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Magic Strikes(73)

By:Ilona Andrews


«The cat got pissed off and peed all over the place, and because the carrier was upside down, it

went straight through the bars. The ceiling fan was on at the time, and the draft made the pee into a

sort of mist . . .»

I lost it and doubled over.

Raphael was grinning. «He tried to clean it up, but it got all over the carpet. It was a slight

miscalculation on my dad's part. He wasn't a cat person, you see.»

«That's hard to beat,» I finally managed.

«Yeah.»

«Are you going to do something for Andrea?»

His face took on a sly look. «I've been thinking about it. It would have to be really good.»

I finally got the last laughter out of my system. «What do cats do?»

Raphael shook his head. «Cats are weird. There is no telling.»

We lapsed into silence.

«So what did Curran do?» he asked finally.

I gave him the look designed to communicate the threat of certain and immediate death.

He shrugged it off. «Tell me. You owe me for coming with you on this trip. I could get hauled

before Curran for aiding you and the cat.»

«I never said I was helping Jim.»

Raphael spread his arms. «Come on. I'm not an idiot. So what did the Beast Lord do?»

«This doesn't go any further. I mean it.»

He nodded.

«He's been breaking into my place and watching me sleep.»

A frown troubled Raphael's handsome face. «A bit straightforward. I wouldn't expect Curran to

pull something elaborate, but that's too basic even for him. Has he done anything odd? Rearrange

anything?»

«No.»

The frown deepened.

I tapped my fingers on the wheel. «The whole point of the exercise seems to be letting the

woman know you're coming into her territory and escaping unharmed.»

Raphael nodded.

«I don't think Curran was ever planning on my finding out he was watching me. It just sort of

slipped out. So what is the point of being clever if you don't let the woman know you're clever?»

«I don't know.» Raphael looked at me helplessly. «I don't have a clue what's going through his

head.»

That made two of us.





CHAPTER 22



THE WORLD CONSTRICTED. PRESSURE GRIPPED THE car, squeezing my body like a

sponge. For a moment I felt like my atoms had edged together closer than the laws of physics would

allow and then the ley line spat us out. The car rolled to a gentle stop, right past a dark-haired

woman holding two black horses. I got out. Friesians. All about sixteen hands tall, huge, black, with

flowing, wavy manes and long feathers of satiny midnight hair along their fetlocks. The knight

horses. Powerful, beautiful, and impressive as hell. Thank you, Jim.

«Are those for us?»

The woman eyed me with open suspicion. «Name?»

«Kate Daniels.»

«Then they're for you. This is Marcus and that over there is Bathsheba.»

«I'll take the mare,» Raphael said.

«Be careful with my babies.»

«We're riding two miles down to the school and coming right back,» I promised. «I'll have them

back to you in an hour.»

«Whole.»

«In perfect health.»

We mounted. The woman looked me over, studied Raphael, and snorted. «I should've brought a

camera. A picture would've been a hell of a promotion.»

Except it wouldn't have worked during magic, but I was too polite to point that out.

We trotted down to the path. Marcus proved ridiculously easy to handle, attuned to the most

minute cues almost as if he was anticipating me. If I ever lost my mind and purchased a horse, I

knew which one I would be getting.

In a few minutes we sighted the school. From horse-back, the complex resembled a fortress, an

octagon enclosed by an eight-foot wall complete with an arched entrance and a portcullis. A couple

of guards patrolled the wall, and they didn't hesitate to level hunting bows at us. A sentry at the

gates checked out my ID for a good twenty seconds-being dressed in black, riding black horses,

and carrying black weapons had its drawbacks. Finally he nodded. «We're expecting you. Your girl

is at the far end of the yard, to the left.» He waved us through.

I urged Marcus on and he obliged, building to a thunderous canter. We pounded around the main

building, my cloak dramatically flaring. A group of about twenty children stood a respectable

distance from the striped disks of archery targets propped up near the wall. Four aimed their bows at

the targets, while the rest waited in somewhat orderly fashion around an enormous elm tree under

the gaze of a large man in chain mail and a small dark woman. Citlalli, the counselor. Perfect.

The kids sighted us and went very still. I scanned the crowd and saw a blond-haired girl, still too