Free Magic Rises by Ilona Andrews Page B

in.” He started down the hallway, accelerating.
    “Exactly.” I matched his stride.
    “And he avoided customs because they came in on his vessel. He owns a fleet.”
    “Bingo.”
    We turned the corner. A shapeshifter heading in our direction saw our faces and tried to abruptly reverse her course. Curran pointed at her. “Get Jim for me, please.”
    She broke into a jog.
    “We don’t even know if his ships go to the Mediterranean,” Curran said.
    “Yes, we do. During the Midnight Games he brought in a minotaur from Greece.”
    We reached the door and I opened it.
    A beautiful Asian woman waited for us in the North Conference Room. She was on the cusp of thirty, of average height and flawless build, with a slender, delicately curved waist and long legs. A dark green sweater dress, complete with a draped cowl and a sash, hugged her figure, showcasing her beautiful dark hair.
    A male shapeshifter was watching her the way one would watch a rabid dog cornered in an alley.
    Curran didn’t miss a bit. “Saiman, you look lovely. Thank you for dressing up.”
    The woman looked up and I saw the familiar air of disdain in her eyes.
    “Did you come as a woman so Curran wouldn’t hit you?”
    The woman grimaced. Odd bulges slid over her face and arms, as if someone had struck billiard balls under her skin with a cue and they spun, rolling in all directions. I willed my stomach to keep still.
    “No,” the woman said, as her flesh crawled, stretching, twisting, and reshaping itself in a revolting riot. “I simply had a prior appointment.”
    Her hair shed, her breasts dissolved into a flat male chest, her hips narrowed, all moving simultaneously in a grotesque coordinated process. Acid burned my tongue. Shapeshifter change was an explosion, a quick burst of movement over in a couple of seconds. Saiman’s change was a controlled methodical adjustment, and watching it never failed to make my stomach panic and attempt to empty itself by any means necessary. I closed my eyes for a long moment, opened them, and saw a slender bald man crossing his new arms. In his neutral form, Saiman was a blank canvas: neither ugly nor handsome, average height, average features, average skin color, sparse frame. The sweater dress made him look completely ridiculous. I had a sudden urge to laugh and clamped down on it.
    “I’ve brought some currency.” Saiman pointed at the suitcase next to him. “I believe the standard Guild fee for rescuing a kidnapped victim is ten percent of the ransom. Feel free to count it.”
    Of course. Money was Saiman’s default response. Paying us off would be the easiest way to get rid of his debt.
    Curran offered him a chair with a sweep of his hand. “We’re not interested in money. Would you care for something to drink?”
    “Is it poisoned?”
    “It’s Saturday,” I said. “We only serve poison during the week.”
    “Yes, we’re not complete savages.” Curran sat. “Shawn, could you please bring some water for me and Kate, and a scotch for our guest?”
    The male shapeshifter nodded and departed.
    “Feeling better?”
    Saiman didn’t look at me. “I’m sorry, I’d love to answer that, but you see, if I attempt a conversation, your furry paramour will pummel me into bits.”
    Oh, you fussy baby.
    “Not at all,” Curran said. “I have no plans to pummel anyone this morning.”
    Shawn stepped into the room, bringing a platter with a pitcher of water, a decanter filled with amber-colored scotch, and three glasses. Curran took it from his hands and set it on the table. “Thank you.”
    Shawn left, and Curran poured water into two of the glasses and scotch into the third. “There is no reason we can’t all be civil.”
    His tone was light, his face relaxed and friendly. The Beast Lord was in rare form. We really needed the ship.
    Saiman sipped the amber liquid and held it in his mouth for a long moment. “So. You refuse my money, you serve me thirty-year-old Highland Park scotch, and we’ve