“Aw, don’t look so glum,” I said, hooking my arm in his. “I’d only use it against you on special occasions.”
“I can find you a weapon, but if you’re looking for something specific or need sizing adjustments, you’ll want to talk to Shepherd. Old Mother Hubbard has nothing onhiscupboard.”
I dropped my arm to my side when we passed a raucous bar.
“What are you looking at?” a man snarled. “You got a problem?”
Christian kept his head high and his eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead. I didn’t look back, but my ears perked up. Christian had better hearing, and based on his cool stride, he didn’t seem concerned that the man would follow us.
He pointed toward a red building on the right. “That’s the one. Do me a favor and try not to kill anyone. All we’re doing is following a lead.”
“Now where’s the fun in that?”
When we reached the entrance, the doors were locked. We needed either a key or someone inside to buzz us in.
I folded my arms. “Now what?”
Christian selected a random button.
“Yeah?” a surly man answered.
“Pizza delivery.”
“I didn’t order no pizza.”
“I’m freezing my arse off out here. Two pepperonis and one supreme, already paid for. What’s the problem?”
I laughed in disbelief when the man buzzed us in.
Once inside, Christian ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. “Never underestimate the stupidity of men when it comes to food and sex.”
When we reached the sixth floor, I looked down the hall in both directions, making note of where all the exits and stairwells were. It was an old building with peeling paint, wainscoting, tubular lights along the ceiling, and black doors inside small recesses in the wall. I concealed my light so as not to tip him or anyone else on the floor off that a Mage was lurking about. Christian gave me a light push to stand away from the peephole. He took off my hat and pulled it over his head, as if somehow that magically changed his appearance.
I pulled my stunner out of its sheath and gripped it firmly, the blade protruding between my middle and ring finger. I gave Christian an impatient look, wondering if he was going to stand there all day or get this show on the road. He pinched his chin, studying the door, and finally rapped his knuckles against it.
“Who’s there?” a voice boomed.
Christian cleared his throat and took on an American accent. “Al’s Wrecker service. We found your vehicle. We can’t scrap it until you sign release papers. Unless you’d rather I leave it outside. Either way, I need your signature.”
I nodded. Quick thinking and believable.
“Goddammit,” the man grumbled.
“There’s also a fee for cleanup,” Christian added.
I kicked him in the leg. No need to push it. If this guy was cheap, he might keep the door locked. I stayed out of view as the latch clattered against the wood.
The moment the door cracked open, Christian wedged his foot inside, his arm leaning against the doorjamb. “Didn’t think you’d see me again, did you?”
When the man tried to close the door, Christian flung it open.
“Oh, for feck’s sake. Put the weapon down, you dolt.”
I wedged past Christian and stepped to the left. The Mage glared at us, a small piece of impalement wood in his hand, no bigger than a pencil. I quickly noticed his appearance now that I had a good close-up look. Dark hair shaved on the sides and long on top. When I noticed he had shoes on, I guessed by his rumpled hair that he must have recently woken up and was planning to go out soon. No sign of any weapons on his person outside of the wood in his hand, so we’d definitely caught him off guard.
His apartment was bright, spacious, and unremarkable. It lacked curtains and furniture that one might acquire over a lifetime. The door on the right presumably led to a bedroom. Straight ahead, a turquoise sofa faced an old television set, and the wooden coffee table in front of it was littered with notebooks and soda cans. I noticed a cheap desk on the left-hand wall and something blinking on the computer monitor. The narrow kitchen to our immediate left was dark and empty except for a bowl of cereal and carton of milk on the bar.
The Mage didn’t bother to wipe the milk stain off his goatee as he held up his weapon in self-defense, which made it all the more comical. “Get out of my space, fanghole.”
