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about it. The million-dollar question was why?
“Once accepted, the assistance of the Order can’t be declined,” I told him. “I’m now part of this investigation. That means I’ll have to come into your territory and ask uncomfortable questions.”
“I have some questions to ask as well.” Liquid gold drowned Curran’s eyes. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on their ends. I really didn’t want to be Jim right now.
“I’ll contact you to schedule time for the interviews.” He turned and walked away, leaving me in the middle of the street. Beast Lord, a man beyond mundane niceties like good-bye and thank you.
As I walked back to civilization, I realized that for the first time in the six months I had known Curran, we had managed to have a conversation and part ways without wanting to kill each other. I found that fact deeply troubling.
CHAPTER 7
A SMALL BROWN-PAPER PARCEL WAITED FOR ME by the door of my apartment. I stopped and pondered why in the world it hadn’t been stolen. The apartment, which I had inherited from Greg, wasn’t in the worst part of town but not in the best one either. My guardian hadn’t been concerned with security; he’d bought the apartment because it was close to the Order.
I frowned at the parcel. It lay on the grimy landing before my new door—the old one had to be replaced when a demon burst through it. I’d built a bit of a reputation in the neighborhood as that crazy bitch with a sword who lives in 32B, an image I carefully cultivated, but even so, an unattended parcel should have been pilfered within seconds of hitting the ground.
Maybe it was booby-trapped.
I pulled out Slayer. The light filtering through the grimy window above me caught the opaque, nearly white metal of the saber, layering a nacre sheen along the blade. I nudged the package with the saber’s tip and dodged just in case.
Nothing.
The package lay quietly. Yes, yes, and as soon as I picked it up, it would sprout blades and slice my hands to ribbons.
I crouched, cut across the cord securing the paper, and carefully slid the paper aside, revealing green silk and a little card. I picked up the card. Please call me. Saiman.
I swore under my breath and took the parcel inside the apartment. My answering machine indicated no messages. Nothing from Derek.
I tore the paper and dumped the contents of the parcel onto my bed. A pair of wide silk pants, light magenta in color, green slippers, and an ao dai: a long, flowing Vietnamese garment, half-tunic, half-dress. The clothes were exquisite, especially the ao dai, made of fern-green silk and embroidered with lighter green and tiny flecks of magenta.
I got the phone and dialed Saiman’s number.
“Hello, Kate.”
“What part of ‘no date’ did you not understand?”
A barely audible sigh filtered through the phone. “Unless you’ve been to the Games, it’s hard to describe the atmosphere. It’s a remarkably violent, brutal place. The normal boundaries of common sense don’t apply. Cooler heads do not prevail, and everyone’s burning to prove their physical prowess. You’re an attractive woman. If you come dressed as you were last night, we’ll be inundated with challengers. I think we’ll both agree that calling that much attention to ourselves is unnecessary.”
He had a point.
“I’ve chosen these items with great care,” he said. “They permit full freedom of movement. If you wear them, you’ll look less like a bodyguard and more like—”
“Arm candy?”
“A companion. Please, be reasonable, Kate. Play Emma Peel to my John Steed for one night.”
I had no clue who Emma Peel or John Steed was.
Saiman’s voice softened, gaining a warm velvet quality. “If you are uncomfortable, I understand. We can always renegotiate the terms of our bargain.”
He sank enough innuendo into “renegotiate” to make a professional call girl blush.
“A bargain is a bargain,” I said. Better to pay up here and now. Being in
“Once accepted, the assistance of the Order can’t be declined,” I told him. “I’m now part of this investigation. That means I’ll have to come into your territory and ask uncomfortable questions.”
“I have some questions to ask as well.” Liquid gold drowned Curran’s eyes. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on their ends. I really didn’t want to be Jim right now.
“I’ll contact you to schedule time for the interviews.” He turned and walked away, leaving me in the middle of the street. Beast Lord, a man beyond mundane niceties like good-bye and thank you.
As I walked back to civilization, I realized that for the first time in the six months I had known Curran, we had managed to have a conversation and part ways without wanting to kill each other. I found that fact deeply troubling.
CHAPTER 7
A SMALL BROWN-PAPER PARCEL WAITED FOR ME by the door of my apartment. I stopped and pondered why in the world it hadn’t been stolen. The apartment, which I had inherited from Greg, wasn’t in the worst part of town but not in the best one either. My guardian hadn’t been concerned with security; he’d bought the apartment because it was close to the Order.
I frowned at the parcel. It lay on the grimy landing before my new door—the old one had to be replaced when a demon burst through it. I’d built a bit of a reputation in the neighborhood as that crazy bitch with a sword who lives in 32B, an image I carefully cultivated, but even so, an unattended parcel should have been pilfered within seconds of hitting the ground.
Maybe it was booby-trapped.
I pulled out Slayer. The light filtering through the grimy window above me caught the opaque, nearly white metal of the saber, layering a nacre sheen along the blade. I nudged the package with the saber’s tip and dodged just in case.
Nothing.
The package lay quietly. Yes, yes, and as soon as I picked it up, it would sprout blades and slice my hands to ribbons.
I crouched, cut across the cord securing the paper, and carefully slid the paper aside, revealing green silk and a little card. I picked up the card. Please call me. Saiman.
I swore under my breath and took the parcel inside the apartment. My answering machine indicated no messages. Nothing from Derek.
I tore the paper and dumped the contents of the parcel onto my bed. A pair of wide silk pants, light magenta in color, green slippers, and an ao dai: a long, flowing Vietnamese garment, half-tunic, half-dress. The clothes were exquisite, especially the ao dai, made of fern-green silk and embroidered with lighter green and tiny flecks of magenta.
I got the phone and dialed Saiman’s number.
“Hello, Kate.”
“What part of ‘no date’ did you not understand?”
A barely audible sigh filtered through the phone. “Unless you’ve been to the Games, it’s hard to describe the atmosphere. It’s a remarkably violent, brutal place. The normal boundaries of common sense don’t apply. Cooler heads do not prevail, and everyone’s burning to prove their physical prowess. You’re an attractive woman. If you come dressed as you were last night, we’ll be inundated with challengers. I think we’ll both agree that calling that much attention to ourselves is unnecessary.”
He had a point.
“I’ve chosen these items with great care,” he said. “They permit full freedom of movement. If you wear them, you’ll look less like a bodyguard and more like—”
“Arm candy?”
“A companion. Please, be reasonable, Kate. Play Emma Peel to my John Steed for one night.”
I had no clue who Emma Peel or John Steed was.
Saiman’s voice softened, gaining a warm velvet quality. “If you are uncomfortable, I understand. We can always renegotiate the terms of our bargain.”
He sank enough innuendo into “renegotiate” to make a professional call girl blush.
“A bargain is a bargain,” I said. Better to pay up here and now. Being in
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