Magic Burns

Page 90

 

 

 

“What are your plans?”

 

“I’m going to go and visit an expert who might help me sort through this mess. I understand the Fomorians’ desire to annihilate Morrigan, but I don’t know how they came to be in the city, what they want with the child, or why they targeted that particular coven. I know that the coven had worshipped Morrigan, but the head witch was performing druidic sacrificial rites in her trailer. The two don’t go together.”

 

“Why not go see the Order of Druids?” Derek asked.

 

Ghastek shifted the vamp a few inches. “No, she’s right. The Druids spent years trying to distance themselves from their heritage. The moment they hear ‘sacrifice,’ they’ll refuse to communicate. It’s a PR

 

nightmare. A third party expert would be best.”

 

I rose. “And the sooner I see him, the better. As you always say, it was a pleasure.”

 

“I’m coming with you.”

 

“I’m sorry, I think I misheard.”

 

The vampire spread its arms, the huge yellow claws adding another three inches to its long digits.

 

“Considering the value of my offer, you didn’t give me nearly enough. We both signed the contract, Kate.

 

It stated ‘full and substantial disclosure of any information pertaining to the creature in question.’ What you gave me was by no means substantial.”

 

How do I get myself into these things?

 

Derek pushed off the wall, his jaw set. I stepped between him and the vampire. “Very well. Feel free to come along. You understand that there is no guarantee we’ll encounter any more reeves?”

 

“Oh, I think we will. You’ve cost him three undead. I don’t know of any Master of the Dead that wouldn’t want to get even.”

 

Before we left, I chased the werewolf and the vampire out of my office and changed my clothes. Over the years I’ve learned to leave extra clothes at convenient places, and my office offered changes of clothes and gear. Pack sweats were nice and all, but after fun games with the reeves’ claws I wanted something a bit thicker. I put on loose brown pants and a white heat-gear T-shirt. Made of a quick-drying microfiber, it wicked moisture from my body, keeping me dry and cool despite the heat of the summer. SWAT wore these seamless T-shirts under armor. I added a leather vest, securing the strings tight enough to be able to move, and completed my kick-butt outfit with a pair of combat boots: black leather toes, leather heels, and black nylon mesh sides. Almost light enough to play tennis in.

 

I spun and kicked at my shadow on the wall, adjusted the left vest seam to hug my body better, and slid Slayer’s sheath into the rings along the vest’s back.

 

Next, I took my dog-earedCraft Chronicle off the shelf, found the mirror lock spell, put a pencil on the right page to use as a bookmark, and went down the long concrete staircase into the vault. Hidden behind a foot-thick steel door lay five rooms storing everything from weapons and books to objects of minor power, the inventory the Knights of the Order felt was prudent to keep on hand. The foremost room contained a sink, a fridge, sleeping bags, even a closet-sized bathroom.