was just an uncomfortable tightness at the back of my neck and temples. That, I could deal with.
I got up, got dressed, brewed a pot of coffee, and took my time drinking half of it before calling a cab. I had plenty of time to get down to the police station and meet Stotts by five. I looked out my living room window. The winter day was fading fast and would be dark soon. I checked the sky. It wasn’t raining, but I didn’t see any blue out there either.
My gaze wandered to the street. People just getting off work or done with class for the day hurried along the sidewalks, trying to beat the rush hour crowds. A couple hearty bicyclists pumped up the hill. And there, in the shadow of an awning, two men stepped forward. They stopped at the edge of the overhang and looked up at my building, at my window.
There was just enough light left in the day for me to make out their faces. Trager’s men, two of them, from the bus.
Shit.
They stared at my window, stared at me, because this building didn’t have fancy tinted windows. No, with the curtain pulled back, anyone could see into my living room. Anyone could see me.
A cab pulled up in front of the building and I let the curtain drop. If I missed my cab, I’d have to take the bus. And I was not going on another ride with those goons.
Hands shaking, I tucked my hair up in my knit hat and patted my pockets to make sure I had everything I needed. I took a deep breath and calmed myself. I was going to be fine. Let the goons watch me. Hell, let them follow me all the way to the police department; I didn’t care. All I had to do was get in the cab without letting them touch me.
Feeling a little more settled, I left my apartment and jogged down the stairs. Before I pushed through the door to the street, I looked up and down the sidewalk to be sure no one was waiting to jump me. All clear.
The wind gusted at my back as I hurried to the cab. I ducked into the backseat and glanced across the street. Trager’s men were still there, still under the awning, still watching me.
“Evening,” the cabdriver said.
“Hey.” I didn’t look over at him. “Police station, please.”
The cab slipped into traffic. I watched the goons watch me drive away and was really, really glad I’d called the cab.
Once they were out of sight, I sat back and waited for the police station to show up. I didn’t know what case Stotts wanted me to Hound. I hadn’t read a newspaper in a month, and I didn’t watch news on TV, so I wasn’t even sure what crimes had been committed lately.
Well, except that Trager was out, and I’m sure his men had been keeping busy.
Whatever Stotts wanted me to do, I planned to survive it with my head still attached, curse or no curse, Trager or no Trager.
I wondered if Davy was already following me. Unless he had a car, he was going to have a hard time keeping up with the cab. He might just be waiting for me at the station. After all, I’d said I was working for Stotts tonight. It was what I would do if I were him.
The more I thought about it, the more I thought Davy was probably a pretty smart kid. Driven. He’d have to be to Hound for a living and to be good enough to get hired on by places like the college.
But despite Pike’s assurance that Davy could take care of himself, I was going to watch out for him too. I didn’t know how far Stotts’ curse reached, and I did not want to see Davy walk off a bridge or get shot by one of Trager’s people.
The cab dropped me off in front of the station. I paid and strode up the stairs and through the door. The cavernous lobby was bustling with people. I paused inside the door, trying to remember where Stotts had wanted me to meet him. Not down their secret staircase to their secret door and their secret lair.
Maybe I should go find a receptionist to let him know I was here. Luckily I didn’t have to do anything. Detective Paul Stotts pushed through a door across the lobby, carrying two paper cups with lids.
He caught sight of me, smiled, and strolled across the lobby.
“Allie, good to see you.” He offered me one of the cups. “Nothing fancy. Black.”
“Is it from the break room?”
“Oh, God, no.” He faked shock. “You haven’t drank that, have you? You know we only use it for interrogation.”
I shook my head and smiled.
“This is from the place on the corner. The good place.”
There were two places on the corner. One, a little mom-and-pop coffee shop that really did have good coffee. The other was a big corporate joint. I’d never much liked the corporation’s coffee-they seemed incapable of roasting beans without burning them.
I accepted the cup and took a drink. It was from the mom-and-pop shop. He had good taste in coffee. Well, he and I had at least one thing in common. “Thanks,” I said. “You know your beans. You must be from around here.”
“Portland?” he asked.
“The Northwest.”
He gestured toward the doors behind me, indicating we could start walking. “Seattle. Moved down to be with family when my mom lost her job. I was about sixteen. And you?”
We reached the sidewalk and strolled against the wind up the street.
“Here,” I said. “My dad’s business kept us in the city.” Honestly, it had been years since someone asked me where I grew up. My family name was almost synonymous with the Storm Rods and the lead and glass lines that conducted magic throughout the city.
He stopped next to a dark green sedan parked along the street. “This is mine. Are you ready?”
“It would be nice to know what the job is exactly.” He pressed a button on his key chain and unlocked the doors. “Go ahead and get in. I’ll tell you.”
I slid in the passenger’s side, grateful to be out of the wind and out of the open. My cheeks and nose felt stingy-hot, windburned. With my pale skin, I probably looked like a snowman with a head cold.
Detective Stotts’ car looked and smelled brand-new, with a light leather interior and several high-tech policelike things mounted under and out from the dashboard. The only ornamentation in it was a rosary with a small charm hanging from the rearview mirror. If you judged a man by his car, Paul Stotts was neat, paid attention to detail, and did his share of praying.
Who wouldn’t in his line of work?
He put his coffee in the holder, and I kept mine in my hands for added warmth through my gloves.
“I don’t know if you keep up on the news,” he said as he started the car.
“Not much,” I said. “I got used to avoiding the media in my teen years when I was rebelling against my father.”
“Just your teen years?” He turned on the blinker and eased the car into traffic.
Well, it looked like one of us kept up on the news. I shrugged. Let him figure it out.
“Does the job have something to do with the news?” I asked.
“It does. There have been a lot of disappearances on the northeast side of town. Mostly teen girls.”
“How many girls?”
“Between six and eight.”
“You don’t know for sure?”
“A lot of the girls were involved in gangs. Some might be runaways, skipping town on their own.”
“So I’m going to Hound places they were last seen?”
“Something like that.”
Okay, so at least I wouldn’t have to Hound any dead bodies. I was happy to leave the corpse sniffing to dimpled-and-bubbly Beatrice.
“And you think there was something magical about the girls’ disappearances?”
“I’ve had a couple Hounds sniff out the sites. It’s possible magic was used to either sedate the girls, harm the girls, or transfer the girls.”
“Possible? Magic is a pretty clear yes/no thing,” I said.
Hounds were experts at seeing, tracing, and smelling the difference between every kind of spell, even
