Free Veiled Magic by Deborah Blake

the alley. “Where?”
    The Ghoul looked at its goddess, and Dhumavati gave one sharp nod. “Tell her.”
    â€œHe can be found in a bar on Calvin Street, at the edge of the Ridgemont section,” the Ghoul expanded. “The bar is called the Abyss.” It gave an approximation of a smile, making Donata shudder in response. A Ghoul smile is
not
a nice thing. The Abyss must be a pretty dreadful establishment, if it made a Ghoul happy to think about it.
    â€œDoes he live near there?” Donata asked, intrigued. Ridgemont was a wealthy part of town, but Calvin Street hovered near the seedy border area that skirted the upscale district. If he lived near the bar, he probably rented an apartment on one of the less expensive streets that stretched out to the west of Ridgemont proper.
    Interesting.
    The Ghoul shrugged again. “I only see him at the bar.” It scowled in memory of something unpleasant. “I think he would be good to feed from. He always looks depressed when he comes to the bar. But he tastes terrible.” It spat on the ground in disgust and Dhumavati cackled. Bits of brick fell off the side of the nearest building.
    â€œHe’s half Dragon, you fool,” the goddess said to her subject. “You can’t eat Dragon emotions the way you can Human ones.”
    The Ghoul glowered, but didn’t make the mistake of answering back. It could have rebutted that Dragon-Human offspring were rare enough that it couldn’t be expected to recognize the aura, but there was no point in arguing with a goddess when she was having a good laugh at your expense. Especially not this one.
    Donata felt dirty, as she always did when she had to get her information this way. Giving Dhumavati one last low bow, she nodded to the Ghoul. Deal completed, the crone goddess waved a languid hand in dismissal and vanished in a noxious puff of black smoke. Burning embers fell to the ground where she’d been standing.
    Donata looked around for the Ghoul, but he was already gone.
Good riddance.
At least she’d gotten the information she’d come for, even if she’d had to sacrifice her grandmother’s hideous old pin to get it. Hell, she’d never liked the damnedthing anyway. The fact that giving it away to Dhumavati while in the pursuit of her duty would piss off her mother was just a bonus.
    *  *  *
    A Witch-cop walks into a bar
; it sounded like the start of a bad joke. Come to think of it, it probably was. Too bad she didn’t feel like laughing.
    The Abyss wasn’t quite as bad as she’d expected, but it wasn’t anyplace she’d want to spend too much time in either. Her BMW Classic motorcycle had looked right at home when she slid it into a spot next to the dozen or so Harleys that shared the cracked asphalt parking lot with a few battered trucks and one old Buick missing a headlight. Her black leather jacket and dark jeans ought to blend in, too, as long as no one recognized her as a cop. One advantage to mostly working with the dead—she wasn’t exactly well known among the criminal element.
    And there were definitely a few of that ilk present, although most of the scattered Monday night patrons might have simply been tough types who lived in the neighborhood. The Abyss wasn’t the kind of bar you went out of your way to go to. Despite the anti-smoking laws, a few of the bikers clustered toward the back held on to cigarettes in whichever hand wasn’t occupied by a bottle of beer. Donata doubted anyone would complain. And at least the smell would cover up any lingering Eau de Alley she’d brought in with her.
    Donata made her way casually to the bar and put a twenty down on the scarred wooden surface. The bartender, a burly middle-aged black man with a shaved head and a surprisingly cheerful demeanor, came over to stand in front of her, wiping his hands on a less-than-clean rag.
Note to self: do not ask for a