LITMIR.BIZ

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his head, Gilbert said, “You must ask your companion; it is not a structure of my choosing.”

      “But it grew in response to your answer.”

      “Yes.” Gilbert knelt by the side of what could no longer be called a table, studying the structure that had replaced it.

      “Records?” Kaylin asked Teela.

      Teela blinked and then nodded. “The Sergeant is not going to be happy.”

      “Not very, no—especially since we haven’t even started on the crime scene yet.”

      * * *

      The crack in the road was still there when they left the house Gilbert and Kattea occupied. The small dragon had more to say—and volubly—before they were allowed to depart. In all, it was almost embarrassing. But Bellusdeo allowed it. Her eyes were a deep, unfortunate orange, but at least they were orange. Kaylin avoided thinking about how she would have explained bloodred to any other Dragon.

      In theory, the only one that counted—and was indirectly responsible for her pay—was the Emperor. Kaylin missed a step. Since the ground was flat, she didn’t end up falling—but she did stumble, righting herself only because of long years of drill-yard training. Sadly, she wasn’t exactly graceful about it.

      “I feel exactly the same way” was Teela’s curt response. “I hope this doesn’t generate another fifty reports. Or a demotion. Don’t make that face—you don’t have anywhere to go. You’re already a private.”

      “If there’s no down, there’s always out” was Kaylin’s gloomy reply.

      “What are you worried about this time? I know that expression. You’re not actually worried about a living Shadow in the heart of the city; you aren’t even thinking about the murders.”

      “I am,” she said morosely. She glanced at Bellusdeo. “I have an appointment at the Palace tomorrow night.”

      “In Imperial defense, the etiquette lessons do seem to be having some effect.”

      “Besides the headaches?”

      “Besides those, yes. I admit a grudging respect for Lord Diarmat’s pigheadedness. He’s lasted far longer than anyone else who suffers under the same pretensions—at least when dealing with you.”

      * * *

      The shift of Hawks left on the murder premises was scant—and annoyed. Kaylin recognized both. “Sorry, Gavin,” she said to the older man. “We ran into a small problem on the Winding Path and had to take a detour.”

      Gavin was not quite of the same school as Mallory, Kaylin’s avowed enemy—but he wasn’t part of Marcus’s office the way Teela and Tain were, either. He was as crisp as Diarmat on a bad day, his face etched into lines that implied his frown—and he was frowning—was a permanent fixture.

      His partner, Lianne, was both younger and more friendly. She offered Kaylin a sympathetic smile from behind Gavin’s left shoulder. “Was the problem dangerous?”

      “We thought it might have something to do with the murders,” Kaylin offered.

      That dimmed Lianne’s smile, or rather shifted it into something more brisk.

      Both Gavin and Lianne were mortal and human. Gavin could remember a time when Marcus had not been sergeant, and Barrani were new to the force. He was probably still grumpy about their induction, but at least he had grown accustomed to their presence.

      He did, however, raise an iron brow when he caught sight of Bellusdeo.

      “She’s with me,” Kaylin said. “By Imperial dictate.”

      “Permission,” Bellusdeo said, correcting her. “I am here with Imperial permission.”

      “You must be Lord Bellusdeo.”

      “I am Bellusdeo, yes. I am not a Lord of the Dragon Court.” Gavin opened his mouth, but Bellusdeo continued speaking. “I am in the process of becoming a mage of the Imperial Order. I have the ability; I lack the paperwork.”

      “She has the Emperor’s personal permission,” Kaylin said, wishing Joey had been the Hawk on duty instead of Gavin. “The paperwork, while theoretically important, is irrelevant. Anything that can even bruise her can turn at least three of us into pulped corpses.”

      Lianne stepped around Gavin and offered Bellusdeo a hand, which the Dragon accepted. “I heard about what you did at the High Halls. If it weren’t for you, our losses would have been much heavier. I’m Private Tsaros. Lianne. My partner is Master Corporal Gavin Karannis. He’s a stickler for details; it makes him very valuable to the force.”

      “That,” Teela cut in, “is why we have Records.”

      “Records,” Gavin observed, “are not run on a schedule. And clearly, the Hawks’ sense of schedule is lacking.” He turned to Kaylin. “Private, you have been asked to review the evidence, the building and the bodies themselves. The Imperial mages have been and gone; I am to discuss their verbal reports with you after you have had a chance to assess the situation. And what,” he demanded, “is that on your shoulder?”

      Before she could answer—and she was honestly surprised at the question, given it had been weeks since the familiar’s appearance in the Halls—he continued, “Unless it is an active part of investigative duties, Hawks are not permitted to bring pets on their rounds.”

      The small dragon hissed.

      Gavin did not look impressed. On the other hand, Gavin frequently confronted a face full of bristling Leontine without lifting a brow.

      Kaylin glanced at the small, annoyed dragon. “There’s no point squawking at him. He barely blinks when Marcus does it.”

      * * *

      Kaylin wondered who had occupied Gilbert’s current home prior to Gilbert’s tenancy—she’d have to check Records to see if there was any information. The house directly across the street, which was under investigation, was slightly larger; it was in decent condition. The grounds—small though they were—had been partially given to vegetables and fruits, but those patches were mostly tucked in the back. The front, which faced Gilbert’s home and the rest of the street, was neatly fenced in; the fence and gate were wooden.

      They appeared, to Kaylin, to be perfectly normal.

      But most of life—and the crimes that accompanied it—actually was. Kaylin saw a fair bit of the magical and the unexplainable, but that didn’t warp her view of the world. For the most part, magic that threatened worlds was the subject of stories or legends. Magic that made the world run smoothly—mirrors, mirror networks, streetlamps—almost didn’t count as magic to most of the citizens of Elantra. Or at least to the citizens with money.

      Kaylin had grown up on streets where night brought Ferals, not streetlight.

      She shook herself. Gavin was giving her the stoic stink-eye, and if she resented the expression, she knew she also deserved it. She hadn’t figured out how to mention Gilbert and Kattea, although she knew she had to say something eventually.

      “Hey,” she said to the familiar, “can you lend me a wing?”

      The familiar cast a baleful glare at the master corporal, but lifted a rigid wing anyway. He did not smack Kaylin across the face with it; apparently, he was going to be on his best behavior.

      “What exactly are you doing, Private?”

      “The small dragon’s wing is like a magical filter,” she replied. She’d practiced this explanation, but hadn’t yet needed to use it. “In special circumstances, viewing magic or areas touched by magic through his wings reveals elements that aren’t visible to normal investigative procedures.”

      He did raise a brow then, as if he knew she’d practiced saying pretty much exactly that. “This has been tested?”

      “Yes.

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