Kate Daniels 03 - Magic Strikes

until four, and archery until five . . .”
    “Does she take archery with the other children?”
    “Yes. It’s an outside activity.”
    If I hurried, I could get there before five. “Could you do me a favor? Please tell Julie at lunch, so the other children will hear, that her aunt is coming to pick her up during archery practice?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Thank you.”
    I hung up and saw Jim leaning against the doorframe. “Kid okay?”
    “Yeah. I’m leaving to pick her up.”
    “I’ll send someone with you.”
    “I don’t need an escort.”
    Jim leaned his hands on the table and stared at me. “I assume the worst. If it was me, I’d have a way to track my dead. I’d track them here and watch the house. I’d follow you when you left and hit you when you’re at your weakest—when you had the kid with you. You die. Julie dies. Derek dies. I don’t tell you how to swing your sword. That’s your thing. Security’s my thing. Take someone with you.”
    My side had finally stopped bleeding. The magic of Doolittle’s med-spell must’ve caught up and repaired the damage.
    “Kerosene?” I asked.
    He reached into the cabinet and handed me a bottle of lighter fluid and a box of matches. I went to the sink, dropped the gauze, sloshed fluid on it, and set it on fire. “Fair enough. Let me take Raphael.”
    “The bouda?” Jim’s face wrinkled in distaste. “You want to bring a bouda into this?”
    “None of you can go. In case you missed it, there is a Pack-wide APB out on you and your crew. But Curran would never give an order to apprehend me.”
    “You seem very sure of that.”
    I knew the way Curran’s mind worked. Having me brought to him would not be as satisfying as catching me himself. He wouldn’t give up that chance. Of course, saying that to Jim would lead to explaining the “not only will you sleep with me, but you’ll say please before and thank you after” conversation Curran and I had had. And the insane morning antics. And the naked dinner promise. What the hell was I thinking kissing him anyway?
    “I’m not under Curran’s jurisdiction.” I chose my words carefully. Hopefully he’d buy it. “He has no authority. Ordering the Pack to detain me would be sanctioning the kidnapping of a law enforcement official.” Which wouldn’t stop Curran for a second. “Let me take the bouda.”
    “What makes you think he won’t turn us over to Curran?”
    “He’s in love with my best friend. I’ll ask him to help me pick up Julie and that’s all. Technically, he won’t be aware he’s helping you and your lot in any way.”
    Jim shook his head, dialed the number, and handed me the receiver. “You talk to him.”
    I listened to the ringtone. “Can you have horses waiting for us at the ley point in Macon? Something flashy that I wouldn’t normally ride in a million years?”
    Jim gave a fatalistic shrug. “Sure.”
    “Hello?” Raphael’s smooth voice murmured into the phone.
    “Raphael? I need a favor.”
     
     
    RAPHAEL WAITED FOR ME BY THE LEY LINE, LEANING against a Jeep. The Jeep had been modified to run on enchanted water and it looked like it had tried to vomit its engine through its hood.
    Raphael looked . . . There were no words. I had explained my plan on the phone and he had arrived wearing leather: black, shiny boots up to his knees, black leather pants that showed off his legs, and a black leather cuirass that molded to him like a second skin. A shotgun hung over his shoulder. An oversized sword, three feet long and nearly six inches wide, rested at his waist in a short sheath, completing his ensemble. The sword was too heavy for any normal human and covered with black runes etched into the upper portion of the blade. Coupled with the rich waterfall of Raphael’s black hair and his smoky blue eyes, the effect was devastating. I wasn’t sure what I needed more: a cardiac surgeon to restart my heart or a plastic one to reattach my jaw.
    Two teamster ladies waited for their shipment on the ley line platform. They watched Raphael and did their best not to drool. As I neared, one of them, a redhead, nudged the other with an elbow, and said, “We’re expecting a load of plug nickels from Macon.”
    Ammo. Bullets were an expensive commodity. Some merchants took slugs in lieu of money; that was how the term “plug nickels” had come about.
    Raphael dazzled them with a smile. “Not a highway-man.”
    “Too bad,” the redhead said. “Because you can hold up my