Kate Daniels 03 - Magic Strikes

stare at me.
    “We congratulate you on your victory,” Cesare boomed.
    “Very nice. They heard your congratulations,” Rene said softly. “Be on your way now.”
    Mart was still staring at me.
    “On your way,” Rene repeated with a bit of force.
    He turned toward the door and hurled a narrow stick at me. I dodged but I didn’t have to. The Red Guard next to me slashed at it with his short blade, cutting it in midflight. Two halves of my hair stick fell to the floor. A little souvenir someone had plucked from the body of the snake man in the parking lot and delivered to Mart.
    Rene’s rapier pointed at Mart’s throat. “One more and you and your team are permanently disqualified.”
    Mart smiled at me: a charming smile full of genuine joy.
    I showed him my teeth. Bring it.
    He bowed slightly, unconcerned by the point of the poisonous rapier an inch from his neck, turned on his toes, and left.
    Rene followed him out.

CHAPTER 18

    WE DELIVERED THE GIANT TO DURAND’S ROOMS under the pretext of Durand wanting to meet him. Inside Saiman sank onto the opulent bed. His body shuddered and assumed the shape of Thomas Durand. He closed his eyes and fell asleep. I covered him with a blanket and we were off.
    We left the Arena without any incidents, mounted, and headed back to Downtown.
    Jim rode as if he were wrapped in barbed wire: stiff, shoulders rigid, keeping as straight and immobile as he could.
    “That horse deserves a medal for not throwing you.”
    A torrent of obscenities washed over me. Having spent a considerable amount of time in Jim’s company before, I was able to distill the gist of his displeasure from his filthy tirade: if he had known the tech was going to hit, he would’ve brought a gas-guzzling vehicle instead of two pieces of meat with skinny legs and a hysterical disposition.
    We veered south and circled Downtown, aiming for the south end of Unicorn. The Reapers always headed north in a straight line. Chances were, they might have caught a whiff of our scent, but would suspect nothing when it turned right, away from their route.
    We made it there a few minutes after four. The sunrise was still a long way off. Ahead Unicorn lay, a blighted scar on the urban surface. Crumbling office towers, twisted and gutted, sprawled on their sides among the rubble, like sterns of damaged ships about to sink into the stormy sea of mangled asphalt. Moonlight glittered on the piles of shattered glass, the remnants of a thousand broken windows. Yellow hairs of toxic Lane moss dripped from abandoned power lines, feeding on metal.
    Several blocks from Unicorn the terrain grew too rugged for horses. Unlike the northern end, where streets sometimes ran almost right up to Unicorn, here debris choked the passageways, making islands of gravel in the rivers of sewage. The stench brought tears to my eyes. I’d never had a burning desire to wear a used diaper on my face, but I’d imagine the effect on my nose would have been very similar.
    At our approach a man stepped from the shadows. I recognized the weredingo. He passed Jim a set of car keys. “They beat you here,” he said in a raspy voice. “ ’Bout half an hour ago. Came in from the north, rode for a mile or so, and stopped.”
    Jim nodded and the dingo took the horses and melted into the night. Jim ducked into a ruined building and I followed. Inside, a Pack Jeep waited. Jim got in and tapped a small digital display affixed to the dashboard. A green grid ignited on the screen, and I recognized the faint outline of Unicorn. A small green dot blinked near the center.
    Jim frowned. “Fast fuckers.”
    The Reapers had beaten us here despite an hour’s lead. True, we took a long way around, but still, that was inhumanly fast.
    Jim shed his cape and passed me a small rectangular box. I popped it open. Camo paint, three different colors, each in its own little section. Even a small mirror. Most camo came in a stick that was hard as a rock. You had to rub the damn thing between your palms to warm it up or your face ended up feeling scraped with steel wool.
    “Fancy. You went all out.”
    “I’ve got connections.” Jim grinned without showing his teeth.
    I smeared a thin layer of brown on my face and blobbed a few irregular blotches of green and gray here and there, trying to break up my features. Jim applied his with easy quickness. He hadn’t glanced in the mirror at all.
    The dot hadn’t moved.
    I checked my belt: bandages, tape, herbs. No R-kit. The