for blood samples from the earliest of the affected. During the night, Carl had come up with the idea that those who were infected first might somehow be different—might, in fact, have been the elusive vectors of whatever virus or mutation had set off the return of magic. It didn't make a lot of sense to her, but then again, nobody had ever accused Danielle of being a scientist.
Rather than worry about that, or what he'd meant by the slip of his tongue when he'd called her ‘honey,’ she decided to ask Carl whether he was up for a run. Her cell vibrated just as she reached his lab door.
She suppressed the frisson of fear when she saw the calling number—the Dallas district Warder headquarters. Had they finally found out about her role in the riot?
"Goodman,” she said as she pressed the on button.
"Warder Goodman. You are directed to appear at the Dallas District Office, Warder Central at two o'clock today. If you have any questions, please press one. If you accept, please press two."
Warders who want to get ahead didn't have questions. That was lesson one in Warder school. Don't ask questions: follow orders. She pressed two and listened for the confirmation of her choice. Then she continued into the lab. The run was out but she needed to tell Carl he was on his own.
He was buried in his research. Five assistants scurried around, bringing him their work, looking for the next assignment, or trying to anticipate his next request.
She'd thought of Carl as an impaired, like millions of others. Occasionally, especially when she was sleeping, she would think of him as a male, superbly fit, good looking in a rough and masculine way. Naturally she tried to suppress those thoughts. As the rioters had pointed out, dating between normals and infected was simply not allowed. Forbidden by both law and the law of the mob. And her stepfather had cured her of any interest along those lines anyway.
The lab workers, and there were a couple of females along with the three males, thought of Carl as the next best thing to an Old Testament prophet. The reputation he'd made when he'd run his own company had grown in the telling, or maybe his warder dossier simply understated his importance in the field of biopharmaceutical research. For just a moment, she allowed herself to think about what might have been, if Carl hadn't become infected.
She shook her head. She never would have met him if he hadn't become Were and the responsibility of the warders. As a normal with a hundred million or so in the bank, he would have his choice of women.
Carl's smile raced her heart.
He dropped everything, making her realize that she hadn't been into the lab since they'd hired the assistants a couple of days before. Well, it wasn't as if she was going to do serious science.
"What's up, Danielle?"
With the call to Warder Regional fresh in her mind, she wondered how she'd let things get to a first-name basis. He might be a science genius, but he was still one of them. She almost reminded him to call her Agent Goodman but stopped short. Twenty seconds before, she'd been wondering if he'd call her honey again.
"I've got to head into town,” she told him. “Need anything from the north side of the pale?"
His forehead creased for a moment, then cleared. “I don't think so. The guys have an incredible talent for turning up just about anything."
This was a talent that she should technically report to her fellow warders. Danielle wouldn't bother, though. No warder would follow up on crimes against impaired. And she'd look like a rookie, not halfway ready for hunter work, if she reported every petty theft she ran across.
"Right. Don't know how long I'll be then. “Don't mess up.” She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked out. That awareness wasn't a surprise. Warder training made you aware of anyone looking at you—it could save your life. Still, Carl's gaze was hardly the stuff of threat—at least not threat in a violent sense. She knew
Rather than worry about that, or what he'd meant by the slip of his tongue when he'd called her ‘honey,’ she decided to ask Carl whether he was up for a run. Her cell vibrated just as she reached his lab door.
She suppressed the frisson of fear when she saw the calling number—the Dallas district Warder headquarters. Had they finally found out about her role in the riot?
"Goodman,” she said as she pressed the on button.
"Warder Goodman. You are directed to appear at the Dallas District Office, Warder Central at two o'clock today. If you have any questions, please press one. If you accept, please press two."
Warders who want to get ahead didn't have questions. That was lesson one in Warder school. Don't ask questions: follow orders. She pressed two and listened for the confirmation of her choice. Then she continued into the lab. The run was out but she needed to tell Carl he was on his own.
He was buried in his research. Five assistants scurried around, bringing him their work, looking for the next assignment, or trying to anticipate his next request.
She'd thought of Carl as an impaired, like millions of others. Occasionally, especially when she was sleeping, she would think of him as a male, superbly fit, good looking in a rough and masculine way. Naturally she tried to suppress those thoughts. As the rioters had pointed out, dating between normals and infected was simply not allowed. Forbidden by both law and the law of the mob. And her stepfather had cured her of any interest along those lines anyway.
The lab workers, and there were a couple of females along with the three males, thought of Carl as the next best thing to an Old Testament prophet. The reputation he'd made when he'd run his own company had grown in the telling, or maybe his warder dossier simply understated his importance in the field of biopharmaceutical research. For just a moment, she allowed herself to think about what might have been, if Carl hadn't become infected.
She shook her head. She never would have met him if he hadn't become Were and the responsibility of the warders. As a normal with a hundred million or so in the bank, he would have his choice of women.
Carl's smile raced her heart.
He dropped everything, making her realize that she hadn't been into the lab since they'd hired the assistants a couple of days before. Well, it wasn't as if she was going to do serious science.
"What's up, Danielle?"
With the call to Warder Regional fresh in her mind, she wondered how she'd let things get to a first-name basis. He might be a science genius, but he was still one of them. She almost reminded him to call her Agent Goodman but stopped short. Twenty seconds before, she'd been wondering if he'd call her honey again.
"I've got to head into town,” she told him. “Need anything from the north side of the pale?"
His forehead creased for a moment, then cleared. “I don't think so. The guys have an incredible talent for turning up just about anything."
This was a talent that she should technically report to her fellow warders. Danielle wouldn't bother, though. No warder would follow up on crimes against impaired. And she'd look like a rookie, not halfway ready for hunter work, if she reported every petty theft she ran across.
"Right. Don't know how long I'll be then. “Don't mess up.” She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked out. That awareness wasn't a surprise. Warder training made you aware of anyone looking at you—it could save your life. Still, Carl's gaze was hardly the stuff of threat—at least not threat in a violent sense. She knew
Similar Books
