Tricks of the Trade - By Laura Anne Gilman Page 0,18

be impossible. I really wished that were true.

As extra-special treats went, the Merge wasn’t. I had no interest in being told by some magical mojo who I was supposed to be knocking boots with, or cuddling up thoughtwise, and I sure as hell didn’t want some mystical force determining who I extraspeshul magically bonded with. Oh, hell, no.

Thankfully, Venec had the same opinion of the entire thing. Unlike the downtime thing Pietr and I had going, there was no way to cordon off what was between us, safely; even I, queen of let’s-try-anything, knew that. It would change everything, disrupt everything, and neither of us had any desire to screw up the most important thing in our lives – this job – for...

For whatever the Merge actually was. Venec might still be digging at it, trying to find answers, or at least explanations. If he’d found anything, he hadn’t told me, and I hadn’t asked. For once in my life, I was perfectly content to not know about something.

Yeah, I admitted it. I was afraid that if I started poking at it, explored the possibilities even in my thoughts, it would get stronger just by being exposed to air or something. For once in my life, I wasn’t going to take the risk.

I’d just moved my hand away from the demon file and pulled the next one on my list when Sharon came out of the back rooms, Nick half a step behind her. She was as immaculate as ever, Nick was rumpled and scrawny as ever, and yet they shared the exact same look of annoyance. Whatever they’d gotten on their assignment, it wasn’t open and shut.

“Bad scene?” I asked, putting the file down.

“Useless scene,” Sharon said, dropping herself onto the sofa next to Pietr. “The place was trashed, no sign of entry or exit, no way any of the three people in the house could have done it, even if they had cause, and while the place was wrecked, there were only a handful of things actually taken, according to the owner. He’s dead set on it being a Retriever, mainly I think because that makes him feel important, that someone hired a pro. My bet is some Talent with a grudge, and most we’d be able to get them for would be breaking and entering.”

“What she’s really pissed about,” Nicky said, “is that the client must lie for a living. Even I could tell he was full of shit, but she couldn’t pinpoint anything specific to call him on.”

“What does he do?” I asked, prepared to hear banker, or lawyer, or CEO of a pharmaceutical company.

“Owns a national rental car franchise,” she said. “I wouldn’t rent from them even if I knew how to drive.”

Huh. “What did Venec say?” I asked. I knew he was lurking in the back office; even with my walls up I could feel him, the way you feel a storm coming, the static in the air almost a solid, living thing. He must have just finished debriefing them.

“He told us that lack of trace was a roadblock not a disaster, the client was probably an ass but he was still the client. And to get the hell out of the office, clear our brains, and let the investigation wait until the morning.” Sharon had an odd look on her face, and the more I looked the less it seemed like annoyance, and more like she’d bitten into what she thought was a lemon and gotten a peach, instead. “I don’t think he’s taking this case seriously.”

Nifty pointed out the logic-fail in that. “Venec takes everything seriously.”

Sharon rubbed at her face, and nodded. “Yeah, I know. I just... The client’s an idiot, the house is trashed but nothing of serious value was taken... . I’m not sure I’m taking it seriously, either.”

Sharon, like Venec, took everything seriously. I was starting to wonder about this case. It was almost enough to be thankful for a floater. Almost.

“Screw it.”

I looked over at Pietr, who had spoken far louder than his norm. “It’s not like we’re getting anywhere with this, either.” He scowled at our piles of so-far-useless paperwork. “Any trace there might have been was washed by the river. You know it, I know it, even the cop knew it. We could stare at files all night and get nowhere, and it’s not like the NYPD will appreciate our exhaustion.”

We dealt with the weird shit in an exchange of favors, keeping the unspoken lines of