Kate Daniels 03 - Magic Strikes

need of your silly investigative skills. “You squared this with the cops?”
    Jim nodded.
    I sighed, turned Marigold around, and headed home. Someone had died. I wouldn’t be the one to find out why. It irked me on some deep professional level. If it was anybody else but Jim, I would’ve pushed harder to see the body. But when Jim said no, he meant it. My pushing wouldn’t accomplish anything except straining relations between the Pack and the Order. Jim didn’t half-ass things, so his crew would be competent and efficient.
    It still bothered me.
    I would call the Paranormal Activity Division in the morning and see if any reports were filed. The paranormal cops wouldn’t tell me what was in the report, but at least I’d know if Jim had filed one. Not that I didn’t trust Jim, but it never hurt to check.
     
     
    AN HOUR LATER I LEFT MARIGOLD IN A SMALL stable in the parking lot and climbed the stairs to my apartment. I had inherited the place from Greg, my guardian, who had served as knight-diviner with the Order. He had died six months ago. I missed him so much it hurt.
    My front door was a sight like no other. I got in, locked the door, pulled off my noxious shoes, and dropped them in the corner. I would deal with them later. I unbuckled the leather harness that held Slayer, my saber, on my back, pulled the saber out, and put it by my bed. The apple pie beckoned. I dragged myself into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and stared at an empty pie plate.
    Had I eaten the pie? I didn’t remember finishing it. And if I had, I should’ve taken the empty plate out of the fridge.
    The front door had shown no signs of forced entry. I did a quick inventory of the apartment. Nothing missing. Nothing out of place. Greg’s library with his artifacts and books looked completely undisturbed.
    I must’ve finished the pie. Considering the insanity of the last forty-eight hours, I had probably just forgotten. Well, that sucked. I took the pie plate, washed it while murmuring curses under my breath, and put it in its place under the stove. I couldn’t have pie, but nobody could deny me my shower. I stripped off my clothes, shedding them on the way to the bathroom, crawled into the shower, and drowned the world in hot spray and rosemary soap.
    I had just toweled off my hair when the phone rang.
    I kicked the door open and stared at the phone, ringing its head off on the small night table by my bed. Nothing good ever happened to me because of phone calls. There was always somebody dead, dying, or making somebody else dead on the other line.
    Ring-ring.
    Ring-ring-ring.
    Ring?
    I sighed and picked it up. “Kate Daniels.”
    “Hello, Kate,” said a familiar velvet voice. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
    Saiman. Just about the last person I wanted to talk to.
    Saiman had an encyclopedic knowledge of magic. He was also a shapeshifter—of sorts. I had done a job for him, back when I worked for the Mercenary Guild full-time, and he found me amusing. Because I entertained him, he offered me his services as a magic expert at a criminal discount. Unfortunately, the last time we had met was in the middle of the flare, atop a high-rise, where Saiman was dancing naked in the snow. With the largest erection I had ever seen on a human being. He didn’t want to let me off that roof either. I had to jump to get away from him.
    I kept my voice civil. Kate Daniels, master of diplomacy. “I don’t want to speak to you. In fact, I don’t wish to continue our association at all.”
    “That’s very unfortunate. However, I have something that might belong to you and I would like to return this item to your custody.”
    What in the world? “Mail it to me.”
    “I would but he would prove difficult to fit into an envelope.”
    He? He wasn’t good.
    “He refuses to speak, but perhaps I can describe him to you: about eighteen, dark, short hair, menacing scowl, large brown eyes. Quite attractive in a puppy way. Judging by the way the tapedum lucidum behind his retinas catches the light, he’s a shapeshifter. I’m guessing a wolf. You brought him with you during our last unfortunate encounter. I’m truly sorry about it, by the way.”
    Derek. My one-time teenage werewolf sidekick. What the hell was he doing at Saiman’s apartment?
    “Hold the phone to him, please.” I kept my voice even. “Derek, answer me so I know he isn’t bluffing. Are you hurt?”
    “No.” Derek’s voice was laced with a growl. “I can handle this.