Read Kate Daniels 03 - Magic Strikes for Free Online Page A

saved her life; she had saved my kid, Julie, who had started the flare as a street rat with a missing mom and ended it a killer of demons, who lost her mother permanently but gained crazy Aunt Kate. After the flare, I had expected Andrea and me to quietly drift apart, but Andrea had other plans. She became my best friend.
    My stomach growled, informing me that I was ravenous. Food and sleep—you could do without one, but not without both. I put Slayer into the back sheath where it belonged, returned the throwing knife to its sheath on my belt, and grabbed my bag. Andrea checked the two SIG-Sauer P226s she carried in hip holsters, patted down her hunting knife and a smaller backup firearm on her ankle, and we were ready to go.
     
     
    I STARED AT THE HUGE PLATE OF GYROS. “I’VE died and gone to Heaven.”
    “You have gone to Parthenon.” Andrea took a seat opposite me.
    “True.” The only way I could get into Heaven would be by blowing up the pearly gates.
    We sat on the second floor, in the garden section of a small Greek joint called Parthenon. The garden consisted of an open-air patio, and from our table I could see the busy street beyond an iron rail. The only drawback to this place was the furniture. The tables were wooden and decent enough, but they were flanked by uncomfortable metal chairs bolted to the floor, which meant I couldn’t really watch the door.
    I scooped the meat with my pita. My brain kept returning to Derek with a small smile in the night-soaked parking lot. A big, heavy ball of worry had accreted in my stomach over the past few hours.
    I was stuck. Aside from Derek, who wasn’t talking, the only people who could shed light onto this situation were Pack members. There might have been a way to broach the subject with them without giving away the facts of Derek’s spectacular escapade, but I was too stupid to think of any. And considering the recent death, they would want full disclosure. If I said anything about Saiman or the Games, Derek would be punished. If I said nothing, he might risk his hide doing something idiotic.
    Combined with my headache, all this rumination put me into a foul mood. For all I knew, Derek’s little note said, “Meet me at the Knights Inn. I bought the rainbow-colored condoms.” Of course, it could also say, “Tonight I kill your brother. Get the stew pot ready.”
    I should have just read the damn note. Except I’d given my word I wouldn’t. In the world of magic, your word had weight. When I gave mine, I kept it.
    Besides, going back on my word would betray Derek’s trust. Actually, any action on my part would betray Derek’s trust: I couldn’t read the note, I couldn’t ask anybody about the note, and I couldn’t refuse to deliver the damn note. I would’ve really liked to kick him in the head right about now.
    To top it off, my calls to PAD cops produced no useful information whatsoever. A dismembered body of a woman was found on the corner of Dead Cat and Ponce de Leon. She was identified as a member of the Pack and the matter was turned over to the shapeshifters. End of story.
    I looked at Andrea. “The Midnight Games.”
    Andrea nodded. “One of my mentors was in it. The Games are held in the Arena, a bunker of some kind. It’s run by the House, which always consists of seven members. They make most of their money off betting on fighters. There are individual bouts, but the big banana is their team tournament. It’s held once a year. Fourteen teams participate. Each team consists of seven fighters, all with specific roles.”
    “They enjoy the number seven, don’t they?” I chewed my food. Seven had some mystic significance. Not quite as much as the number three, but plenty: seven wise men of Greece, seven wonders of the world, seven days of the week, seven-league boots, seven poets of Moallakat . . . No clue as to what it meant, if anything. Perhaps the creators of the tournament simply wanted to ground it in numerology.
    “My mentor fought