Magic Bites(2)

“You enjoy screwing with me, don’t you, Ghastek?”

“Immensely.”

The million-dollar question was why. “What is it you want? Make it quick, my Boone’s Farm’s getting warm.”

“I was just wondering,” Ghastek said with dry neutrality particular only to him, “when was the last time you saw your guardian?”

The nonchalance in his voice sent tiny shivers down my spine. “Why?”

“No reason. As always, a pleasure.”

In a single powerful leap the vampire detached itself from the wall and flew through the open window, taking my knife with it.

I reached for the phone, swearing under my breath, and dialed the Order of Knights of Merciful Aid. No vampire could breach my wards when the magic was in full swing. Ghastek had no way of knowing when the magic would ebb, so he must have been watching my house for some time, waiting for my defensive spells to fail. I took a swig from the bottle. That meant a vamp had been hiding someplace close when I came home last night, and I didn’t see or feel it. How reassuring. Might just as well write “Alert R Us” on my merc ID.

One ring. Two. Three. Why would he ask me about Greg?

The phone clicked and a stern female voice delivered a practiced blurb, “Atlanta Chapter of the Order, how may I help you?”

“I would like to speak to Greg Feldman.”

“Your name?”

A faint note of anxiety pulsed through her voice.

“I don’t have to give you my name,” I said into the receiver. “I wish to speak to the knight-diviner.”

A pause issued and a male voice said, “Please, identify yourself.”

They were stalling, probably trying to trace the call. What the hell was going on?

“No,” I said firmly. “Page seven of your Charter, third paragraph down: ‘Any citizen has a right to seek counsel of a knight-diviner without fear of retribution or need for identification.’ As a citizen, I insist that you put me in contact with the knight-diviner now or specify the time he can be reached.”

“The knight-diviner is dead,” the voice said.

The world halted. I skidded through its stillness, frightened and off balance. My throat ached. I heard my heart beating in my chest.

“How?” My voice was calm.

“He was killed in the line of duty.”

“Who did it?”

“The matter is still under investigation. Look, if I could just get your name . . .”

I pushed the disconnect button and lowered the receiver in its place. I looked at the empty chair across from me. Two weeks ago Greg had sat in this chair, stirring his coffee. His spoon had made small precise circles, never touching the sides of the mug. For a moment I could actually see him right there, while the memory played in my mind.

Greg was looking at me with dark brown eyes, mournful, like the eyes of an icon. “Please, Kate. Suspend your dislike of me for a few moments and listen to what I have to say. It makes sense.”

“I don’t dislike you. It’s an oversimplification.”

He nodded, wearing that very patient expression that drove women mad. “Of course. I didn’t intend to slight or simplify your feelings. I merely wish us to concentrate on the substance of what I have to say. Could you please listen?”

I leaned back and crossed my arms. “I’m listening.”

He reached inside his leather jacket and produced a rolled-up scroll. He placed the scroll on the table and unrolled it slowly, holding it taut with the tips of his fingers.

“This is the invitation from the Order.”

I threw my hands in the air. “That’s it, I’m done.”

“Allow me to finish,” he said. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t tell me that I was acting like a child, although I knew that I was. It made me madder.

“Very well,” I said.

“In a few weeks you’ll turn twenty-five. While in itself that means very little, in terms of readmission into the Order it carries a certain weight. It’s much harder to gain entrance once you turn twenty-five. Not impossible. Just harder.”

“I know,” I said. “They’ve sent me brochures.”

He let go of the scroll and leaned back, lacing his long fingers. The scroll remained open even though every law of physics dictated that it should snap back into a roll. Greg forgot about physics sometimes.

“In that case, you’re aware of the age penalties.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered it anyway. “Yes.”

He sighed. It was a small movement, only noticeable to those who knew him well. I could tell by the way he sat, very still, craning his neck slightly, that he had guessed at my decision.

“I wish you would reconsider,” he said.