Inked Read Free Page A

understood?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Hargrove shot me a look that said it had damn well better be, but fortunately there wasn’t time for more. One didn’t keep a king—or the equivalent—waiting. A moment later, we caught up with the others at the top of the stairs and pushed through into the busy main corridor.
    The Central Division of the War Mage Corps is part of the North American branch of the Silver Circle—the most powerful magical association on earth. Only it wasn’t looking much like it at the moment. The war had trashed our previous digs, causing a precipitate and only half-completed move to new quarters beneath a large warehouse. It was crowded, the air-conditioning didn’t work half the time and the place tended to smell of dust, body odor and the ozone tang of magic.
    Today, it smelled like dung.
    I glanced around, wondering what new problem had cropped up since I’d passed through this morning. Unlike the lower levels, this one was open to the public. As usual, it was crowded with a microcosm of the current war. Mages, apprentices and lab techs hurried along, skirting the long line of arms dealers waiting for permits. Informants slunk past with furtive expressions, hoping their tidbits were worth a payout. Mercenaries loitered against the walls, awaiting interviews for the kind of service the Corps preferred to pay others to do. And someone was selling chickens.
    Okay, that was new.
    A squat-necked, big-bosomed woman with nut brown skin and a graying braid squatted near the stairwell, surrounded by wicker cages of live chickens. They stared at us accusingly out of bright black eyes, their beaks protruding through slits in the weaving. A glance down the corridor showed a variety of other small food animals, bleating and squealing from cages dotted here and there among duffle bags, backpacks and fifty or so scruffy-looking people.
    Hargrove grabbed a passing mage who couldn’t get away fast enough. “Lieutenant!”
    The lieutenant stopped, looking resigned. His arms were full of baby goat, which was nibbling on his lapel. Like all war mage attire, his coat was spelled to resist damage, although that wasn’t working so well in this case. The goat took a nibble, the lapel grew back, further intriguing the goat. Repeat.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “What are all these people doing here?”
    “I’m sorry, sir. We had to bring them down. They were picketing out front and drew the attention of the human police—”
    “I told Aaronson to get rid of them an hour ago!”
    “Yes, sir. But they refused to leave without seeing you,” the lieutenant said, before getting jostled aside by a man with black eyes, a weather-beaten face and a hank of greasy hair.
    “It’s the gangs!” The man held up his arm, displaying a nasty burn. “They burnt us out this morning and we want to know what you’re going to do about it!”
    “Where did this attack happen?” Hargrove demanded.
    “In an encampment over on Decatur.”
    “I know of no approved housing in that area.”
    “It’s a flophouse, sir. In the drain,” Jamie explained.
    Hargrove scowled at the injured man. “You were warned months ago that continuing to remain in an unsecured location puts you at risk. The Black Circle—”
    “Do we look like we have anything those bastards would want?” the man demanded.
    Personally, I thought he had a point. The powerful dark mages who composed our main enemy in the war tended to aim a little higher. But Hargrove wasn’t impressed. “They are known to hit civilian targets for the terror value.”
    “All your secure locations cost too much!”
    “We have arranged free safe houses for indigents—”
    “Yeah, in the desert! Our homes are here!”
    I couldn’t imagine anyone considering a murky, dangerous drain to be “home” and apparently, neither could Hargrove. “Be that as it may, you have the option. Should you choose to ignore it, there is little I can do. Other than offer you medical assistance for the