Andrea and I had worked closely during the flare. I had saved her life; she had saved my kid, Julie, who had started the flare as a street rat with a missing mom and ended it a killer of demons, who lost her mother permanently but gained crazy Aunt Kate. After the flare, I had expected Andrea and me to quietly drift apart, but Andrea had other plans. She became my best friend.
    My stomach growled, informing me that I was ravenous. Food and sleep—you could do without one, but not without both. I put Slayer into the back sheath where it belonged, returned the throwing knife to its sheath on my belt, and grabbed my bag. Andrea checked the two SIG-Sauer P226s she carried in hip holsters, patted down her hunting knife and a smaller backup firearm on her ankle, and we were ready to go.
     
     
    I STARED AT THE HUGE PLATE OF GYROS. “I’VE died and gone to Heaven.”
    “You have gone to Parthenon.” Andrea took a seat opposite me.
    “True.” The only way I could get into Heaven would be by blowing up the pearly gates.
    We sat on the second floor, in the garden section of a small Greek joint called Parthenon. The garden consisted of an open-air patio, and from our table I could see the busy street beyond an iron rail. The only drawback to this place was the furniture. The tables were wooden and decent enough, but they were flanked by uncomfortable metal chairs bolted to the floor, which meant I couldn’t really watch the door.
    I scooped the meat with my pita. My brain kept returning to Derek with a small smile in the night-soaked parking lot. A big, heavy ball of worry had accreted in my stomach over the past few hours.
    I was stuck. Aside from Derek, who wasn’t talking, the only people who could shed light onto this situation were Pack members. There might have been a way to broach the subject with them without giving away the facts of Derek’s spectacular escapade, but I was too stupid to think of any. And considering the recent death, they would want full disclosure. If I said anything about Saiman or the Games, Derek would be punished. If I said nothing, he might risk his hide doing something idiotic.
    Combined with my headache, all this rumination put me into a foul mood. For all I knew, Derek’s little note said, “Meet me at the Knights Inn. I bought the rainbow-colored condoms.” Of course, it could also say, “Tonight I kill your brother. Get the stew pot ready.”
    I should have just read the damn note. Except I’d given my word I wouldn’t. In the world of magic, your word had weight. When I gave