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Mustangs.  I didn’t bother getting a building permit for this; I’d had a high-level magic-user attach a pocket of disjointed space instead.  This made my footsteps on the concrete seem to echo into infinity. 
    Leaning against one of my rides, I pulled out my phone and placed a call.  The connection went through.  The Old Man’s deep tones greeted me.  “Hello, Caine.  What have you fucked up now?”
    “Why does everything always have to be my fault?”
    “Caine, I know you, remember?”
    “Even you can be wrong, Old Man.  Storm Court hit again.  This time they sent a wind mage.  He was strong.  They’re starting to learn from their mistakes.”
    “Next time it will be a mass attack.  I understand you went off this morning without your personal security.  That’s not wise.  I’m sending them out to hook-up with you.”
    “Look, Old One, chances are very low of another ambush right away.  I don’t—”
    “No argument.  I’m overriding you.  Where are you now?”
    “Malibu, but I’m about to hit the road.  I need to find Vivian.  She’s off the grid a little.  I’ll drive to the clan house after that.”
    “Have your car call me when you find Vivian.”
    “Sure.”  I hung up and put my phone away.  Pushing off my car, I turned to face the side driver’s window.  My handsome, well-dressed image was reflected back at me from the midnight-blue Mustang, the one with pale-blue lightning striping the sides and adorning the hood.  This vehicle had the most magically-assisted security devices, and its own artificial intelligence. 
    “It’s me.  Disengage security defenses.”
    I felt a tingle as a sweep of magic licked past, seeing if my reality matched my voice.  The door lock popped up.  I pulled the handle, opened the door, and slid in.  Had I been someone else, a hundred thousand volts would have bitched slapped the hell out of me, making me a deeply-hurtin’ crispy critter.  The lightning paint job was my way of giving fair notice.  Why don’t people understand what a great humanitarian I am?
    I buckled up and used the thumb scanner to further identify myself.  Embedded in the steering wheel hub, a red crystal bead glowed to life.  It projected a horizontal beam that fanned down across my eyes.  With retinal confirmation, the engine turned itself on.  I backed out and rolled down to the street where I wheeled about and roared away.  My finger stabbed the radio player.  The crunch of hard rock guitars and throbbing drums filled the air.  A painfully coarse voice screamed something mostly indecipherable.
    And so the hunt begins.
    Heading for downtown L.A. where most of my contacts were, I had time to kill.  I decided to take care of a little matter so it didn’t grow into a monster.  I searched my phone’s contact list for a number I seldom used.  In moments, the call was going through.  I transferred the call to my dash system and put my phone away so I wouldn’t have to kill a cop who might try to give me a ticket for driving while on the phone.
    A deep voice came out of a speaker.  “Yeah?” 
    “Josh, Caine here.”  Joshua Kent was the were-liger I’d run into in Sacramento, during the affair with the Green Flame Assassin.  He owed me a favor for heading off a preternatural war in his city.  “I need to talk to Kat if she’s there.”
    His voice was edged with suspicion.  “About what?”
    “I need a favor.  I need her to come up to Malibu for a while.  She can bring a surfboard if she wants.”
    There was a long silence.  Time to push some buttons .  “Are you going to make the decision for her?” I asked.  “She won’t like that.”
    Josh said, “A lot of bad things happen around you, Caine.  I have doubts that you’re a good person.”
    Time to lay it on thicker.  These people have good hearts.  It makes them easy to manipulate them.   “The favor’s not really for me.  There’s this young were-wolf girl who lives next