Grave Dance(76)

“No, you won’t,” I said, but he was already dragging me forward. I glanced over my shoulder at Tamara, who looked unsure if she should interfere or not. “I’l be right back,” I told her before turning to Falin again. I was okay with him leading me to where other people couldn’t hear us discuss

—okay, argue—about why I needed to stay—after al , there were aspects of my life I wasn’t sharing with my friends, let alone strangers—but I wasn’t about to leave. “I came here to—”

I didn’t get a chance to finish as a female voice, smooth and camera-ready, said, “Alex Craft.”

Crap. I didn’t bother smiling as I glanced toward the voice. “Lusa.” And her cameraman, of course. What, do I have a sign over my head attracting everyone I’d rather avoid?

I’d no sooner had that thought than I spotted Agent Nori in the crowd. Luckily, she at least wasn’t looking my way.

“So, what brings you to the river tonight, Miss Craft?”

Lusa asked, pushing a mic toward me.

“I could ask you the same question.”

She smiled. “A story. You?”

I glanced from the mic in my face to the blinking red light on the camera. “I imagine the same thing as everyone else.” I nodded toward where I imagined the tear was located. The tear wasn’t the ful reason I was here, but it was one of the reasons.

Unfortunately, Lusa seemed to realize that. “No,” she said. “There is more to it than that. You know something, and I’m betting it’s newsworthy. I’ve got a nose for this type of thing.”

I scoffed under my breath. “Lusa, I doubt your nose is real.”

Her perfectly straight teeth clicked audibly, and color Her perfectly straight teeth clicked audibly, and color bloomed in her cheeks. The color faded again instantly, her camera-ready persona snapping back in place.

“Wel , how about this,” she said, dropping her mic to her side. “How about I run my next story with the spin ‘Alex Craft seen poking around the scene, likely checking what damage her latest tear into the Aetheric is causing’ ? ”

At my side, Falin stiffened, his fingers digging into my shoulder hard enough to hurt, though I didn’t think he was aware he’d tightened his grip. I fought wincing—which would have looked like guilt to the camera—and tried to step out of his grasp. It didn’t work; he might as wel have turned into a solid ice sculpture.

“You can’t run that story,” he said, his voice a low warning.

“Detective Andrews, the public has the right to the truth.”

“Except that isn’t the truth. I didn’t open that tear.”

“Wel , the public also has the right to draw their own conclusions.” She smiled, a big, hungry display of teeth.

“You can’t run that story. I’ve already been pul ed off the street once by someone who wanted me to open a hole to the Aetheric.” I was appealing to her better nature, which I wasn’t sure she stil had under her reporter instincts, but it was Falin who responded to my words.

He stepped around me, his eyes catching, and locking, on mine. Right—I hadn’t told him about my little chat with Bel . Not that now was the time to go into it. I focused on Lusa, who seemed much less concerned about my safety.

“Give me a better story and I’l run with it instead.”

“I can’t just conjure up a story.”

“Wel , then, I guess I already have my sound bite.”

I glared at her. “You broke a major story when you discovered the tear—which I’d love to learn how you found, by the way, because that little tidbit wasn’t in your broadcast and I can’t see you heading out this evening thinking, ‘I know, I’l go poke around abandoned warehouse lots and see if a story turns up.’ Especial y not in those lots and see if a story turns up.’ Especial y not in those heels.” I nodded at her purple slingbacks. “You got your story, and because of Bel ’s barricade, Witch Watch is the only show that has footage of the rip up close. So why do you have to put a target over my head just to ride the coattails of your own success?”

“The tear wil be old news soon unless I dig up something to add as a new development. My original footage is already viral and streaming from countless places on the Net. I need something fresh. Now I imagine you’re here for one of the cases you’re working.” She lifted the hand holding her mic, not to shove the mic in my face but to point at me with one of her perfectly manicured nails. “Scratch my back and I’l scratch yours. And because you asked, I’l tel you how I found the tear—that is, as long as what you give me is good.”