Magic Strikes(40)
«But the Reapers did override it. They held the key to it. And they damn near obliterated Derek.»
I clenched my teeth.
«Your sword's smoking,» Doolittle murmured.
Thin tendrils of smoke snaked from Slayer in my sheath, the saber feeding on my anger.
«Nothing to worry about.» I drummed my fingertips on the table. «I could possibly manage to
take the Reapers into custody. But I have no reason to hold them. First, we have no proof they took
out Derek.»
«They would smell of his blood,» Jim said.
«So do I. There was enough of his blood in that plaza to stain anyone who came into contact with
it. That's not enough. Did you m-scan the scene?»
«Blue and green across the board.» Jim shrugged in disgust.
The m-scan recorded the colors of residual magic. Blue stood for human and green stood for
shapeshifter. It told us absolutely nothing. Maybe if I prayed to Miss Marple, she'd hook me up
with a clue . . .
«Another problem with bringing them in,» I said, «is the Games themselves. Let's say I bring
them in. I'll have to ask questions like 'What were you doing in that plaza?' If they admitted to
being a team in the Games, I'd have to follow up on it. I can't just ignore the existence of an
underground gladiatorial tournament. The cops, Order, and MSDU have to know the Games are
going on. The fact that they take place at all means a lot of money and influence are backing them
up.»
Jim nodded. «You'd get shut down before the investigation ever hits the ground.»
And that was why I liked working with Jim. He didn't waste any time on calling me a coward,
on baiting me, and suggesting I was afraid of the pressure. He understood that if the powers that be
came to bear on me, the investigation would become difficult and my progress would be slower
than molasses in January. He simply acknowledged it and moved on to the next possible avenue. No
angst, no bullshit, no drama.
«So officially, we both can do nothing,» I said.
«Yeah.»
Doolittle just shook his head and ate his hush puppies.
«I take it we'll have to fight in the Games to get to the Reapers.»
«Yeah.»
«How come you never invite me to the easy jobs?» I asked him.
«I like to challenge you,» he said. «Keeps you on your toes.»
I leaned forward and drew a line across the tablecloth with my finger. «Unicorn Lane. Thirty-two
blocks long and ten blocks wide. Long and narrow.» It used to be thirty blocks long and eight
blocks wide, but the flare boosted it and Unicorn grew, swallowing more of the city. «As I
understand it, the Reapers go in there and vanish. And your guys can't track them down.»
«Your point?»
«You remember the firebird capture from the summer two years ago? Half of Chatham County
was burning and the bird smelled like smoke. You couldn't track it and it burned through every trap
we had.» And he had been pissed off as hell about it, too.
Jim frowned. «I remember. We baited it with a dead possum that had a tracker in it.»
«Can you get your hands on a tracker like the one we stuck into the possum?»
«It can be done.»
«What's the maximum range of the tracker?»
«Twenty-five miles, if the tech is strong.»
I smiled. More than enough to cover Unicorn Lane.
CHAPTER 14
JIM SCOWLED AT SAIMAN'S DOOR. «THE PERVERT,» he said.
«He prefers to think of himself as a sexual deviant.»
«Semantics.»
We'd talked our plan over on the way through the city. It wasn't a great plan, but it was a slight
improvement over my usual «go and annoy everyone involved until somebody tries to kill you.»
Now I just had to sell my snake oil to Saiman.
Saiman opened the door. He wore a tall, thin platinum blonde, long of leg and decorated with a
sneer. Jim bristled. If he had been furry, his hackles would've risen.
Most people confronted with two armed thugs on their doorstep would pause to assess the
situation. Especially if one of those two had threatened to kill you five hours earlier if you didn't
give her a horse, and the other was a six-foot-tall man with glowing green eyes who wore a fur-
edged cloak, carried a shotgun, and looked as if he lived to grind people's faces into brick walls.
But Saiman merely nodded and stepped aside. «Come in.»
We came in. I sat on his sofa. Jim assumed a standing position behind and slightly to the left of
me, with his arms crossed on his chest. Soft music layered with a techno beat played in the
background. Saiman made no offer to turn it off.
«I've returned your horse,» I told him. «It's downstairs with the guards.» Jim had brought a spare