Free Magic Bites by Ilona Andrews Page B

of the base pairs."
    "Does Nataraja know?"
    Page 42

    "I think he does," I said. "One of his journeymen gave me Corwin's name. He didn't say they thought he did it, but it's obvious they do."
    A small muscle twitched in Beast Lord's cheek, as if his face wanted to twist into a feral snarl. "Figures."
    "Are you satisfied?" I asked.
    He nodded. "For now. I'll call on you."
    "I won't come here again," I said. "Unicorn Lane makes my skin crawl."
    His eyes shone again. "Really? I find it relaxing. A scenic location. Moonlight."
    "I never was much for scenic locations. Next time I'd like an official invitation."
    He put away the snapshots.
    "Can I keep those?" I asked.
    He shook his head. "No. It's enough that they exist."
    I turned to leave and paused before the gap in the ruined wall. "One last thing, Your Majesty. I'd like a name I can put into my report, something shorter than typing out 'The Leader of the Southern Shapechanger Faction.' What should I call you?"
    "Lord."
    I rolled my eyes.
    He shrugged. "It's short."
    This was turning out to be a difficult night, and it showed no signs of being over. I climbed out, over the heap of rubble. Jim was gone.
    Something touched my shoulder. I whirled and saw the Lord of Beasts looking at me from the gap ten feet away.
    "Curran," he said, as if granting me a boon. "You can call me Curran."
    He melted into the darkness. I waited for a moment to make sure he was gone. Nobody jumped me from the shadows.
    Beyond the Unicorn, I could see the blue feylanterns of the city. Time to take the m-scan to my expert.
    He rarely minded late night visits.
    CHAMPION HEIGHTS WAS AN EASY PLACE TO FIND. It was about the only high-rise still standing. Once it was called Lenox Pointe, but it had undergone so many renovations, and changed hands so many times that its old name was all but forgotten. Nestled among the artfully pruned evergreens, the seventeen-story building of red brick and concrete loomed above the shops and bars of Buckhead like a mystic tower. Pale haze clung to its walls and balconies, blurring the crisp man-made Page 43

    edges, as a web of wards worked tirelessly to convince the very magic which fed it that the high-rise was nothing but a large rock. A distortion, the side effect of the spells' labor, spread unevenly across the structure, and sections of the high-rise looked like portions of a steep granite cliff.
    The enchantment must have cost a small fortune, and although it had kept the high-rise standing so far, there was no guarantee it would continue to do so. I thought it would. The entire setup had that bizarre illogic peculiar to complex magic. Understanding it required a mind with a specific twist—just like quantum physics. Whatever the future held for Champion Heights, the owners had already recouped their investment several times over. Many couples would be happy to retire on what they charged for a year's rent.
    I parked Karmelion in a lot among the Cadillacs, distinguished Lincolns, and bizarre mechanisms designed to transport their drivers during the magic waves. There was no convenient way to carry an m-scan, so I folded it and slid it between the pages of my Almanac. The night wind came, bringing smells from far away: a touch of wood smoke, the aroma of seared meat. I crossed the lot and made my way up the concrete stairs, flanked by some picturesque shrubbery, to the revolving glass doors. Enchanted glass lost a little of its transparency, but I had no trouble making out the heavy metal grate barring the lobby and the small cage with the guard who leveled a shock crossbow at me.
    I reached to my left and pressed the button of the intercom. It hissed.
    "Fifteenth floor, one fifty-eight, please."
    His voice came back, distorted by the static. "Code, please."
    "Forth he fared at the fated moment, sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God." Without the code he would keep me outside while he queried one fifty-eight and even then I wouldn't get in without being frisked and