The Lucifer Deck Read Online Free Page B

owed me a favor. Before signing on with Mitsuhama as a wage mage, he owned a thaumaturgical supply shop down on
Madison Street
. I did a puff piece on the store that brought in a lot of business." Masaki sighed. "He was murdered last night before I could conduct the interview. Burned to death."
    "So?" A murder was hardly unusual, considering Mitsuhama’s rumored yakuza connections.
    "He was burned from the inside out."
    Despite herself, Carla was intrigued. "How? Magic?"
    "Maybe." Masaki shrugged. "But if so, it’s something I haven’t seen before, in all my twenty-eight years as a snoop. And I’ve seen some pretty weird things through the lens of my portacam, believe me."
    "And the hardcopy and datachip he was going to give you?"
    "The hardcopy was nothing but ashes by the time I got there. And the chip was gone."
    Carla pushed the door open and focused in on her headclock. According to the glowing red numbers that appeared in the bottom right-hand corner of her field of vision, she had just twenty-six minutes to make it to her interview. "If you really had the goods on a hush-hush Mitsuhama research project, you’d have a big story—not to mention a tiger by the tail. But it sounds like you’ve got nothing, now that your source is dead and your proof has vanished. So why are you pestering me?" She jogged across the parking lot to her Americar XL, slid in behind its padded leather steering wheel, and voice-activated the ignition. She revved the engine and watched the seconds scroll by over her right eye. She’d give Masaki his thirty seconds.
    He leaned in through the car’s open door, talking rapidly. "I was mucking about with my portacam just before I went to meet my source. I didn’t realize it was on. But it’s a good thing it was. There was a witness to the murder. Remember that ork kid who wanted to talk to you two days ago about the Humanis Policlub? I think it was her. She even waved at the camera. And guess what was in her hand?"
    "The datachip." Carla whispered. She smiled, realizing that Masaki had just handed her, on a silver platter, the story that would get her a slot at NABS. She laughed to herself. Had Masaki been a little smarter, a little more cutthroat, he’d have asked her for the name and address of the kid without revealing the reason he wanted it. Oh, well—his loss and her gain.
    Carla cut the engine of her car. "Forget the Chrysler story." she told Masaki. "It’s nothing more than a trideo op for the corporate execs. One of the junior reporters can cover it. We’ve got a real story to follow."

4
    "Hey, mister!" Pita held out her hand. "Spare me something for a burger?"
    She stood in the shelter of an awning on
Broadway Street
, watching the people hurrying past. With the light drizzle of rain falling, there was little foot traffic on the sidewalks. On a sunny afternoon, this trendy street would be packed with shoppers. But today the sidewalk soykaf stands were empty, their plastic chairs and tables beaded with water. Rather than venturing out into the elements, the shoppers were sticking to the connecting network of tunnels and skywalks that laced the city’s downtown shopping core.
    Normally, Pita would have been panhandling there. But after her run-in with Lone Star, she didn’t want to face anyone in uniform. Even the mallplex security guards gave her the shivers.
    Rain pattered on the awning overhead as Pita tried to catch the eye of the few people venturing out onto the sidewalks. Most stared straight ahead, doing their best to act like they didn’t see her. A few pretended to be consulting their watches or electronic address pads. Others—particularly the humans—glared at her with open contempt, freezing the words in her mouth.
    After nearly an hour of this, Pita was about to give up. The cashier in the trendy clothing shop whose awning Pita was sheltering under was beginning to get more serious in her efforts to wave her away. But just as Pita was turning to leave, an