Grave Dance (Alex Craft, #2)(11)

Not that she let me.

Lusa was a petite witch—a ful head and shoulders shorter than me, even in her heels—but she was 110

percent ambition and excessively tenacious about fol owing percent ambition and excessively tenacious about fol owing a story. She sidestepped, blocking my path, and shoved her mic at me again.

“What can you tel the people of Nekros about the attack in the Quarter today?”

I sighed. I didn’t want to appear dodgy on the six o’clock news. “Nothing more than anyone else here could tel you.

I’m not sure where the beast came from or why it was on the street. We were lucky it was only a glamour.”

“Yes, lucky. Do you think this was a targeted attack?”

Possibly. It was very possible the kil er was upset that I’d revealed the mound of feet in the floodplain. Tamara was also on the case. She could have been the target. But I wasn’t about to speculate on the news.

Instead I said, “I think we need to wait for the NCPD’s analysis.”

Lusa hurried on to her next question. “What can you tel me about what appears to be Aetheric energy slipping into the street? Witnesses say the . . . tear is in about the same place as where you unraveled the glamour.”

“Maybe something to do with the beast?” I gave her the same line I’d fed Nori, though Lusa seemed to swal ow it as more credible than the FIB agent had. Hitching my purse strap higher on my shoulder, I stepped around Lusa. “If you’l excuse me, I need to check on my friend.”

This time Lusa let me go, and I hurried toward the ambulance idling across the street. Hol y sat in the back of the vehicle, two paramedics hovering over her and Tamara at her side. Hol y’s eyes were stil a little too wide, as if the shock of the attack hadn’t quite passed. A flame of freckles dusted her nose and cheeks, bright against her paler-thannormal skin. She usual y hid the freckles behind a complexion charm, but the medics had taken the charm to avoid possible magical interactions with the healing spel s.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked as I approached.

“They say I won’t even need stitches,” she said, but I could tel her frail smile was held in place by wil alone. “You could tel her frail smile was held in place by wil alone. “You know, I’ve used the expression that I felt like I’d been mauled after particularly bad days in the courtroom. I was wrong—this is worse.”

“Just wait until tomorrow. You’l be stiff and sore too.”

“Gee, thanks, Alex. You always give me something to look forward to.” She shook her head, but her smile looked at least a little less forced.

When the paramedics final y released her, with instructions to rest and watch the bite on her shoulder for signs of infection, Hol y al owed Tamara and me to help her down from the ambulance—which was a testament to how shaky she stil felt.

“You’re not stil planning to make your trial?” Tamara asked as she grabbed Hol y’s purse.

Hol y shook her head. “No. I’m cal ing it a day. I already contacted Arty about covering for me.”

Of course she had. She’d probably stil been bleeding when she’d had someone bring her the phone. I shook my head. If Death hadn’t been there, hadn’t warned me . . .

But then again, if the spel truly had been targeting me, Hol y might not have been injured if I hadn’t run back for her.

Had Death been here for Holly, the beast, or me?

Hol y was in no condition to drive, so we deposited her in the passenger seat of her car. I’d dropped my shields and peered across planes during the attack, and though it had been nearly an hour since I’d dispel ed the construct, shadows stil ate at my vision. Which left only Tamara to drive—we’d have to come back for the other cars later.

I slid into the backseat of Hol y’s car, but as we pul ed away from the curb, I noticed Lusa standing not far away, interviewing one of the pedestrians who’d been on the street. The man pantomimed thrusting his hand out like he was shoving it through something—or, more than likely, into a beast. Then he splayed his fingers as if to demonstrate suddenness and pointed to the hole.

Oh, I didn’t even want to know what kind of fal out I’d be Oh, I didn’t even want to know what kind of fal out I’d be dodging from this one.

“No comment,” I said, and hit the END button on my cel phone. It immediately buzzed again. “I need an antireporter charm,” I muttered. Yeah, and if I managed to create that, I’d make as much money as if I created a spel to reduce chocolate to zero calories. Of course, I was searching for a way to break glamour, and that charm appeared to be just as improbable.

“What do you think I should do, PC?” I asked, looking at my Chinese Crested.

The mostly hairless gray dog glanced up at his name.

Then he grabbed a stuffed penguin and dropped it at my feet.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to help, buddy.”

He stared at me, his big brown eyes hopeful. When I didn’t move, he nudged the penguin closer with his nose, and the crest of white hair on his head—the only hair he had aside from the puffs on his tail and feet—bobbed with the motion.

“Oh, al right.” I tossed the toy across the room, and PC

took off, his nails clinking on the hardwood as he scrambled for the penguin. When he reached it, he stood there, squeezing it so it squeaked. Then he took off again, prancing around the one-room apartment with the toy. What he didn’t do was bring it back—we hadn’t quite got that retrieve and return thing down. I shook my head. Little goof.