of magic that hides my elfin nature? No, all you see is a beautiful ­human woman. Fools.
They walked down a short hallway to an ­improvised office. Razz was sprawled out on a couch, looking through a car magazine. He looked up as she entered the room. “Shari, right? Want some fresh rock? We got some hot shit here. Word.” He gestured at the table ­between them, which had several pipes and filled plastic bags set out upon it.
“No, thank you.” She looked at the drugs with thinly concealed distaste. Most humans were annoying enough when they were sober; intoxicated, they were usually insufferable. She hoped that Razz had enough brain cells left intact for her to conduct the necessary business.
“It's the flake your man sells to us,” Razz added. “He's all right, my man, righteous. Not like some scrambling dealers, chalking their shit and acting all clocked out. So, mama, what can the Razzman do for you?”
“Nate sent me to Los Angeles on a particular ­errand,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I'm trying to find someone. And I think that person may be linked to what happened last night at a warehouse in Van Nuys, that involved some of your boys. Do you know what happened there?”
Razz sat up suddenly, giving her a narrowed look. “Damn