Kate Daniels 03 - Magic Strikes

Now I just had to sell my snake oil to Saiman.
    Saiman opened the door. He wore a tall, thin platinum blonde, long of leg and decorated with a sneer. Jim bristled. If he had been furry, his hackles would’ve risen.
    Most people confronted with two armed thugs on their doorstep would pause to assess the situation. Especially if one of those two had threatened to kill you five hours earlier if you didn’t give her a horse, and the other was a six-foot-tall man with glowing green eyes who wore a fur-edged cloak, carried a shotgun, and looked as if he lived to grind people’s faces into brick walls. But Saiman merely nodded and stepped aside. “Come in.”
    We came in. I sat on his sofa. Jim assumed a standing position behind and slightly to the left of me, with his arms crossed on his chest. Soft music layered with a techno beat played in the background. Saiman made no offer to turn it off.
    “I’ve returned your horse,” I told him. “It’s downstairs with the guards.” Jim had brought a spare mount for me.
    “Keep it. I have no need of one. Would you like something to drink?”
    And risk another ultimate luxury lecture? Let me think . . . “No, thank you.”
    “Anything for you?” Saiman glanced at Jim, saw the Stare of Doom, and decided safety had its advantages over courtesy. “Pardon me while I get something for myself. I think better with a glass in my hand.”
    He made a martini and came to sit on the love seat, crossing one impossibly long leg over the other and flashing me with his cleavage . Yes, yes, your boobies are nice. Settle down.
    “How did it go with the Reapers?” I asked.
    Saiman glanced at Jim. “Less than satisfactory.”
    “The Order has a certain interest in the Reapers.” Technically that was true. I was an agent of the Order and I had an interest in the Reapers. I had an interest in killing every last one of them in an inventive and painful way.
    “Oh?” Saiman arched an eyebrow, once again copying me.
    “More to the point, I have a personal stake in this matter. I want the Reapers eliminated.”
    Saiman’s gaze probed me. “Why? Does it have anything to do with your young friend?”
    I saw no point in lying. “Yes, it does.”
    Saiman saluted me with his glass. “I find personal motives to be best.”
    He would, the selfish bastard.
    “So what do you need from me?” he asked.
    “I propose a partnership.” I was getting better at this game. I didn’t quite throw up in my mouth as I said that. One small victory at a time. “You want the Reapers out. So does the Pack, and so do I. We join forces. You provide access to the Games. We provide the muscle.”
    “I’m to be an opportunity while you will be the means?”
    I nodded. “We share information and resources to accomplish a common goal. Think of it as a business arrangement.” The business angle would appeal to him.
    Saiman leaned forward, very intent. “Why should I work with you? Just how badly do you want this, Kate?”
    A low warning growl reverberated in Jim’s throat.
    I leaned back and swung one leg over the other, mimicking his pose. “You need us more than we need you. I can flash my ID, walk into the Midnight Games, and make myself a giant pain in the ass. I’m very good at that.”
    “I have no doubt,” Saiman murmured.
    “I’ll shine a big searchlight onto the Games and the Reapers in particular. Sooner or later they’ll develop a burning desire to kill me, and Jim here will help me slaughter them one by one. He has a big axe to grind. Meanwhile, the attendance to the Games drops, House profits plummet, and you lose money.”
    I gave him a smile. I was aiming for sweet, but he turned a shade paler and scooted a bit farther from me. Note to self: work more on sweet and less on psycho-killer.
    “Since you don’t wish to work with us, you’ll have to hire some muscle to assist you with the Reaper issue. As the parking lot incident showed, they’re all about loading you on the first available train to the afterlife. You require protection, which will cost you a lot of trouble and money—judging by Mart, you must employ top talent if you wish to keep breathing. After the Reapers help a couple of your bodyguards find their wings and halos, you’ll have to hire replacements, only now you’ll enjoy the reputation of a man whose bodyguards die. Prices will shoot up into the stratosphere and the quality of employees will drop. Despite popular misconceptions, most bodyguards aren’t