Praise for
laura anne gilman
PARANORMAL SCENE INVESTIGATIONS
Hard Magic “Gilman’s deft plotting and first-class characters complement her agile blend of science and spell craft, and readers will love the Mythbusters-style fun of smart, sassy people solving mysteries through experimentation, failure, and blowing stuff up.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review
RETRIEVERS
Staying Dead “An entertaining, fast-paced thriller set in a world where cell phones and computers exist uneasily with magic and a couple of engaging and highly talented rogues solve crimes while trying not to commit too many of their own.” —Locus
Curse the Dark “Features fast-paced action, wisecracking dialogue, and a pair of strong, appealing heroes.” —Library Journal
Bring It On “Ripping good urban fantasy, fast-paced and filled with an exciting blend of mystery and magic … this is a paranormal romance for those who normally avoid romance, and the entire series is worth checking out.” —SF Site
Burning Bridges “Wren and Sergei’s relationship, as usual, is wonderfully written. As their relationship moves in an unexpected direction, it makes perfect sense— and leaves the reader on the edge of her seat for the next book.” —RT Book Reviews [4 stars]
Free Fall “An intelligent and utterly gripping fantasy thriller, by far the best of the Retrievers series to date.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review
About the Author
LAURA ANNE GILMAN is the author of the popular Cosa Nostradamus books for LUNA (the Retrievers and Paranormal Scene Investigations urban fantasy series), and the Nebula award-nominated The Vineart War trilogy from Pocket, as well as the YA trilogy Grail Quest for Harper. Her first story collection, Dragon Virus, will be out in winter 2010, and she continues to write and sell short fi ction in a variety of genres. She also writes paranormal romances under the name Anna Leonard.
Laura Anne lives in New York City.
More information can be found online at www.lauraannegilman.net. Readers can email her at [email protected], or follow her on Twitter @LAGilman.
Pack of Lies
Laura Anne Gilman
Lisa: pour le voyage entre lectrice et amie
prologue
My name is Bonita Torres. I am an investigator with the Private Unaffiliated Paranormal Investigations team of New York. And I love saying that.
Funny, how life can change really fast. Eight months ago, I was an unemployed college graduate without a clue what I was going to do with my life. Seven months ago, PUPI was created out of the wild inspiration of Ian Stosser and his best friend, Benjamin Venec, and we—a team of five twentysomething Talent—were hired, green as grass and still wet behind the ears. Six months ago we solved a double murder, and earned the chance to show the rest of the Cosa Nostradamus, the magical community, what we could do.
A chance isn’t acceptance, though. The Cosa is naturally suspicious, and there were still a lot of folk out there who didn’t want us around, either because they didn’t trust us, or they were afraid we’d find out what they’d been up to. And in New York City, believe me, there are a lot of people who are up to something. Magic’s been around forever, but mostly on the honor system for how you used it. And some Talent? Not the nicest people around, always.
So we busted our tails, and learned as fast as we could, perfecting the spells we’d already created and crafting new ones to fit our training scenarios, wondering if we’d ever get a chance to use them. In the months since the Reybeorn murders, we’d gotten one missing person case that ended well, and an organ-stealing case that didn’t, so we’re going fifty-fifty. Not great, but the bills—and our paychecks—were getting paid. Barely. Maybe more to the point, I had a job that meant something to me, coworkers I liked, and I got to live in the Electric Apple, New York City, where I could work twelve hours and then play for seven, sleep five and do it all over again. Life was pretty good.
All we needed were a few more jobs to really get going, establish ourselves. The only problem was that even now that we’d showed the Cosa what we could do, nobody ever called us until it got ugly….
one
We were surrounded, outnumbered, and out of luck. I risked a glance at my partner, and saw the same desperation on his face. We needed to think of something, something brilliant, something fast.
Too late. There was a crack like thunder, lightning filling the entire room, and we both fell to the ground like someone slammed a two-by-four over our heads.
A deep male voice pronounced our doom. “You’re dead. Also, stupid.”
There really wasn’t much to say to that. Of the four PUPIs in the room, Nick probably would have milked the death scene. Sharon would have argued her way into a second chance. Nifty wouldn’t have been dead or stupid, probably.
Pietr and I lay on the floor and were dead. Also, stupid.
The deep voice continued. “Now. Can one of you surviving idiots tell me where your cohorts fucked up?”
The voice belonged to Benjamin Venec. Top-notch magical Talent, experienced private investigator, owner of a pair of gorgeously intense brown-black eyes, and, along with Ian Stosser, one half of the leadership of Private Unaffiliated Paranormal Investigations, also known as PUPI. Yeah, Puppy. The jokes just write themselves, and we’d already made most of them.
If we were PUPIs, though, Venec was Big Dog, and obedience school was in session. I loved my job, but this seriously was not my idea of how to start out a Monday morning, especially the Monday after my old college roommate’s annual April Fool’s Bacchanalia. My eyes felt like sandpaper, and I was cranky over more than getting killed. Even on a good day, I was emphatically not a morning person.
Since Venec had moved on to his next victims, I risked raising my face from the carpet to see who of the remaining three PUPIs was going to chime in first. What, as Venec was always asking, did the available evidence tell me? Nick’s shoes needed polishing, and the way he was rocking back into his heels suggested he wasn’t going to volunteer. Sharon had toed off her two-inch heels, and there was a run in her left hose. That was unlike her, and I wondered briefly what epic catastrophe had hit her wardrobe that morning. Also, she was humming under her breath. She only did that when she was stumped, and was trying to scramble for an answer.
That left only one person, but he was out of my line of sight.
“Mister Lawrence?”
His voice amused, our former college linebacker made the call. “They zigged when they should have zagged.”
Pietr, his face still down on the carpet, made a rude noise. Venec kicked him in the ribs, gently, and he subsided. Dead puppies weren’t supposed to talk back.
“Right,” Venec said, his voice thick with disgust. “I stand corrected, you’re all stupid. Dead bodies, off to the side. Sharon and Nick, you’re up. Don’t expect the attack to come in the same pattern. I’m not going to make it that easy for you.”
Easy. Hah.
Pietr