Free Blue Moon by Laurell K. Hamilton Page B

particularly alert at first glance. He almost blended into the scene until you realized the T-shirt was spotless and new. The jeans had creases as if they’d been ironed and you realized though he was tanned, the skin coloring wasn’t just from the sun. But it wasn’t until he moved his head very slowly and looked straight at us that I realized just how good the act was. Even from a distance there was an intensity in his gaze that was almost unnerving. I knew we suddenly had his full attention and all he’d done was move his head.
    â€œShit,” I said.
    â€œYeah,” Jason said. “Shang-Da’s new. He transferred in from the San Francisco Bay pack. No one fought him when he came in as Hati. No one wanted the job that badly.”
    Jason pointed across the street. “Is that it?”
    It was a low, one-story building made of white-painted cinder blocks. There was a small, gravel parking lot out front but nocars. The van took up most of the parking lot. I parked as close to the side as I could, hearing the soft swish of tree branches along the top of the van. There was probably a police car out there someplace that would be parking beside me. I think they had room.
    There was a small wooden sign, elegantly carved, hanging beside the door. It read, Police Station. That was it, the only hint. Couldn’t miss it—Jamil had a sense of humor. Or maybe he was still pissed that I’d cut him. Childish.
    We got out. I felt Shang-Da’s gaze on me. He was yards away, but the power of his attention crept down my skin, raising the hair on my arms. I glanced his way, and for a second, our eyes met. The hair at the back of my neck stood to attention.
    Jason came to stand beside me. “Let’s go inside.”
    I nodded, and we walked to the door. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Shang-Da doesn’t like me.”
    â€œHe’s loyal to Richard, and you’ve hurt him—badly.”
    I glanced at him. “You don’t seem mad at me. Aren’t you loyal to Richard?”
    â€œI was there the night Richard fought Marcus. Shang-Da wasn’t.”
    â€œAre you saying I was right to leave Richard?”
    â€œNo. I’m saying I understand why you couldn’t handle it.”
    â€œThanks, Jason.”
    He smiled. “Besides, maybe I have designs on your body.”
    â€œJean-Claude would kill you.”
    He shrugged. “What’s life without a little danger?”
    I shook my head.
    Jason got to the door first but didn’t try to open it for me. He knew me better than that.
    I opened the mostly glass doors. I guess the doors were also a clue. Everything else on the street had doors like you’d see on a house. The glass doors were modern business doors. The interior was painted white, including the long barlike desk across from the door. There were some wanted posters tacked to a bulletin board to the left of the door and a radio system behind the desk, but other than that, it could have been the reception room for a dentist.
    The guy sitting behind the desk was big. Even sitting down, you had a sense of size. His shoulders were almost as broad as I was tall. His hair was very short and still curled in tightringlets. He’d have had to shave his head to get rid of the curls.
    My executioner’s license is in a nice fake-leather carrying case. It had my picture on it and looked damned official, but it wasn’t a badge. It wasn’t even a license good in this state. But it was all I had to flash, so I flashed it. I went in, holding the license out in front, because I was bringing a gun into a police station. Cops tended not to like that.
    â€œI’m Anita Blake, vampire executioner.”
    The cop moved just his eyes; his hands were hidden behind the desk. “We didn’t call for an executioner.”
    â€œI’m not here on official business,” I said. I stood in front of the desk. I started to put the