the tray.
Saiman attached the m-scan to the tray, slid it into the cube and repeated his elaborate high-tech dance. This time the printer produced an exact copy of my m-scan.
Saiman pondered it for a moment and leaned against the table, m-scan in hand. “The problem is, the m- scanner is imperfect.”
My heart sank. “So, it’s a malfunction?”
“In a manner of speaking. As of now, the scanner is an imperfect instrument. It registers humans in various shades of light blue to silver, but it frequently fails to document the subtle tint of their magic. Almost anything except the most radical variations, such as purple for a vampire or green for a shapechanger, escapes it. A clairvoyant and a diviner of roughly equal power would register in the same color, even though their magic inclinations differ. And,” Saiman allowed himself a thin-lipped smile. “It registers all
“Fera as in feral? Animal magic?”
“Each animal species exudes its own specific magic. The common m-reader documents it as white so we don’t even see it. Recently some bright minds in Kyoto examined a wide variety of animals using a hypersensitive scanner. They conclusively proved that each species of animal produces its own color. Faint, pastel, but distinct, and always a derivative of yellow.”
“So the yellow lines mean animals?”
“On a superb scanner, yes. But on our piece of junk the animals would most likely register white. The only way we would notice them is through mixing with some other magical influence.”
“You lost me.”
“Look at your lines. They have a light peach tint. It’s very faint but that peach is the only reason we can see the lines in the first place. It means that you are facing something that is mostly animal but has been tainted with something else.”
My head swam. “Okay. Let me reiterate this. All animal magic registers as white but is truly pale yellow. A very weak yellow that is easily dominated by all other colors. There is no way to see that pale yellow, except when it’s mixed with some other color. The yellow of the wolf mixing with blue of a human makes the hunter green of a lycanthrope. By this reasoning, the wolfwere, an animal shapeshifting into human, would register as swampy green. Am I right so far?”
He nodded.
“The fact that I can see the yellow lines means that the scanner showed the presence of something with strong animal magic and a touch of something else. Since the lines are peach, then the likely suspect would be . . . orange.”
I bit off the last word. Orange came from red and red was the color of necromantic magic.
Saiman confirmed my deduction. “It’s an animal that has some connection with necromantic magic. I don’t know of what kind. It certainly isn’t an animal zombie. That registers as a dark red. Have fun.”
I groaned.
“Time is money,” he said, “so I suggest you save your ruminations for later. Do you have anything else for me?”
“No.”
He looked at his watch. “Thirty seven minutes.”
I wrote a check for nine hundred and sixty-two dollars, which left exactly four hundred dollars and nine cents in my checking account. I had five hundred in savings to use in case of emergency. If more money didn’t come my way soon, I’d have to consider a change of venue.
I handed him the check. He didn’t bother looking at it.
“Let me know how it turns out,” he said with his customary smile.
“You’ll be the first to hear.”
“And Kate? If you change your mind about my latest prototype, the offer still stands.”
The piercing blue eyes and enormous muscles flashed before my mind’s eye. That way lay dragons. “Thanks, but it isn’t likely.”
As I strode out of the apartment, I decided that I didn’t like the tint of smile playing on Saiman’s lips.
CHAPTER 4
I AWOKE IN GREG’S APARTMENT CLOSE TO SEVEN and reached for the phone. Dialing Jim’s number resulted in three rings, a click, and a beep of the answering machine without any forewarning message. I left a laconic “call me” and hung up. He would be none too pleased. The morning after a night of hunting was the time for serene contemplation, as sacred to the shapeshifters as meditation to a Shaolin monk. Caught between Man and Beast, the shapechangers sought complete control over each and so they met the sunrise looking inward. Their moment of self-reflection completed, they succumbed to peaceful sleep. I had little doubt that Jim had hunted last night in the Unicorn. He was likely to be asleep already, and the machine would beep announcing the message until it drove him crazy. I smiled at the thought.
I stretched, working the kinks out of my shoulders and back. I kicked at the shadow on the wall, putting all I had into it but never touching my imaginary opponent. I cycled through some basic kicks, front snap, roundhouse, thrust, finishing with more elaborate forms. After ten minutes I broke a sweat and pushed on for another twenty, working mostly on strength in my arms, shoulders, and chest. Greg did not own weights so I used a heavy lead- filled mace instead of a dumbbell. It was poorly balanced but it was better than nothing.
I had not lifted for a few days and I felt weaker than usual. Still, the controlled, determined exertion felt good and my mood improved gradually, so by the time the shower started calling to me, I was almost upbeat.
The phone rang just as my hand touched the bathroom door. I did a 180, expecting Jim on the line.
“Jim?”
“Hello,” said a male voice. It was a pleasant voice, well modulated and clear. I’d heard it before, but it took me a minute to remember where.
“Dr. . . . Crane?”
“Crest.”
Yes, the toothpaste-named charity worker. How the hell did he get my number? “Can I help you?”
“I was hoping you would have lunch with me.”
Persistent bugger. “How did you get my number?”
“I called to the Order and lied to them. I said that I had information concerning the dead vampire and gave them my credentials. They gave me this number.”
“I see.”
“So will you join me?”
“I’m very busy.”
“But you have to eat once in a while. I would really like to see you again, some place less formal. Give me a chance and if the lunch doesn’t work out, I’ll vanish from your horizon.”
I thought about it and realized that I wanted to say yes. It was a completely ludicrous thing to do. I was sitting on top of a bomb and both the Pack and the People stood ready to light the fuse, and here I was, considering a date. How long had it been since I’d been on a real date? Two years?
“It’s a deal,” I said. “I’ll meet you between twelve and twelve thirty at Las Colimas. Do you know where it is?”
He knew.
“And Dr. Crest?”
“Just Crest, please.”
“Crest, please don’t call the Order again.”
I expected him to be taken aback, but he said cheerfully “Yes, ma’am!” and hung up.
Stepping into the shower, I tried to figure out why I had agreed to meet him. There had to be a reason, something besides feeling lonely and tired, and wanting normal human contact,
