Dana Stabenow - Powers of Detection

“Surreal.”

I heard the warning in his voice, but I ignored it and walked to the corner. I’d noticed the boy stepped aside if a woman already had a male escort, and I was curious.

A cute puppy, all bright-eyed and eager. A little Yellow-Jeweled Warlord. A miniature man. His eyes widened when he saw my Gray Jewel, but he took a deep breath and smiled.

“May I be of service, Lady?” he asked.

Protocol. Specific phrases that had specific answers. Protocol balanced power, giving the weaker among the Blood a safe way to deal with the stronger.

“I’m going to the coffee shop across the street,” I replied.

“Then I will escort you, if it pleases you.”

I held out my left hand. He slipped his right hand beneath it, checked the street to make sure no horse-drawn carriages or Craft-driven coaches were approaching the crossing, then led me across the street.

“Thank you, Warlord,” I said when I had been safely delivered to the door of the coffee shop.

“It was my pleasure, Lady.”

And it was. I could see it in his eyes. There would be bitches who would bruise his ego, dim the pleasure in those eyes. There would be many, many more witches who would gently reinforce his training, confirming his place in the world as a man worthy of courtesy and consideration, a man valued for who and what he was.

While I waited for Rainier to join me, I watched the boy escort two young witches across the side street. He continued up the street with them past three shops before one of the women murmured something-obviously a reminder that his duty was completed, since he stopped and turned back. As he passed the alley between two of the buildings, he hesitated, took a step closer toward that shadowy place that would put him out of sight.

Edgy. Uneasy.

He was almost at the mouth of the alley.

Something wrong.

Using Craft to enhance my voice, I bellowed, “Warlord! Here! Now! ”

As I ran across the street, I began to appreciate the value of training. The boy didn’t hesitate. He spun at the sound of my voice and ran away from the alley just as something reached out to grab him. Something sight shielded. I couldn’t see it, and yet I could see it, like an afterimage that remains on your eyelids after you close your eyes. A robed arm. A gloved hand. Reaching for the boy.

As he ran past me, I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and swung him behind me, throwing a Gray shield around both of us at the same time I called in a hunting knife-a big knife with a wickedly honed blade. I probed the alley with my psychic senses. No one there anymore, but I picked up a hint of the same fury and hatred that I’d sensed in that room.

“Stay here.” I released the boy but kept a Gray shield around him as I moved toward the alley. Into the alley.

Female. I was certain of that now. Definitely a witch skilled in her Craft.

“Everything has a price, bitch,” I said softly, even though I knew she was gone. “Maybe you had a reason to go after the men-or thought you did. But not the boy. Not a child. Everything has a price-and when I catch up to you, and I will, I’ll show you how to paint the walls in blood.”

“Surreal?”

A light psychic touch, full of strength and temper. Rainier at the mouth of the alley, guarding my back.

I backed out of the alley, staying alert in case the bitch was skilled enough to hide her presence. I didn’t turn away until Rainier ’s fingers brushed my shoulder. As I turned to face the street, I got my next lesson in how well Blood males are trained in Kaeleer.

There were hard-eyed, grim-faced men everywhere. A female had yelled on a public street. It didn’t matter that it had been a command and not a cry of fear or distress. A female had yelled-and they’d responded. They’d poured out of the shops, out of the carriages and coaches. Whatever had upset the female was going to be fixed. Now.

Which explained why assassins weren’t needed in Kaeleer.

Protocol was the only tool I had-especially since the Warlord Prince standing beside me had risen to the killing edge to become a living weapon.

Using Craft again to enhance my voice, I said, “Thank you for your attention, gentlemen. There is nothing more to be done here.” I raised the hunting knife, so the men who could see me couldn’t fail to notice it. Then I vanished it and lowered my hand.

I waited, hardly daring to breathe until I saw the men in front of me relax. Communication on psychic threads rippled over the street. Men returned to their carriages and coaches, to the shops or interrupted meals.

I heard Rainier release a slow breath as he worked to step back from the killing edge.

When the boy’s instructor joined us, I released the Gray shield I had put around the little Warlord. The puppy couldn’t tell us more than a lady had called to him, asking for help. He’d hesitated because he couldn’t see her, and she’d sounded… strange.

She hadn’t been able to mask her hatred. It must have bled into her voice. And it was going to piss her off that her prey had escaped. Which meant another man was going to die.

After the instructor bundled his students into a carriage and drove away, Rainier wrapped a hand around my arm.

“You need something to eat,” he growled.

I did, but I heard “I’m going to fuss over you” in that growl, and I really didn’t want to be fussed over. “Don’t worry about it, sugar. I can-”

His fingers tightened. “Lady, let me serve or point me toward something I can kill.”

Shit shit shit. Warlord Princes rose to the killing edge in a heartbeat, but they couldn’t always come back from it on their own. You either pointed them to a killing field or gave them something else to focus on-which usually meant a female they could fuss over and look after for a while.

“I could use a meal.” I shook off his hand, saw the temper in his eyes chill, and immediately linked my arm through his to give him the contact he needed. We walked for several minutes before he chose a dining house that had a small courtyard in the back for guests who wanted to eat outdoors.

I don’t know what passed between Rainier and the Warlord waiting on the tables in the courtyard. We weren’t asked what we wanted to eat-I wasn’t, anyway-but I’d barely settled in my chair when coffee, glasses of red wine, and a basket of bread appeared on the table. That was swiftly followed by bowls of greens that were delicately dressed, thick steaks, vegetables, and some kind of casserole made of potatoes, onions, and sausage. The meal lasted long enough for the wild look to fade in Rainier ’s eyes-and for me to reach a few conclusions.

I leaned back in my chair. “There’s a killer out there.” Which pretty much described anyone who was Blood, but I was making a distinction between the potential in all of us and someone using that potential.

Temper flared in Rainier ’s eyes. “There was no reason to go for that boy.”

“Sugar, I don’t think reason has much to do with this.”

He frowned. “You think this killer is a witch who has slipped into the Twisted Kingdom?”

I didn’t think she was insane in the way he meant, but hate can be its own kind of madness.

He sighed. “Then we have to find her and give her what help we can.”

“No, we have to find her and kill her.”

“But-”

“No.” I studied him. “You didn’t sense anything in that room or in the alley, did you?”

He shook his head.

“I did. Maybe it’s because I’m… familiar… with what I felt that I was able to sense it at all.”

Rainier swirled the wine left in his glass. “What kind of men did you kill, Surreal?”

“The ones who broke witches, killed witches, tortured witches, shattered their lives.” I drained my glass. “The ones who preyed on children.”