Read West Coast Witch for Free Online Page B

many are not registered. I, for example, lack any classification, so I am
     not registered.”
    “And just what are you? And don’t just say a guardian.”
    “I am someone interested in your future. My nature is a long story, and not one I
     tell people quickly.”
    I ate my cereal in silence, not really sure to say for the rest of the meal. When
     we were done, I grabbed our dishes and put them in the sink to soak. “Okay, so where
     do we go first?”
    “To Mr. Francis’s office. I have the address.” She said. “We will drive there.”
    “Driving twice in a twenty-four hour period? Damn, feels like I’m special.”
    A confused look crossed Amy’s features. “I do not follow.”
    “I don’t drive much, not in San Francisco. The hills, the parking, and the crazy drivers
     are enough to make anyone swear off of it.”
    “I do not blame you.” She said. “But, it is much quicker than most ways. Come on,
     Eric, we want to get there before most people show up.”
    “Show up? What are we doing?”
    A little smile crossed her face. “Why, gathering information.”
     
    I didn’t know it then, but ‘gathering information’ was Amy-code for ‘breaking and
     entering.” We drove down to one of the business districts, and parked on the street.
    “So, Amy, do you have a last name?” I asked her.
    “Amy will do for now,” She reached for a messenger's bag in her back seat. “We are
     going to be looking through the office. Hopefully Mister Francis kept a case file.”
    “So, how are we getting in ?” I asked as we got out of the car.
    “Leave that to me.”
    Raymond Francis’s office was rented out of a red brick building that had been around
     since the twenties. We walked up to the front door, and I opened it up for Amy.
    “Why did you do that?” She asked, furrowing her brow.
    “Hey, I got raised right. I always open the door for a lady, when I’m not drained
     of half the blood in my body.”
    “Darius hardly drained half your body.” She rolled her eyes. “And I am not a lady.”
    “Well, yea, whatever.” I said. “Force of habit.”
    We took the stairs up to the second floor. We found Francis Investigations, the first
     door on the left. I looked at the lettering. It was inked on the glass proudly, and
     looking at it was a bit of a downer. I’d been one of the last people to see Raymond
     Francis alive, and what did I have to tell anyone? That he asked a few questions,
     and that was it. But, here I was, looking for his murderer.
    “So, how do we get in?” I asked.
    Amy smiled, and reached inside her jacket. She withdrew a small leather case and unfolded
     it. “Simple.”
    I laughed a little. “You’re seriously going to pick the lock?”
    “Why not?”
    “Because it’s illegal!” I exclaimed.
    Amy looked at me with a look of quiet suffering. “Do be quiet. Someone might hear
     you, and I would rather have silence to work.”
    “Fine.” I put my hands up in mock surrender.
    She went back to work, her fingers moving with nimble, inhuman motions. She moved
     too fast and accurately for a person. I’d never seen anything like it. Lock picking
     wasn’t supposed to be that fast. Hollywood tells you a ton of bullshit about how easy
     it is. You can't just use a bobby pin and work some magic. But here she was, just
     breaking all that truth. It was about a minute before the lock opened.
    “There we go.” She said, and opened the door.
    I paused as she walked in. “How did you do that?” I followed her into the office.
    “Practice, practice, practice.”
    I shrugged, figuring that if I ever did get a straight answer out of her, that would
     be her decision.
    The office itself wasn’t anything special. There wasn’t any reception area. His desk
     was cluttered with papers and files. A few file cabinets set off against one wall,
     next to a water cooler and a small trash bin with a few take-out boxes stuffed in
     it. The computer on the desk was at least five years old, and