go looking before I turn into a drooling idiot. You don’t go after a master vamp after dark, and if I don’t find and kill him first, he’s going to be stalking me just as soon as the sun goes down—unless your friend Jones over there was lying.”
“He’s not,” Kevin admitted grudgingly. “But
you
don’t have to be the one to hunt him.”
“Did you have any luck tracking him back from where you found Celia?” Jones’s tone was deceptively bland.
Kevin answered Jones’s question with one of his own. “It’s broad daylight. Celia. Do you even know if you
can
go outside?” Kevin’s voice had softened just a hair, as if he sensed the distress I wasn’t willing to show. Maybe he could smell it? I didn’t know enough about werewolves to know one way or the other. I’d passed up on that class in favor of two semesters of history of magic.
I flinched involuntarily, just a little. I needed to keep my head in the game, but I really was having a hard time focusing.
Shit.
“Only one way to find out.” I gave him my perkiest insincere smile and was rewarded by a dark flush creeping up his neck.
“You”—Jones looked from me to Kevin and back again—“are either very brave or very stupid.”
“Both,” Emma said drily.
“Gee, thanks.” I was still lisping a little but was determined to ignore it. I rummaged around in the duffel for sweat socks and running shoes, then plopped down on the edge of the slab to pull them on, leaving the others to argue among themselves, which they proceeded to do. With vigor. I ignored it for the most part. I had other things on my mind. Like sunlight, spontaneous combustion, the fact that I would have a really,
really
hard time explaining an aversion to holy objects to my gran.
The three of them were still arguing when I finished with the shoes and socks. I think that’s why they didn’t hear the commotion in the hallway. Emma might have missed it either way, but werewolves have excellent hearing and from the jolt I got when I touched him, Jones wasn’t your average human, either. But I heard and, even more weird,
scented
it. Three men in hard-soled dress shoes were coming down the hall. They walked with the kind of confidence that comes with the weight of authority. I smelled gun oil and the tiniest hint of powder, as if the weapon hadn’t been cleaned quite as well as it should have been after its last use.
They slowed to a stop outside the heavy steel of the main door. I heard the metal shift as someone began pulling it open, and a voice I recognized as belonging to Dr. Reynolds from the university health clinic, babbling nervously. I watched, alert, as their figures were silhouetted against the sunlight of the glass-walled outer hallway. The sunlight seemed too bright, like staring into a spotlight onstage. It made my skin itch even from a distance, and I felt my muscles cringe. That annoyed me.
From the corner of my eye I saw the argument between Emma and Kevin cease. Jones had simply disappeared. Like magic. Except that I know magic … and nobody I’d ever known or heard of was capable of that particular trick.
The man who held the door was familiar to me, and probably to every student who graced the halls of USC Bayview. University president Donald Lackley had movie star good looks, a permanent tan, and shoes that had once roamed free in the Florida swamplands. His designer suit was impeccable, perfectly tailored, and probably worth as much as the car I drive. He is a
presence
, and as such never misses a photo op or a chance to cadge donations for the campus. That said, he is still one
hell
of an able administrator. No detail is small enough to escape the notice of those sharp dark eyes. Most people would have been surprised that he’d choose to lead the charge down here himself. I wasn’t. If he was here he could control the situation. Like most administrators, Lackley was
all
about control. If he hadn’t already been married, I’d have said he was
“He’s not,” Kevin admitted grudgingly. “But
you
don’t have to be the one to hunt him.”
“Did you have any luck tracking him back from where you found Celia?” Jones’s tone was deceptively bland.
Kevin answered Jones’s question with one of his own. “It’s broad daylight. Celia. Do you even know if you
can
go outside?” Kevin’s voice had softened just a hair, as if he sensed the distress I wasn’t willing to show. Maybe he could smell it? I didn’t know enough about werewolves to know one way or the other. I’d passed up on that class in favor of two semesters of history of magic.
I flinched involuntarily, just a little. I needed to keep my head in the game, but I really was having a hard time focusing.
Shit.
“Only one way to find out.” I gave him my perkiest insincere smile and was rewarded by a dark flush creeping up his neck.
“You”—Jones looked from me to Kevin and back again—“are either very brave or very stupid.”
“Both,” Emma said drily.
“Gee, thanks.” I was still lisping a little but was determined to ignore it. I rummaged around in the duffel for sweat socks and running shoes, then plopped down on the edge of the slab to pull them on, leaving the others to argue among themselves, which they proceeded to do. With vigor. I ignored it for the most part. I had other things on my mind. Like sunlight, spontaneous combustion, the fact that I would have a really,
really
hard time explaining an aversion to holy objects to my gran.
The three of them were still arguing when I finished with the shoes and socks. I think that’s why they didn’t hear the commotion in the hallway. Emma might have missed it either way, but werewolves have excellent hearing and from the jolt I got when I touched him, Jones wasn’t your average human, either. But I heard and, even more weird,
scented
it. Three men in hard-soled dress shoes were coming down the hall. They walked with the kind of confidence that comes with the weight of authority. I smelled gun oil and the tiniest hint of powder, as if the weapon hadn’t been cleaned quite as well as it should have been after its last use.
They slowed to a stop outside the heavy steel of the main door. I heard the metal shift as someone began pulling it open, and a voice I recognized as belonging to Dr. Reynolds from the university health clinic, babbling nervously. I watched, alert, as their figures were silhouetted against the sunlight of the glass-walled outer hallway. The sunlight seemed too bright, like staring into a spotlight onstage. It made my skin itch even from a distance, and I felt my muscles cringe. That annoyed me.
From the corner of my eye I saw the argument between Emma and Kevin cease. Jones had simply disappeared. Like magic. Except that I know magic … and nobody I’d ever known or heard of was capable of that particular trick.
The man who held the door was familiar to me, and probably to every student who graced the halls of USC Bayview. University president Donald Lackley had movie star good looks, a permanent tan, and shoes that had once roamed free in the Florida swamplands. His designer suit was impeccable, perfectly tailored, and probably worth as much as the car I drive. He is a
presence
, and as such never misses a photo op or a chance to cadge donations for the campus. That said, he is still one
hell
of an able administrator. No detail is small enough to escape the notice of those sharp dark eyes. Most people would have been surprised that he’d choose to lead the charge down here himself. I wasn’t. If he was here he could control the situation. Like most administrators, Lackley was
all
about control. If he hadn’t already been married, I’d have said he was
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