Panther Prowling

by Yasmine Galenorn

  I saw where she was going with this. “They had to spy on us. Be looking through our windows. Crap.”

  “The wards don’t guard against all intruders, only those we’ve set them against. Is a spy an intruder? There are so many variables at play. And what if . . .” She stopped. “I have the beginnings of an idea, but it’s not clear yet.

  “Well, one thing is for sure. If somebody followed us home after we took the sword and overheard our plans, then they had time to figure out how to get into the bar.”

  Camille nodded, still frowning. I could tell she was trying to puzzle something out. “The schematics of the safe room had to be built into the architectural plans submitted to the county . . . city . . . whoever. Granted, the thief only had one night to figure out what to do, but if he’s good enough to track Daniel and not get caught, then he’s smart enough to figure out how to steal the sword. And because he has access to Compelling Powder, we have to assume he’s in league with someone who can work magic. Or who has access to it. Next question though . . . Why kill off the man in the alley? He obviously can’t be our ultimate target.”

  “Because . . . he knows who you are. So you kill him after making use of him.”

  Suddenly, Camille snapped her fingers. “I wonder . . . We went with Daniel down to the docks. Delilah, did you lock your car when you got out, when we went over to look at the sword? I don’t think I did.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t remember. Why?”

  “Because . . . Get your backpack.” She grabbed her purse and upended it on the desk, sorting through the massive pile of things that landed there. “Whoever had access to the Compelling Powder has access to magic, right?”

  I opened my backpack and followed suit. I still wasn’t quite catching what she was hinting at, but then, I stopped. Bingo. I held up a small talisman—stone by the look of it, but fully magical. I didn’t say a word, though, because I knew what this was.

  Camille reached out and I silently placed it in her hand. She turned it over, then nodded. Setting it down on the desktop, she picked up a nearby book and brought it down on the talisman, smashing it into pieces.

  Then, and only then, did she speak. “Magic Ears. Simple talisman to make, if you know your spells. Works for a limited amount of time or until broken.”

  “Then whoever followed us didn’t need to be listening at the door?”

  “No, they had to be on the property, but whoever it was could hear anything that went on within earshot around your backpack. Was it in the living room when we were talking about the sword?”

  I thought back. I’d been so tired . . . but . . . “Yes, I took it with me into the living room. Which meant our spy not only heard Smoky say he’d bring the sword down to the safe room, but he heard Smoky say the guard knew the code to get inside.”

  We headed up the stairs as Chase called.

  I answered my cell. “Yes?”

  “The man in the alley? Local thief, named Kendell.”

  “Well, at least we know his name. Thanks, Chase.”

  “You know, I have a thought that I’m not sure where to go with.” As I followed her, I puzzled through the thread weaving in my mind. “We need to find out if Leif remembers Daniel. And if not, he must be panicking over the theft. And why didn’t we hear anything about the loss in the news?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, looking tired. “Because we didn’t think to look? Because we’ve been too busy with everything else?”

  “And if Leif thinks Daniel took the sword, how come he didn’t go to the police?” I frowned. The more we seemed to be on track, the more questions were coming into play.

  “That’s a good question. I think we need to check up more on Mr. Engberg. We need to do so in person. There are things that computers cannot tell us. Like how someone feels, or whether we can sense them lying or not.” Camille frowned. “But just how do we approach him without endangering Daniel?”

  “Daniel!” I jumped up. “We need to check how he’s doing. The thief—Kendell—was killed over this sword. Just because it’s out of Daniel’s hands doesn’t mean he’s out of danger. Let’s drive over to his apartment and see if he’s there. Can you put in a call to him on the way?”

  By the time we got upstairs, Shade, Morio, and Roz were milling around the bar, food in hand. Derrick had found them leftover cupcakes and nuts from the night before.

  “We have to book, guys. We have a theory.” As we headed to the door, I turned back to Derrick. “You’ll have to call someone to take over the guard duty today. But make sure they aren’t new hires for now. And double check on them throughout the day. Get on that, would you?” Leaving the bartender overloaded with extra work, we swung out onto the rain-soaked streets.

  Seattle during the day can be as gloomy as Seattle at night, and when it’s raining, there isn’t all that much difference in the amount of light shining down either. Partially overcast or full, the sky stayed a steady gray-silver throughout a good share of the year.

  The rain was scattering bullets against the street, pounding down so hard that it bounced off the concrete to spring up again, trying to return to the clouds. It puddled in depressions in the sidewalk, and channeled a river down the sides of the curbs, making stepping out from the passenger sides of the cars an ankle-drowning experience.

  It was the lunchtime rush, and pedestrians were hurrying past, some clutching feebly at umbrellas. Umbrellas were a lost cause most of the time in Seattle, with the wind whipping through to rip them apart and blow them backward. Most people just turned up their collars, wore hats and rain ponchos, and hurried along, heads down against the biting sting of the rain. Light rain was no big deal—we were all used to it—but rain like this pelted down hard and stung when it hit hands and cheeks and whatever else might be exposed.

  Camille was soaked. She’d been trying to get Daniel on her cell, but now she slipped her phone back in her purse and shook her head, squinting through the rain that poured down her cheeks. I often wondered how she got her makeup to stay and not run, but I was pretty sure she had found some sort of alchemical magic—most likely in a bottle with the MAC or Urban Decay label on it.

  “He’s not picking up,” she said, jumping as a loud rumble rolled through the air. “Thunder!”

  We both instinctively began counting the seconds. When I reached three, a brilliant neon flash of blue illuminated the sky and the rain turned from heavy to drenching as the clouds burst open another notch.

  “Thor’s certainly pissed today,” I shouted over another rumble that came through.

  Camille laughed as she ran for her car. Morio was already there, and Rozurial was on her heels. She waved at me and mouthed, “Phone,” before scrambling into the driver’s seat.

  While I fared a bit better—my clothes weren’t quite so vulnerable to the rain—I still didn’t like it. I was a cat. Water and I weren’t friends, and baths were an irritating necessity to be gotten over with as soon as possible.

  Shade and I slammed our respective doors and sat there, staring at the water cascading down the windshield. A moment later, my phone rang—the ringtone was actually a refrain from “Bad Moon on the Rise” from CCR, and I glanced at the screen. Camille.

  “Hey, you wet enough?” I turned on the ignition so I could fire up the heater. It was chilly and getting colder by the minute.

  “Too wet for once. Listen, I tried Daniel but could only get hold of his answering machine. I’m worried enough that I think we should drive over to check on him.” She paused. “You do have his address, don’t you?”

  I frowned. Did I? Daniel had never invited us over to his house, and I had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t unless we showed up on his doorstep uninvited, like we were planning on doing now. It stood to reason that he liked his privacy, given his background and his profession.

  “Let me see.” I motioned to Shade. “Can you look
on my iPad and find out if I have Daniel’s address listed in my contacts?” I still loved my laptop but, like Camille, had switched to an iPad for mobile use.

  Shade pulled it out from my pack, which was waterproof, thank heavens, and turned it on. A moment later, he was fielding through my contact list. “Here it is. Yeah, looks like you made a note of it. He lives in a condo on Lake Washington Boulevard in Medina.”

  I whistled. Medina, which was a neighborhood of Bellevue. A pricey neighborhood, where billionaires and millionaires lived—many of them techies who had won at the dotcom game before it had a big bubble burst in the year 2000. Medina was gorgeous, and bordered Lake Washington on Meydenbauer Bay, another famous name over on the Eastside.

  As we approached the 520 Floating Bridge—one of the longest floating bridges in the world—which crossed Lake Washington and divided Seattle proper from the Eastside (all making up the Greater Seattle Metropolitan Area), I steeled my nerves. I hated driving the bridge during weather like this. Should the winds reach sustained 50 mph speeds, the bridge would close and they would raise the draw spans, to avoid the bridge twisting and going down. But even during weather like this, the waves would come crashing up over the sides to spray across all the lanes, showering the cars with water.

  The wind would shimmy the bridge, and by the time you made it to the other side, you were just so grateful you hadn’t somehow managed to drive over the concrete guards lining the sides of the bridge to plunge into the lake that you promptly put the trip out of your mind until the next stormy day you had to cross.

  I watched Camille take the bridge before me. It was nearing noon by now, and there was a surge of lunch-hour traffic, but luckily no stall-outs on our side of the bridge. The other side—leading to Seattle—was a solid mass of cars. Some idiot had been speeding, it looked like, and had plowed into the car in front of them, which spun sideways, and now all lanes were blocked as they worked from the Seattle end to clear the accident. An ambulance whirred off into the rain. Apparently there had been injuries involved.

  After the bridge, I followed Camille to the exit that led us to NE 28th Street, then we swung right on 92nd Avenue. The heavily wooded suburb eventually led us to Lake Washington Boulevard, where we turned left.

  Mansions and extensive condo units lined the streets, but the trees still gave the area a rural feel. To the right, we could see a block or so over, the lake shimmering between the houses and trees. Waterfront access was expensive, and property here cost a fortune. A moment later, Camille turned to the right on a private lane. Heavy lion statues guarded each side of the street, and the speed limit dropped to 15 mph. Another couple of minutes and we pulled into the parking lot of a gated condo community.

  Apparently, Daniel lived in the Lakefront Village Condo Community. An extensive lawn led down to the water, where I could see a designated swimming area. Had to be private beachfront for the condo owners. The rain had lessened slightly. Shade and I hurried out of the Jeep and followed Camille, Morio, and Roz, who were hoofing a quick charge toward the building.

  The building was only six stories high, but from the outside, it had the polished, high-tech, high-lux look to it. As we raced under the awning out front and approached the doorman, I whispered to Camille.

  “How much do you think these run?”

  “Want to make a bet you get under a thousand square feet for well over a million dollars?” She snorted. “I can’t imagine living in one of these. I get the price, given the area, but it would feel so sterile to me.”

  I agreed, but kept my mouth shut because the doorman was sizing us up and he didn’t look inclined to be helpful.

  I motioned to him. “We’re here to see Daniel Fredericks. He’s our cousin.”

  “Does Mr. Fredericks know you’re coming?” The sneer lay just beneath the surface, but not enough to call the man out on it—he could easily plead a “I didn’t mean anything by it” excuse. I grumbled under my breath. All too often people with jobs that gave them a very minor authority were all too eager to make the most use of it they could.

  “No, but we need to see him. We’re concerned about his health.” A thought occurred to me and I ran with it. “Last night, he was feeling quite ill after a party we held. We came to make certain Cousin Daniel is okay.”

  The doorman wavered, indecision playing across his face. On one hand, if he let us in, he might be letting undesirables slide through the golden gates. On the other hand, if his tenant was sick, he might be risking trouble if Daniel really did need help. A moment later, he asked us to sign the register and let us in.

  “Take the elevator to the fifth floor over there.” He pointed to a bank of three elevators. “Your cousin lives—”

  “We know, in Unit 507.” I swept past him, tired of the game already.

  But the fact that we knew the number seemed to calm the doorman down a little and he gave us a smile as we entered the elevator.

  The doors closed with a muted swish. The carriage was lined with mahogany-colored paneling and what looked like travertine tile above the wooden panels. A brass rail ran around three sides of the elevator, and there was a box marked EMERGENCY on the back wall. I wanted to open it, but thought maybe just doing so would set off an alarm somewhere and that wouldn’t lead to good relations with Mr. Doorman out there.

  “Fancy . . .” I personally didn’t see the need to spend a lot of money on elevator décor but that was just me.

  “Yeah, nothing but the best, I guess.” Camille punched in our destination. The buttons weren’t the typical elevator buttons, but instead, a keypad where you typed in the number of the floor you wanted. There was a Braille system right beside the digital display. As we passed each floor, a soft voice issued from a speaker near the buttons, giving the number.

  “Fifth floor.” The gentle computerized voice—I think it was supposed to be female—spoke again. “Thank you. Watch your step.”

  As the doors opened, we hurried off. The elevator gave me the creeps for some reason, but it wasn’t like when we ran into a ghost, or some demon or anything like that. It just felt too slick, too elite. Too trendy.

  We found the door to Daniel’s apartment without a problem. From where we were, I guessed he had a lakefront view, which would mean extra pricey. As we gathered by the door, I rang the bell. I could hear the echo of bells inside. Once . . . twice . . .

  “Do you think he really is out? He might be buying groceries or something.” I really didn’t want to try to enter Daniel’s apartment without him being there. Something about the fact that he’d worked for the ISA and knew how not only to disarm traps and explosives, but most likely to build them, set me on edge. “So what now?”

  “Pick the locks?” Morio said.

  I stared at him. “Do you want to give it a go? Because frankly, I’m about as keen on that idea as I am strong-arming the door and breaking through.”

  Morio wrinkled his nose, snickering. “Well, we can stand here till he gets home. What about going through the Ionyc Seas?”

  Both Shade and Roz shook their heads. Shade spoke up. “You have to know what your destination looks like before you can take a chance on materializing. Don’t want to get caught inside a wall and implode the whole damned building.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  Shade motioned us back. “Delilah, kill the lights.”

  He backed up and closed his eyes. I found the hall light switch and flipped the lights off. I knew what he was doing. A mist began to rise around him—a wispy veil as his body began to vanish, dissolving into the smoke. Within seconds, he was nowhere to be seen as the swirl of brown mist vanished beneath the door to Daniel’s condominium.

  Chapter 8

  Camille glanced at me. “How does he do that?”

  “It has something to do with him being half-Stradolan. I know that it takes a great deal out of him, and he can’t use it very often.
I’m surprised he chose to now, but then again, Daniel is our cousin. And Shade knows how important family is to us.”

  Morio leaned back against the opposite wall. “I’d like to know more about that part of his heritage.”

  I let out a long sigh. “Me, too, but he’s slow to talk. The dragon in him, I think. You know how closemouthed they can be about things.”

  At that, Camille laughed. “Oh yeah, trust me, I do.”

  A moment or two later and we heard the door lock turn. Shade was standing there, looking tired. He nodded for us to enter.

  “As far as I can tell, Daniel isn’t home. I had a quick look around but didn’t want to disturb too much in case he has the place booby-trapped.”

  Camille looked around. “He’s obviously cleaned up from the ransacking, so he must have been home. As far as booby-traps, I wouldn’t put it past him.” She glanced back at the door. “I thought he’d have a security system.”

  “He does, but it wasn’t armed.” Shade pointed toward the control panel on the wall next to the door. “Which seems odd in itself.”

  “He wouldn’t just walk off and leave the place unarmed. Especially not after being broken into once already. Not Daniel.” I shook my head. Something was wrong.

  “He might if he were in the bathroom taking a bath.” Daniel’s voice echoed from behind us. We turned to find him leaning against the wall, wearing only a towel around his waist, with a big-assed gun in his hand. He let out a long sigh and jerked his head toward the living room. “Sit. I’ll dress and be out in a moment.”

  Sheepishly, we filed into the living room and sat down. He had cleaned up to the point of making it impossible to tell he’d been burgled. The place was a tribute to chrome and glass, with all the side tables and coffee tables polished to a high sheen. The glass was spotless. The bookcases were jet black, and it was hard to tell if they were metal or wood, but they, too, had glass doors. Daniel’s sofa and love seat were micro suede, in muted gray, and the art decorating the room was one of a kind—obviously high end. I didn’t recognize any of the paintings or sculptures but had no doubt they were all originals. Which begged the question: How many of these were stolen?