Free Who Hunts the Hunter by Nyx Smith Page A

purchased prematurely. You would certainly agree that five hundred-kay nuyen is a considerable sum to invest before an item is actually needed."
    "Obviously.”
    “My preliminary inquiry has turned up several other items of a similar nature. Items purchased but apparently never used. Together, they amount to a fairly sizable investment of monies.”
    “Give me a list. I’ll investigate the disposition.”
    “Your willingness to cooperate is most appreciated, Ms. Berman. May I say that I have every expectation that by working together we will conclude this audit satisfactorily and on schedule.”
    Amy nods and forces a smile, saying."Let’s hope so.”

13
    There should be nothing but comfort here in this room, Bandit tells himself. The slow, steady whisper of Shell’s breathing, her warmth, the soft pressure of her body, leaning lightly against his chest. The atmosphere of privacy. The shadowy dark. And on the astral, the pulsing rhythms of life, the subtle colorations, the quiet intensity of a living being now deeply asleep.
    He could cast a spell on himself, lure himself to sleep, if he knew such a spell, if he really wanted to sleep. But he does not. He decided to spend the afternoon in contemplation. Shell decided to keep him company, then decided to take a nap. The kids are all out. It should be easy to think, but it isn’t.
    Carefully, he mouths the words to a small spell, a sort of trick. He has used it on shadowruns many times. It has many uses. Now he uses it to erect a kind of shield around Shell, so she will not feel him moving, hear him rising from the couch, or stepping carefully across the room. He does not wish to disturb her. She has problems enough of her own and would be troubled if she got the idea that something was troubling him.
    Shell is an amazing person, like few he has met. Learning about her, getting to know her, perhaps to understand her a little, has done more to help him attune himself with people, hence with all of nature, than anything he has tried since leaving Newark. She does things for people without ever asking anything in return. The kids are not really even her own children. They’re orphans, abandoned to the streets, of no importance to anyone but Shell. She calls them her family, her little tribe. There were only six when Bandit first met her. Now there are eight. Shell picks them up where she sees them, when she thinks she can help them. She is teaching some of the older ones the hard lessons of the sprawl, how to survive, how to get what they need, but she insists on feeding and clothing them herself, or with what she and Bandit snatch. She takes nothing of what the kids get on their own. She wants nothing from anyone, nothing ... except maybe love.
    That is another thing that troubles him. His feelings for Shell are hard to define. He’s not sure if his feelings for her are what she would call love. He hasn’t spent much time considering love. Before leaving Newark, before meeting Shell, he didn’t think about it at all. He never imagined it might really matter.
    Raccoon is a loner, but must he always be alone? Could there not also be room for another in his life?
    It is difficult to know what path is right.
    Quietly, Bandit closes the door leading into the stairwell. Beneath the stairs, the stairs to the outside door, is a small cranny about the size of a large closet. Shell’s kids play here sometimes. It is a good place for hiding and for having secret talks. The back wall of the space appears solid, but it is no more solid than a cloud. Behind the cloud is another wall with a solid metal door and many locks. Bandit silently says the words to lower the wards defending the door, then tends to the locks. To his surprise, he suddenly finds himself facing a spirit, a spirit of Nature, of Man.
    In form, the spirit looks kind of like a dwarf, with rough-hewn features and a heavy beard, but it wears clothing that seems ancient and fine, adorned with ruffles and lace. In a