Magic Bleeds by Ilona Andrews

seen.
    “They’re very smart dogs,” Mauro said. “Canine Einsteins. They’re protective and they make good guards.” He cleared his throat and slid into an atrocious Southern tinged with Samoan accent. “You know, a young wallflower such as yourself, Ms. Scarlett, shouldn’t be on these vicious streets without a male escort. It’s just not proper.”
    Andrea doubled over, croaking with laughter.
    “Screw you guys.”
    Mauro shook his head, gazing mournfully at Andrea. “See? The streets have affected her: she’s become coarse.”
    There were times in life when nothing short of spitting fire would do.
    “Have you thought of what to name him?” Mauro asked. “How about Erik? After the Phantom of the Opera.”
    “No.”
    “You should name him Fezzik,” Andrea said.
    “Inconceivable,” I told her and took the canine traitor back to my office.
    “You might want to shave him,” Mauro called after me. “His fur’s all matted and it’s uncomfortable for him.”
    In the office I pulled out my brown bag. I’d stopped by a food stall on the way to the office. It was a dingy stall marked with a big sign that said HUNGRY MAN and operated by a thin blond guy. You’d have to be a very, very hungry man to stop by that stall. On the brink of starvation. And even then, I think I would go for a raw rat instead. The smell alone was known to send people running for their lives.

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    However, the dog had found the aroma emanating from Hungry Man curiously enticing, and so I bought a bag of small round fried things that were supposedly hush puppies.
    I reached into the bag, pulled a round object out, and tossed it at the poodle. Big jaws opened for a blink, caught a hush puppy, and snapped shut. He must’ve spent some time being a stray, because he’d learned the two things all strays know: food is rare so eat it quick, and stick to the sap who feeds you.
    I folded the bag over. Kate Daniels and her deadly attack poodle. Kill me, somebody. Julie, my adopted niece, would have a field day with this. It was a good thing she was away at a boarding school until Thanksgiving.
    Maybe the corner store would have hair clippers.
    I flopped behind my desk and spread my pink slips in a fan on its scarred surface. In a perfect world, Joshua’s vertically gifted murderer would’ve had himself a monologue before rampaging, during which he loudly and clearly would’ve announced his full name, occupation, religious preference, preferably with his god’s country and time period of origin, his goals, dreams, and aspirations, and the location of his lair.
    But nobody had ever accused post-Shift Atlanta of being perfect.
    The killer was likely a devotee of some deity who enjoyed plagues as means to motivate and discipline his or her faithful. A very powerful devotee, able to overcome the regenerative powers of Lyc-V, which was pretty much impossible as far as common wisdom was concerned. Obviously common wisdom had once again proven itself wrong.
    Of course, the killer could also be some psychopath who thought all disease was divine and just enjoyed infecting people in his spare time. I leaned toward the first theory. The man had specifically wanted Joshua, he killed him in a very odd way, and he strode off once the deed was accomplished. He didn’t stay to soak in the reaction. All this pointed to some sort of method to his madness, some definite purpose.
    Why start a fight? If he had wanted Joshua, he could’ve ambushed him on some lonely street instead of starting a brawl in a bar full of tough guys. Why take the risk that he or Joshua would get injured? Was this some sort of a message? Or did he think he was just that much of a badass?
    The only hint I had was the link between disease and the divine. I pulled a piece of paper from the drawer and took a stack of books off my shelf. I wanted some background before I started returning calls.
    TWO HOURS LATER