I walked right up to the door of number 112, listening closely. If there were people at home, they were being quiet about it. I glanced around—still no people—and dropped down to all fours. The space between the building and the hedge was just wide enough for me to crawl through without brushing against the shrubbery, and almost tall enough to hide me completely. I lifted my cane and set it very gently a few feet in front of me, without making noise. Then I crawled after it on my hands and one knee and repeated the process, making my way under the condo’s picture window and toward number 144. I was agonizingly slow, which I hoped would work in my favor. Who would expect an injured burglar with a cane, who attacked in broad daylight? Hopefully no one, although if any city was going to have a handicapped, crawling daytime burglar, it’d probably be LA.
Focus, Scarlett. As I reached the bottom of the picture window by 144, I felt the scout in my radius on the other side of the wall. Up close, I could see that the condo’s windows had a latticework of sturdy bars, painted white so as to be almost invisible against the blinds. Huh. Between the security sticker in the window, the bars, and that heavy wood-and-iron door, we’d better hope this plan worked. We weren’t getting into the condo otherwise.
I was under the center of the window when I heard a loud creak right on the other side of the wall, stunningly close to where I was. I froze. A female voice murmured something in French again, and I felt a stab of fear. What if she wasn’t alone? I closed my eyes, concentrated, and extended my radius. No other witches, but there was a muted yelp, and I felt something new in my radius. Emphasis on the new.
A witch in my radius felt like a faint buzz of white noise, and this new thing was similar, but the . . . shape of it, for lack of a better term, was different. Subtler. There was another spark to it too: something wild. I might not even have noticed that spark if I wasn’t concentrating so hard, tuned in to Radio Scarlett.
I heard footsteps. Leaning forward, I peered beyond the hedge and into the pathway for 144. Jesse was just rounding the fountain, marching in my general direction, looking handsome and professional in his police uniform. He spotted me—or maybe the condo number—and abruptly altered course to head straight for 144, not trying to hide it. Our eyes met, and I thought I saw him give a little nod.
Still on my hands and knees, I flicked my index finger at the door and mouthed, “woman.” Since we’d been expecting a man all along, I didn’t want him to let his guard down when a woman opened the door. Confusion flickered across his face, and he faltered a step. “Woooman,” I mouthed again, eyebrows up emphatically. “Lady,” I tried. But he wasn’t getting it. He was getting very close now, so I rolled my eyes, leaned back on my heel, and mimed giant breasts in front of my own very average-sized ones. “Woman,” I mouthed again, pointing at the door. He nodded, comprehension flooding his face. Finally. I ducked back down below the hedge just in time—I heard the metallic rustle of the blinds right above my head as the Luparii peeked out again.
Jesse arrived at the door, only inches away from me, and rapped three times, causing the dog to bark again. Maybe not that well trained.
The door did not open, but she shouted through it. “Who ees zhere?” she asked in heavily accented French.
“LAPD, ma’am,” Jesse said sternly. He held his ID up to the peephole. “We’ve had a complaint from one of your neighbors about a barking dog.”
“I do not . . . my Eenglish ees . . .” She faltered. I frowned. We had not anticipated her being unable to understand us.
But to my very extreme surprise, Jesse jumped in with, “Je suis avec la police, madame. Ouvrez la porte, s’il vous pla?t.”
My eyes bugged out of my head, but I could feel Jesse very pointedly not looking down at me. He didn’t want to give me away, but it was still kind of funny.
I caught the words “police” and “porte,” which I assumed was “door,” but I totally lost the thread when the woman yelled, “Le chien ne sera pas aboyer plus. Je te le promets.”
“J’ai besoin de vous parler, madame. Attachez le chien. Ouvrez la porte.” He held up the ID again.
I stared at Jesse, trying to pick up from his expression what the hell was going on. But he remained very firm and professional. I waited. After a long moment of silence, I heard at least three bolts thrown open, and a crack appeared in the door.
My Taser is very special. It’s a police-issued, drive stun model, meaning I hold it directly against a target and it hurts like a bitch. Unlike most drive stun models, however, mine has been modified to affect the central nervous system the same way a Taser gun does. It’s the best nonlethal weapon for a null because it means I don’t have to dick around with trying to shoot a weapon at supernatural creatures who are probably moving really fast. By the time you’re close enough to me to be a physical threat, you’re close enough to tase.
It’s basically a pocket-sized cattle prod.
I could have given it to Jesse to use, but since I had to be right there anyway to make sure she couldn’t use her magic, we had decided it was best for me to do the tasing while Jesse distracted her. It works through clothes, but when the Luparii scout finally opened the door all the way, I opted not to take chances. As Jesse began to speak in rapid French, I slid up the cuff of her sleek black pants, pressed the Taser against her skin, and pulled the trigger. The whole thing was over faster than she could say, “Ooh la la! A Taser!”
Or whatever French people say.
Chapter 42
I held the Taser on her skin until the woman crumpled forward. Jesse was ready to catch her though, dragging her quickly into the condo and dumping her just inside the door. I hauled myself to my feet and followed as fast as I could. I slammed the door closed behind me, and we exchanged a relieved grin while I caught my breath. From deeper in the condo, the bargest began to bark again.
I looked at the woman at my feet. She was very tall, maybe six feet; blonde and beautiful in a harsh, imperialist kind of way. In a movie she’d be cast as a German Nazi ice queen, French heritage or not. She glared at me with her lips moving, but I knew from experience that she lacked the fine motor skills for talking.
The condo’s front door opened directly onto a living room/dining room combination, with the kitchen off to our left. She must have had the bargest restrained in a back bedroom. “You told her to put the dog away?” I asked Jesse. He nodded.