Magic Stars (Grey Wolf Book 1) by Ilona Andrews Page A

paused to pinpoint the faint sound of a human being trying to breathe quietly through his mouth. There. He stalked across the room, avoiding puddles of blood cooling on the floor. The man lay flat, hugging the floor. Derek crouched in one fluid motion, locked his hand on the man’s throat, and dragged him up. The man gurgled, writhing in his hand, trying to claw with feeble nails at the arm that held him. One squeeze, one crunch of bones, and it would be over.
    Derek dragged him to the back of the room and jerked the thick curtain open. Moonlight spilled onto his captive, enameling his tortured face with blue. White, short dark hair, at least thirty, old enough to know what he had done. A professional criminal.
    Derek grabbed a chair with his other hand, set it against the window, and slammed the man into it. The thug sagged, desperately trying to suck some air into his lungs. His eyes widened, his pupils so large with fear, their blackness swallowed the irises, leaving only a narrow ring of blue.
    “I know you,” the thug squeezed out, his voice hoarse. “You’re Derek Gaunt.”
    Good. This would go faster. “Six hours ago, the five of you broke into the home of Randall and Melissa Ives.”
    “They weren’t shapeshifters, I swear. I swear they weren’t.”
    “You put two shots into Randall in the hallway and left him to bleed out. You killed Melissa in the kitchen, three shots, two to the head, one to the chest.”
    The man’s eyes bulged.
    “Then you went upstairs and shot ten-year-old Lucy Ives and her seven-year-old brother Michael. You annihilated the whole family. The question is why?”
    “They weren’t shapeshifters!”
    “No, they were human beings. They were also smiths.” Derek reached over and took the knife from the table. “Melissa Ives made this knife.”
    He thrust the knife into the man’s stomach and cut a long shallow line from one hip to the other. Blood gushed from the cut. The air smelled sour as the blade slashed the intestines. The man let out a ragged yowl of pain and choked on his own terror.
    “Why?” Derek asked.
    “They had a rock.” The man squeezed the words between sharp gasps. “Some kind of metal rock. Caleb wanted it.”
    “Caleb Adams?”
    The man nodded, trembling. “Yes. Him.”
    Caleb Adams had started out as a witch, but his coven had cast him out. He’d proclaimed himself a warlock, and now he ran a gang on the edge of the Warren. Bordered by South-View Cemetery and Lakewood Park, the Warren had begun as part of the urban renewal project, but magic had hit it hard. It was poor, treacherous, and vicious, a war zone where gangs battled with each other. Caleb Adams felt right at home. He was violent and power-hungry, and according to the latest street talk, he was defending his new turf against two other gangs and losing.
    “Where is the rock now?”
    “We couldn’t find it.”
    Time for a more detailed conversation. He raised his knife.
    “We couldn’t find it!” the man cried out. “I swear! We trashed the house looking for it. Rick and Colin shot the guy and his wife, and they both died before we could ask.”
    “Why did you shoot the children?”
    “That was Colin. He shot the woman and then ran straight upstairs. He just went nuts.”
    He wished he knew which one was Colin. Sadly, he couldn’t kill him again.
    “What does this rock look like?”
    “About the size of a big orange. Shiny metal rock. It glows if you take it outside in the moonlight.”
    The man’s breathing slowed. The bleeding was taking its effect. “Three . . . ,” he whispered.
    “Three what?”
    “Three pieces of a rock. Rick said the rock had broken . . . into three chunks. Rick said Caleb already had one and wanted all three. He sent . . . two crews out. I don’t know where the other crew went. I told you . . . everything. Don’t kill me.”
    Derek’s lips stretched into a smile on their own, driven not by humor but by the instinctual need to bare his teeth