Ilona Andrews - Magic Bites

“I was hoping you would have lunch with me.”

Persistent bugger. “How did you get my number?”

“I called to the Order and lied to them. I said that I had information concerning the dead vampire and gave them my credentials. They gave me this number.”

“I see.”

“So will you join me?”

“I’m very busy.”

“But you have to eat once in a while. I would really like to see you again, some place less formal. Give me a chance and if the lunch doesn’t work out, I’ll vanish from your horizon.”

I thought about it and realized that I wanted to say yes. It was a completely ludicrous thing to do. I was sitting on top of a bomb and both the Pack and the People stood ready to light the fuse, and here I was, considering a date. How long had it been since I’d been on a real date? Two years?

“It’s a deal,” I said. “I’ll meet you between twelve and twelve thirty at Las Colimas. Do you know where it is?”

He knew.

“And Dr. Crest?”

“Just Crest, please.”

“Crest, please don’t call the Order again.”

I expected him to be taken aback, but he said cheerfully “Yes, ma’am!” and hung up.

Stepping into the shower, I tried to figure out why I had agreed to meet him. There had to be a reason, something besides feeling lonely and tired, and wanting normal human contact, male human contact, the kind of male that didn’t warp into a monster or shift muscles around its frame with the ease of changing clothes. Perhaps, I would use this opportunity to pump him for information about the morgue’s treatment of the dead vamp. Yeah, that was it.

Halfway through the shower the phone rang. I turned off the water and went to pick it up, dripping wet soap lather onto the linoleum.

“Yes?”

“This is Maxine, dear.”

“Hello, Maxine.”

“The protector wishes to see you in his office today at eight thirty.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem, dear.”

I hung up and went back into the shower. The hot water hit me with a satisfying rush, soothing my muscles.

The phone rang.

I growled and stomped back to the phone, without bothering to shut off the water.

“What?”

“You’ve got some fucking nerve calling me in the morning,” Jim growled.

“Forgive me for disturbing your beauty sleep!” I snarled.

“What the hell did you call me for?”

“I want you to claw your eyes open and give me a list of Pack murders: locations, times, and so on.”

“You know, that’s classified information. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m the only person that gives a shit. Look out the window. You see a line of people waiting to help your furry asses?”

I slammed the phone and returned to the shower. The absence of steam should have alerted me, but I foolishly stepped right into the ice-cold cascade. While I was talking, the shower had run out of hot water. Choking the shower pipe would not bring the hot water back, as satisfying as it might feel, so I turned the shower off and toweled dry. It was going to be one of those days.

I SAT IN ONE OF THE VISITOR’S CHAIRS DEEP IN THE bowels of the knight-protector’s office. This time Ted was not talking on the phone. Instead he regarded me from behind his desk like a medieval knight watching the besieging Saracens from the ramparts of his stronghold.

Moments stretched into minutes.

Finally he said, “I pulled your file from the Academy.”

Oh, shit.

“You had an e-rating,” he said.

E for electrum. Not that big of a deal, really.

“Do you know how many squires with e-ratings came to the Academy in its thirty eight years?” he asked.

I knew. Greg told me so many times that the number made holes in my ear membranes, but provoking the protector would do me no good, so I kept my peace.

“Eight,” he said, letting the words sink in. “Including you.”

I tried to look solemn.

Ted moved his pen two inches to the left, gave it a careful look, and leveled his gaze back at me. “Why did you leave?”

“I had a problem with authority.”

“A bad case of honor student ego?”

“It went beyond that. I realized that the Order was the wrong place for me and I withdrew before I had a chance to do something really stupid.”

In my mind Greg’s voice said with a touch of reproach, And so you became a mercenary, a sword for hire, without a purpose or cause.

Ted said, “You’re working for the Order now.”

“Yes.”

“How does it feel?”

“Well, Doctor, it feels rather sore and tingly.”

He waved my quip aside. “I’m not fucking around. How does it feel?”

“Having a base in the city is nice. The MA sticker opens doors. There’s a lot of responsibility.”

“It bothers you?”

“Yes. When I’m on my own, I screw up and my pay-check goes down the drain, so I eat what I grow until the next thing comes along. Now I screw up and a lot of people might die.”

He nodded. “Feel choked by authority?”

“No. You gave me a long leash. But I know it’s there.”

“Just as long as you remember.”

“That’s not something I would forget.”

“I’ve got a complaint from Nataraja,” he said.

I relaxed. The tide was changing. “Oh?”

“He claims that you’re avoiding discussing the case with them. He had a lot to say.”

“He frequently has a lot to say.” I shrugged.

“You know why he’s making noise?”

“Yes. Both the People and the Pack are suspects. He wants to put on a show of cooperation.”

Ted nodded, approving of my assessment.

“I had no cause to go to the Casino,” I said.

“You’ve got one now.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then after we’re done, go and shut him up.”

I nodded.

“Tell me what you’ve got so far.”

I unloaded. I told him about the dead vampire and the hidden brand; I told him about the meeting with the Beast Lord who wanted to be called Curran, and I told him about the yellow lines on the m-scan and Anna’s dream.

He sat through it all, nodding with no expression on his stone face. When I was done, he said, “Good.”

I realized that the audience was over and left the office. This time the Saracens escaped without burning oil scalding their backs.

I proceeded into Greg’s office. Something had been bothering me since last night, tugging at my mind, and this morning, my wits sharpened by fury over the icy shower, I finally figured out what it was: the names of the women in Greg’s file. I had forgotten about the four names, just let them slip from my memory, which was both irresponsible and stupid. I should have known better than that.

Finding the file and extracting the page listing the names took about five seconds. Sandra Molot, Angelina Gomez, Jennifer Ying, Alisa Konova. I checked Greg’s files looking for the names, but none of the women had individual folders. Besides coming from different ethnic groups, they had nothing in common. I rummaged around for a phone book, found it in the lowest drawer, and looked through it. Gomez and Ying were common surnames, and Molot was not infrequent, so I looked for Konova. I found two men with the surname Konov, Anatoli and Denis. Russians denoted female gender by adding a vowel to the end of their surname, so a female form of Konov would be Konova. Given that, I thought the names were worth a try.

I dialed the first one and was informed by an indifferent female voice that the number had been disconnected. I tried the second number. The phone rang and an older female voice said with a slight accent, “Yes?”

“Hello, can I speak with Alisa, please?”

There was a long pause.

“Ma’am?”