Free A Little Street Magic by Gayla Drummond

planning to grill Alleryn about Thorandryll?”
    I had to cover a yawn, wincing because it caused a spasm of pain. “I was, but man, I’m tired.”
    “I’d ask, but he ignores me. He’ll speak to Logan.”
    Pushing the main door open, and nodding to the officer on watch duty, Logan uttered a soft snort. “He keeps our conversations limited to orders and snarky remarks.”
    The concrete’s cold seeped through my borrowed socks after my first two steps outside. I swallowed my first reaction to Logan’s statement, which was “Well, he is an elf,” and frowned. “Not nice of him.”
    “Elves don’t see a reason to be polite to those below them, which is all non-elves. Minus a few exceptions.” Logan stiffened. “He’s leaning on my car.”
    “Alleryn?” I peered at the parking lot. “Oh, Brock.”
    The reporter was leaning against the back of Logan’s car, and didn’t move when we approached. He was too busy studying me, and I wasn’t comfortable with his scrutiny. I hadn’t felt silly until then, in my borrowed clothing and shoelessness.
    “Miss Jones, Mr. Sayer. Care to comment on what’s going on tonight?”
    Logan’s response was short and succinct. “Get off my car.”
    “No comment,” I added to his demand.
    Brock smiled, and moved, his attention turning to Dane. “Don’t believe we’ve met yet. I’m Nate Brock.”
    Dane just looked at him while Logan checked the dark, glossy green paint for scratches. Not finding any, he shot Brock a flat, unfriendly look before unlocking the trunk for Dane to toss the bags in.
    “Weren’t you wearing something different when you arrived, Miss Jones?” The reporter’s eyes were back on me, and I hoped I hadn’t missed any spots of blood. “What happened to your face?”
    “No comment.” I’d forgotten the blistering.
    Brock grinned. “Any comment on your boyfriend deciding to run for mayor?”
    Dredging up my sweetest smile, I repeated, “No comment.”
    “Benjamin Jones, that’s your father, right? And ah, Sunshine Jones, she’s your mother?”
    Damn, he worked fast. It took every ounce of self-control I had to keep smiling. “No comment.”
    He shook his head. “Lack of cooperation seldom works in my subjects’ favor, Miss Jones.”
    My brain began to itch. Brock was trying to get into my mind. Logan slammed the trunk lid hard enough to shake the car, and I jumped.
    The reporter just looked at him. “Nice car, Mr. Sayer. Did you restore it yourself? You’re a mechanic, right? Have a garage in the Palisades?”
    Dane herded me to the passenger door. Logan pretended Brock didn’t exist, walking around the reporter to the driver’s door.
    “How about you, young man? Are you a mechanic too? Why would the police need a couple of mechanics at a crime scene?” Brock paused before firing off one more question as we were getting into the car. “And why does the Prince’s girlfriend need two mechanics escorting her around?”
    I’d gotten into the backseat, because Dane wouldn’t, and sighed as both men shut the car doors. “He’s good.”
    “He’s irritating.” Logan started the car. “And he’d better move.”
    Brock did, and the mental itching began to fade. I turned to watch him, trying to estimate the distance between us. “Don’t back out yet.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m checking something. Did either of you get an itchy brain?”
    They replied in stereo, “No.”
    “Good.” The itchy sensation stopped completely, and I turned around. “About forty feet. That’s his telepathic range.”
    “Helpful to know.” Dane twisted in the front seat, hooking his arm around the headrest. “Do you catch brain chatter from us all the time?”
    I had to think about it, and finally shook my head. “Actually, I don’t think I do. I catch emotions sometimes, but I think most of the telepathic contact has been direct. I listen for you guys to think at me.”
    “Logan’s driving, so try doing to me what Brock was trying to do to