Sinners & Sorcerers: Four Urban Fantasy Thrillers by Scott Nicholson, Robert J. Crane, Daniel Arenson, S.M. Reine, J. R. Rain

exit closest to my apartment. I changed lanes without signaling, slicing through the narrow space between cars. Horns blared at me.
    Isobel grabbed the leather arm of her chair. “What are you doing?”
    “Getting you a piece of the victim.”
    + + +
     
    We parked a few blocks away from my apartment building and walked the rest of the way there. I noticed that Isobel was carrying the bag from the herb shop with her, but didn’t ask what else she had bought. She’d already admitted to using animal blood. I probably didn’t want to know what she had in there.
    It was a nice night for walking, even if I was out with a necrocognitive. The moon was hazy yellow, and the air was quiet and still. No signs of cops or Union anywhere. Didn’t get any better than that.
    Isobel eyeballed my building as we headed around back. “What is this place?”
    “What, got a problem with it?”
    Guess my defensiveness had given me away. She gave me a skeptical look. “You live here ?”
    I took another look at my apartment. It was indistinguishable from any of a million other apartment buildings in Los Angeles. The architecture was…well, it wasn’t going to win any awards, but it wasn’t like I spent much time looking at the big taupe box from the outside. It had a secure lobby and a couple trees. Whatever. I spent most of my time at the office anyway.
    “You live in a teal RV with beaded curtains,” I pointed out.
    “Teal is a magical conductor. The curtains…” The corner of her mouth quirked. “Well, there’s no excuse for that.”
    At least she was willing to admit it.
    Grabbing the fire escape’s ladder, I pulled it down and stepped aside.
    “Ladies first,” I said.
    Isobel stared up at it. “I don’t like heights.”
    “It’s the only way up.” I extended my hands toward her. “I won’t let you fall.”
    She hesitated then climbed onto the first rung. I dutifully stood behind her, prepared to catch her in the unlikely event of the fire escape suddenly melting and throwing her to the ground. As soon as she reached the second floor, I followed her. And we did that all the way up to my floor.
    When we got up to my apartment’s window, Isobel glanced over the railing at the ground and turned pale. She grabbed my sleeve.
    “I’ve got you,” I said, steadying her.
    She sighed and leaned against my chest, all warm and soft. Probably trying not to fall over. “You do have me, don’t you?”
    And with that weird question, she pushed in the screen for my window and slipped inside.
    I climbed in after her.
    My apartment hadn’t changed since the last time I was there. I was relieved to see everything intact. The landlord was kind of a dick; I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d tossed all my belongings to the curb as soon as I went missing. But a cursory search proved that nothing new had gone missing since my last visit. The rent was paid through to the end of the month—maybe I could actually keep my home if I managed to clear my name before April rolled around.
    Not that it felt like home anymore. I stood awkwardly in the bedroom as Isobel picked through my closet, staring at the bed that I’d woken up in on my last morning as an innocent man.
    I’d been with Erin there. She’d died in this place. Shot and strangled.
    I wasn’t sure I could feel at home anywhere ever again.
    “What do you need out of my closet?” I asked.
    “Oh, just looking around,” she said airily, with a hint of that “shaman princess” tone. Yeah, right. She was snooping.
    I pushed the door shut. “Look around somewhere else.”
    She lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right, all right.”
    “Need lights so that you can search for Erin’s tissue?” I opened my bedside table in search of a flashlight.
    She wandered out of the bedroom. “No, thanks. I don’t need to see to find what I’m looking for.”
    I grabbed the flashlight anyway and turned it on. There was still blood on the hallway carpet. Isobel