“He wanted these.” Saiman offered me the papers. I looked at them without touching. They were blood-red.
Heavy gold lettering spelled out MIDNIGHT GAMES across the parchment surface.
“What are the Midnight Games?”
“An invitation-only preternatural tournament.”
Oh boy. “I take it the tournament is illegal.”
“Extremely. In addition, I believe the Beast Lord expressly forbade attendance and participation in the tournament to Pack members.”
First, Derek broke into Saiman’s apartment. Second, he did it with the intent to steal. Third, he tried to steal tickets to an illegal gladiatorial tournament in direct violation of Pack Law. Curran would skin Derek alive and that might not be just a figure of speech. Was there any possible way this mess could get worse?
“Okay. How can we fix this?”
“I’m prepared to let him go and forget he was ever here,” Saiman said. “Provided you accompany me to the Games tomorrow night.”
Never ask that question.
“No,” Derek said.
I studied the glittering crystal glass in my hand, playing for time. A large crest had been painstakingly cut into the glass, a flame encircled by a serpent. The light of the electric lamp set the cut design aglow, and the crystal scales of the serpent sparkled with fiery colors.
“Lovely, isn’t?”
“It is.”
“Riedel. Hand-cut. A very limited series, only two made.”
“Why do you want my company?”
“My reasons are twofold: first, I require your professional opinion. I find myself in need of a fighter expert.”
I arched my eyebrows.
“I would like you to evaluate one of the teams at the Games.” Saiman permitted himself a small smile.
Okay. I could do that. “And second?”
Saiman studied the glass in his hand for a long moment and smashed it against the table. It shattered with a pure chime, showering the carpet with a spray of glittering crystal shards. In the cage Derek snarled.
I killed the desire to roll my eyes at all the drama and nodded at the stub of crystal. “If you’re planning to cut me with that, you’re out of luck. A bottle works much better for this kind of thing.”
Delight sparkled in Saiman’s eyes. “No, actually, I was planning on making a philosophical point. The glass you now hold in your fingers is the only glass of its kind in existence. It’s the ultimate luxury—there is nothing else like it.”
The flesh around his wrist swelled, flowing like molten wax. My stomach lurched and tried to crawl sideways. Here we go again. He stored magic like a battery, but I really thought with the technology as strong as it was right now, he wouldn’t be able to metamorphose. Live and learn.
Saiman’s shoulders widened. His neck, chest, and thighs thickened, straining his sweatshirt. Crisp muscle showed on his forearms. The bones under the skin of his face shivered and I nearly vomited my water.
A new face looked at me: handsome, strong, sensuous, with a square jaw, defined cheekbones, and hooded green eyes under reddish eyebrows. Thick blond hair spilled from his head to fall in a glossy wave onto his newly massive shoulders.
“For most people, I’m the ultimate luxury,” he said.
The man collapsed, thinning, flowing, twisting, but the eyes never changed. I stared into those eyes, using them as an anchor. Even when their corners sank, their irises darkened, and a velvet fringe of dark eyelashes sheathed them, I could still tell it was Saiman.
“What I offer is much greater than sex,” a Hispanic woman of startling beauty said. “I offer wish fulfillment. Anything you want. Anyone you want. I can give you your fantasy. And more, I can give you the forbidden.”
His face shifted again. Derek. A very reasonable facsimile, good enough to fool me in a bad light. The body still remained female, however. He was getting tired. He must’ve chugged a gallon of nutrients in anticipation of my arrival to be able to pull this show off.
“I can give you a friend.” Saiman-Derek grinned. “Guilt-free. Nobody would ever know. All the secret faces you picture when you pleasure yourself? I can give them to you in the flesh.”
Derek just stared, speechless, an expression of utter disgust stamped on his face.
“Is there a point to this demonstration, besides upsetting my stomach?”
Saiman sighed. “You refuse everything I offer, Kate. It hurts my pride.”
I crossed my arms. “I refuse because no matter what shape you wear, I know it’s you. And you don’t really want me for who I am. You want me because I said no.”
He considered it. “Perhaps. But the fact remains: by refusing me, you are now my ultimate luxury. That one thing I can’t have. You won’t see me. You don’t return my phone calls. All my attempts to apologize for my behavior during the flare have gone unanswered. It’s very difficult to seduce a woman when she refuses to acknowledge your existence. I’m looking forward to having you to myself for an entire night.”
“Fucking pervert.” Derek finally found adequate words to express his take on the situation.
“I prefer the term ‘sexual deviant’ myself,” Saiman said.
“When I get out . . .”
I raised my hand, halting Derek’s promises of very painful and highly illegal things he would have liked to inflict on Saiman. “I’ll come with you to the Games.” Even if I would rather clean an outhouse. “In return, you acknowledge that Derek never broke into your apartment and you’ll surrender all evidence of him ever being present here. Don’t plan on a date. There will be no wooing, no seduction, and no sex. That’s my best offer and it’s not open to negotiation. If you choose to accept it, keep in mind that I’m still a representative of the Order, attending a highly illegal event. Don’t put me into the position where I feel compelled to do something about it.”
Saiman rose, walked over to the room that served as his lab, and returned with a stack of digital printouts showing Derek in the cage in all his glory. He handed me the pictures, turned on a digital camera, and wiped the memory card clean.
Derek’s mask slipped and beyond it I saw guilt. Good. I planned on cashing in on that guilt to get him talking.
Saiman raised a remote, pressed a button, and the cage door fell open. Derek surged up and I stepped between him and Saiman before he could add murder to his list of transgressions.
“I’ll pick you up at your apartment at ten,” Saiman said.
THE GLASS DOORS OF THE LOBBY SHUT BEHIND US and I let out a breath. The sunrise was still a long way off, and the parking lot lay steeped in darkness, the night breeze cool and cleansing after the perfumed atmosphere of the high-rise.
Derek shook his head, as if clearing fog from his skull. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“I shouldn’t have gone through the window.” Derek measured the tower with his gaze. “I figured fifteenth floor, sure bet the window would be unprotected. But he’s got the whole place booby-trapped.”
“He had issues with breaking and entering a few years back. That’s why I had to bodyguard him for a while.” A vivid image of a man with a pencil through his left eye orbit flashed before me, complete with bloody smudges of my fingerprints on the yellow shaft of the pencil. Thank you, dear memory, for once again attempting to sabotage my conversation. “Saiman takes his security very seriously.”
“Yeah.”
We reached my car. “There was a shapeshifter death on the corner of Ponce de Leon and Dead Cat. Jim was there and a Pack crew. Know anything about it?”
A dark shadow crossed Derek’s face. “No. Who died?”
“I don’t know. Jim wouldn’t let me get within thirty feet of the body.” I looked right into his eyes. “Derek, did you have anything to do with it?”
“No.”
“If you did, you need to tell me now.”
“I didn’t.”
I believed him. Derek had many talents, but lying wasn’t one of them.
We stood by the car. Come on, boy wonder. You know you want to tell me what’s going on.
“You shouldn’t go with that freak.” Derek dragged his fingers through his short hair. “He’s dangerous.”
“I gave my word. I have to go. Besides, Saiman is a degenerate. He’s ruled completely by his appetites. For him, there is no higher goal than to satisfy his urges, and that makes him predictable. I’ll be fine.”
In the distance a dog erupted in an explosion of hysterical barks. Derek glanced in the direction of the sound. A faint yellow sheen rolled over his irises. He focused, leaning forward, light on his toes, listening to the night, the wolf crouching with hackles raised just beneath his skin.
Derek expected to be jumped any second. Something was seriously wrong.
“Derek?”
He had pulled the calm back on and his face looked inscrutable. But the beast refused to be completely tamed. It clawed and howled behind his eyes.
“Is this Pack or personal?”
“Personal.”
“Does Curran know?”
Derek looked at his feet.
I took that as a no. “Anything I can do to help?”
“No.”
“I came all this way to bust you out, and you won’t even tell me what this is about?”
He shook his head and took off into the night. So much for the guilt.
I watched him fall into that particular wolf gait, long-legged and deceptively easy. He could run like that for days, devouring miles. Derek reached the end of the parking lot, jumped to clear a three-foot concrete wall, and changed his mind in midleap. It was a peculiar thing to see: he shot in the air, unable to stop himself, but instead of going long, he jumped straight up, landed in almost exactly the same spot, turned on one foot, and sprinted to me.
In a breath he halted by my side. “I lied. I need your help.”
“Who are we killing?”
“Do you have a pen?”
I got a notepad and a pencil out of my car. He scribbled something on a piece of paper, tore it out, and folded the paper in half. “Promise me you won’t read this. This is important. This is the most important thing I’ve ever done. At the Games there will be a girl. Her name is Livie. She’s on the Reaper team. There are only two women on the team and she has long dark hair. Give this to her. Please.”
A girl. He risked Curran’s rage for a girl.
On the surface, it made sense. He was nineteen and wading through the sea of hormones. But I had never perceived Derek as the type to become blindly infatuated. He took stoic to a new level. More, he worshipped the ground Curran walked on. There had to be more to this. Unfortunately, Derek’s face was doing a wonderful impression of a granite wall.
“You tried to steal the tickets to give a note to a girl?”
“Yes.”
I scratched my head. “I know you’re in trouble. I can feel it. Usually this is the part where I threaten you with terrible bodily harm and promise to dance on your grave unless you tell me everything you know. There’s just one slight problem.”
Derek grinned and for a moment boy wonder was back in all his glory. “I won’t believe your promises of breaking every bone in my body?”
“Precisely.”
He barked a short laugh.
“Tell me what this is about. Whatever it is, I will help you.”
“I can’t, Kate. It’s something I have to do on my own. Just please give her the note, okay? Promise me.”
I wanted to grab him and shake him until the story fell out. But the only way to stay in this game meant taking the note. “I promise.”
“And swear you won’t read it?”
Oh, for the love of God. “Give me the damn note. I said I won’t read it.”
He offered me the paper and I snatched it from his fingers.
“Thank you.” A happy little smile curled his lips. He backed away two steps and broke into a run. Before I knew it, he was gone, melting into the darkness of the alley between the decrepit buildings.
I stood in the parking lot holding his note. A nasty chill crawled down my spine. Derek was in trouble. I didn’t know how or why, but I had a strong gut feeling that it was bad and it would end even worse. If I’d had a drop of sense, I’d have opened the note and read it.
I sighed, got into the car, and stuck the paper into my glove compartment. Common sense was not among my virtues. I’d promised and I had to stick to it.
My back ached. Even my bones felt tired. I just wanted to lie down somewhere, close my eyes, and forget the world existed. I buckled my seat belt. I needed to know more about the Games and I needed the information before tonight. In the morning I would go to the Order and check their files. And check on that report from PAD. Nothing said the shapeshifter murder and Derek’s mess were connected, but I’d feel better if I ruled that possibility out. Even though the Pack was handling the murder. Even if it wasn’t my case. And that didn’t bother me one bit. Nope, not at all.
I sat in my car, feeling the fatigue wash over me, and thought of Curran. Two months ago I’d found the Beast Lord in my house reading a book. We made some small talk, I threatened him with bodily harm if he didn’t leave, and then he moved like he would kiss me. But instead he winked, whispered, “Psych,” and took off into the night.
He had made me coffee. I drank every last bit of it that night.
I wasn’t sure if he would come back, but if he did, I wanted to be prepared. I had imagined our encounter a dozen times. I had constructed long conversations in my head, full of barbs and witty comebacks.
The bastard didn’t show.
The longer his MIA lasted, the surer I became that he would never show up. It was blatantly obvious—he enjoyed screwing with me, and having done so, he got all funned out and moved on. Perfectly fine with me. Best solution possible. I had dreamt of him once or twice, but other than that, everything was peachy.
Wherever this thread of Derek’s troubles led, I really didn’t cherish the idea of finding Curran on the other end.
It was always good to have a Plan of Action. I started the engine. Item one of the POA: avoid the Beast Lord. Item two: do not fall asleep.
CHAPTER 3
“KATE? ”
I have a superior reaction time. That was why although I shot out of my chair, jumped onto my desk, and attempted to stab the intruder into my office in the throat, I stopped the blade two inches before it touched Andrea’s neck. Because she was my best friend, and sticking knives into your best friend’s windpipe was generally considered to be a social faux pas.
Andrea stared at the black blade of the throwing dagger. “That was great,” she said. “What will you do for a dollar?”
I scowled.
“Scary but not worth a buck.” Andrea perched on the corner of my desk. Short, blond, and deadly. A full knight of the Order, Andrea had one of those nice-girl faces that instantly put people at ease and made them fall over themselves in a rush to disclose their problems. I once went shopping with her, and we heard no fewer than three life stories from total strangers. People never wanted to tell me their life stories. They usually scooted out of my way and said things like, “Take whatever you want; just go.”
Of course, if the total strangers had known Andrea could shoot dots off dominoes at twenty yards, they might have decided to keep their issues to themselves.
Andrea eyed the file on my desk. “I thought you were off today.”
“I am.” I jumped down. I had caught three hours of sleep, dragged myself to the office in search of background information on the Midnight Games, and promptly passed out at my desk facedown on the open file despite the near-critical amount of coffee in my system. Which explained why I had failed to hear Andrea enter the office. Typically I didn’t go zero to sixty out of dead sleep unless I was startled.
I rubbed my face, trying to wipe away the layer of fatigue. Somebody had poured lead into my head while I was sleeping, and now it rolled around in my skull, creating a
racket. “I’m looking for some info on the Midnight Games.”
Unfortunately, the file on the Games proved to be anorexic. Three pages of shallow overview on structure, no specifics. This meant there was another file, a big fat one, with a nice CLASSIFIED stamp on the cover, which put it squarely out of my reach. As security clearances went, mine was bare minimum. This was one of the rare moments when I regretted not being a full-fledged knight. As it was, getting my hands on the secret file would prove slightly harder than getting an ice cream cone in Christian hell.
“I don’t know much about it,” Andrea said. “But one of my instructors was in it, before the tournament was outlawed. I can tell you a little bit about how it worked back then. Over lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“It’s Friday.”
That’s right. Andrea and I always had lunch on Fridays. Typically she just waylaid me in the office and didn’t give me any choice about it. In Andrea’s book, lunch was something friends did. I was still getting used to the idea of friends. Steady relationships were a luxury I wasn’t allowed to have for most of my life. Friends shielded and protected you, but they also made you vulnerable, because you sought to return the favor.
Andrea and I had worked closely during the flare. I had saved her life; she had saved my kid, Julie, who had started the flare as a street rat with a missing mom and ended it a killer of demons, who lost her mother permanently but gained crazy Aunt Kate. After the flare, I had expected Andrea and me to quietly drift apart, but Andrea had other plans. She became my best friend.
My stomach growled, informing me that I was ravenous. Food and sleep—you could do without one, but not without both. I put Slayer into the back sheath where it belonged, returned the throwing knife to its sheath on my belt, and grabbed my bag. Andrea checked the two SIG-Sauer P226s she carried in hip holsters, patted down her hunting knife and a smaller backup firearm on her ankle, and we were ready to go.
I STARED AT THE HUGE PLATE OF GYROS. “I’VE died and gone to Heaven.”
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