Free Bone Song by John Meaney Page B

fist's diameter—but
slowly.
Not a pleasant way to die.
    Straightening up, the woman held the weapons in her hand. The man moved a little, eyelids fluttering, then lapsed into stillness.
    â€œYou got any suggestions, Xalia, as to what we do with him?”
    The darkness rippled, then:
    *Nothing at all.*
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    *Just that.*
    The woman looked up and down the street, and then she saw it: two pairs of amber eyes glowing briefly in black shadows.
    â€œJust leave him? For them?”
    *Come on, Laura. He was going to kill the diva.*
    â€œI know. But he's not Black Circle. Just a lone sicko.”
    *My point* —the words seemed to float on wind— *precisely.*
    The woman, Laura, looked down at the injured man once more. “Shoulda stuck to beating off with your fist. You know, been a
harmless
pervert.”
    Then she walked away and, after a moment, the disturbance in the darkness floated after her.

D onal woke at five twenty-three, seven minutes before his alarm was due to go off. In the tag end of his nightmare, swirling out of memory like fluid down a drain, he imagined a fading scream. Then it was gone.
    He used the facilities, drank brackish water from the faucet—at least it was working—pulled on his old black running suit, and left the apartment. No one moved on the street, not this early.
    A hundred feet overhead, a department scanbat moved in a straight line, and Donal gave it a wave. Perhaps later one of the surveillance mages, absorbing the bat's memories, would recognize Donal.
    At the stone pillar on the corner, Donal did the usual thing with his police badge, and the door scraped open. He descended the spiraling stone steps.
    Do you feel it?
    Donal stopped, shuddering, and then told himself to stop being stupid. This place was empty. He continued going down, until he reached the catacombs.
    There, he began to jog along the ancient stone floor.
    Do you feel the song?
    Coldness raked Donal's skin as he ran, forcing the pace before his muscles were warmed up. Then he was into the chamber where sarcophagi stood melded into the earth.
    Do you hear?
    Donal pushed himself to run faster, while talons that were pure imagination raked at his nerves, dragged like hooks through his body.
    Do you hear the bones?
    Donal's arms were shaking by the time he returned to the stone steps, and the big muscles of his thighs felt soft as he ascended, fearing he might fall at any time. The door opened partway, then jammed momentarily before freeing itself, and a sensation of dread swept downward through his body.
    He staggered onto the sidewalk, heading for home.
    Donal made time in the afternoon for a nap in the back of a cruiser. There was no opportunity to practice in the range at HQ, so after he woke, before opening his eyes, Donal sent himself into a trance.
    He visualized a training session where he fired straight into the target's vital points. Then, with a long, deep, shuddering breath, he returned to reality.
    â€œHey, Lieutenant. Need coffee?”
    â€œOnly if there's doughnuts.”
    â€œWe can manage that.”
    The two uniforms, Belden and O'Grady, had left him alone in the car while he slept, staying within earshot of the radio in case it squawked for them. Now they got back in and drove out of the alleyway. They pulled up on the ultraviolet no-parking lines in front of a Fat'n'Sugar. Belden went inside.
    â€œHe prefers Tarantula Creams,” muttered O'Grady. “Make your teeth black.”
    â€œWonderful.”
    But Belden brought back plain and redberry, just what Donal would have ordered, and big snakeskin cups filled with coffee that was so-so. Volume over taste.
    â€œYou getting cultured, Lieutenant?” Belden, in the front passenger seat, pulled back the little snake-mouth opening on his coffee-cup lid. “All that opera and all?”
    â€œAbsolutely, my good man. Getting cultured up the wazoo.”
    â€œHear that diva's a real