by Quirah Casey
Really?
I walk over to him, ready to slap him awake, and then I notice that his chest isn’t moving at all. And I don’t hear the sound of his breathing.
Blood covers his shirt, and I know that wasn’t there when I left him last. What the hell? I wrap my fingers in his hair and tug, raising his head, and then I swear. A long, thin cut spans his neck.
His throat has been slit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“You’re done already?” London asks, lifting his head from the table.
“Alftripson is dead.”
“You killed him?” Blaine shouts, jumping from his seat and sending it clattering to the ground.
I stare at the fallen chair for a second before lifting my gaze. “No, I mean he was already dead when I got back to the office.”
“What do you mean?” Mel asks, her nose wrinkling as she cautiously stands, before sitting back down and looking at the table. “He died from the wounds you inflicted?”
“No.” I shake my head, settling into the seat between Mel and London. “Someone snuck in and slit his throat.”
Mel gasps, London’s eyes widen, and Blaine’s narrow skeptically.
“I didn’t do it.” I assure him, leaning back in my chair as a flood of thoughts crowds my mind. I shake them off. “I wouldn’t have killed him without getting what I needed first.”
“Good to know,” he says dryly, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
“He would have broken, I know it. We were so close to getting answers, but someone got to him before we could.” I can’t hide my disappointment and irritation. “Shit, my office has become so penetrable that even a fucking toddler could break into it.” I blow out a breath.
“So what are we going to do now?” London asks.
“We’re going to take shots. And then we’re going to go through those papers again and look for any addresses in Oltinie.” I extend an arm. “Pass that here.” London passes me the bottle.
“Are you sure that we should still be working from here? It’s pretty obvious that it isn’t secure anymore.”
“That’s why we should be working from here. Just in case our enemy gets bold enough to come back. Fucking coward.”
“Whoever we’re dealing with is more serious than you’re giving them credit for,” London says. “You told that poor lad you were going to cut his boys off, and he still didn’t give up the name, even though it was clear you would follow through.” His body shivers. “Gods, you really stabbed him right through… I know how that pixie feels now; I’m completely fucked up for the rest of my life.” He looks at me with sadness in his eyes. “Does that happen to everyone around you?”
“Wait, what did you do?” Blaine asks, eyes widening.
“I won’t self-incriminate,” I tell him, passing the bottle to Mel, who’s had her hands over her face. I nudge her arm, touching her for a second longer than necessary, offering her comfort.
Mel takes a deep breath, rubbing at her temples, and I know she’s trying to get her head on straight. Finally, she looks up, and I can tell her mind is back at work. “Alftripson said the leader is holed up in Oltinie, and in all honesty, there aren’t that many vacant properties over there. At least not ones that aren’t completely uninhabitable.” Her voice is low but firm.
“Good.” I push away from the table, patting Mel on the shoulder. “I’ll go get the papers from my office. Then we’ll find somewhere else to work, if you think it’s that serious.” I roll my eyes.
“Let’s hope they didn’t steal the papers back,” London mutters.
I shake my head. “They couldn’t have. The only people with access to my desk drawers are me, Mel, and Marie. Fran did the wards, so I know they’re not easily broken. I shouldn’t have tried to use human tech on the door. It’s obviously failed me.” I decided to forgo magic for the locks on my doors, but now I’m regretting it. I’ll have Fran redo all of my security as soon as she gets back to town.
I retrieve the papers from my office, frowning at Alftripson’s dead body. It’s going to start to stink at some point, and if I don’t remove him from my office, it’ll be a bitch trying to get rid of the smell later.
“I need to make an extra stop,” I tell the others when I return to the break room. They haven’t moved since I left; they’re all still seated around in the table, occupying the same depressed positions I left them in. I shake my head. “Get your asses up. We’re not defeated yet, and we won’t be unless you three keep sitting around, looking like someone kicked your favorite puppy.” I think of Alftripson and snort. “Or killed it.”
“You like this, don’t you?” London asks with wide eyes, standing up.
“She gets off on the challenge,” Mel tells him.
“Just a little,” I agree.
“Fucking crazy,” Blaine says as he stands, but I can tell that he isn’t in the mood to fight.
I shrug. “Now let’s go get something to eat. Then we can head to the compound and finish going through these papers.” I throw the bag to Mel.
“Stendahl, come move the body for me.”
♛
I tell Blaine to meet us at The Blue Butcher, and I drive Mel and London, pulling around to the back of the shop. I haul Alftripson’s body from the trunk of my car to the butchery’s kitchen. It’s late and the shop is closed for the night, but Butch lives upstairs. She’ll be here.
“Go open the front door for Blaine,” I tell Mel as I throw Alftripson’s body onto one of the steel tables.
“That’s unsanitary,” London remarks, frowning. “And to think I ate here just a couple days ago.”
“Can it,” I tell him, marching over to the door that leads to Butch’s apartment. I ring the little doorbell and then bang on the door.
It takes a couple seconds before I hear the shuffling of feet, and then the door is thrown open to reveal a little pixie with a big shotgun.
“Do you think a threat would really ring the doorbell and knock?” I ask amusedly, taking in the short, thin woman whose blue-black hair cascades around her shoulders.
“Shit, I don’t know. You can never be too prepared around here. People have been dropping like flies,” she says, her green eyes trailing over my shoulder to the wolf on the table. “My case in point.” She doesn’t put the gun down, even as she walks over to the table. I know she likes to keep the weapon close, but this is excessive even for her.
“Well, what you got for me today?” she inquires. Her eyes dart to London, but only for a second, and she doesn’t say anything to him.
“Wolf. Slit throat, fucked up balls, killed within the last thirty minutes or so.”
She nods, examining the body. “You can never keep things clean,” she mutters. “I can have him gone by the morning. I know a couple ghouls who aren't too particular about mutilation. New customers,” she informs me with a look over her shoulder.
“Gods, what the fuck? What kind of bloody meat shop are you running?” London asks, his mouth dropping open as he looks back and forth between the two of us.
“The kind that you better not tell anyone about, unless you want your balls to look just like Alftripson’s,” I warn. “Now go sit out front with the others.”
He shakes his head but leaves the kitchen with no argument.
I walk over to the wall by the exit and press the little button that works as a sound glamour, just like the ones at Charisma, courtesy of Ona. “There haven’t been any bodies popping up around the shop?” I ask Butch, thinking of the body I found at the compound. Now I understand how it got there, despite the fact that the compound is even more secure than the club. The rat put it there.
“Other than the ones you bring?” Butch raises a brow and folds her arms over her chest as she leans against the table.
“Other than the ones I bring,” I confirm.
“No, it’s been all quiet around here.”
“Is that why you won’t put the gun down?” Her shoulders tense for a second, confirming m
y suspicions. She feels a threat beyond the person leaving bodies around town. “Is it someone from your past?”
“It’s nothing like that. I’ve just been feeling…I don’t know, watched.”
At that, it’s my turn to tense up. “Did you feel a presence? A dark one?”
“Yeah, it was all-consuming. Raised all my hackles.” She shivers.
“Call me if you feel it again, okay?”
“Okay.”
I watch her, my gut telling me that there’s more to this situation, but I know that if Butch really needs something, she’ll let me know. I don’t push. “Do you mind fixing us something to eat real quick?”
She nods. “Sure.”
I let the glamour down and join the others in the front of the shop, where they’re all sitting silently around a table. An uneasy feeling settles over me. It was different when I thought the killer was just watching me and the den. But they’re watching Butch, the one pixie I actually like and consider a friend, and I can’t understand why. And why haven’t they tried to kill anyone I actually care about? Other than Mel, of course, but if the servant wasn’t lying, she wasn’t actually meant to be the target.
Butch brings out sandwiches, and we eat in silence before heading out.
At the compound, I make Blaine park outside. “The fact that I’m even allowing you and London into the compound sets a bad precedent,” I tell Blaine when he protests. “I’m willing to bend one rule, but just the one. No outsider vehicles,” I tell him.
He lets out a defeated sigh, muttering under his breath as he gets into my car. I drive us past the security gates and hear London gasp when the mansion comes into sight.
“What the hell?”
“It’s a glamour,” I tell him, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. From outside, you can’t see much of the compound, but based on the perimeter, you’d think the place is much smaller than it actually is. It looks small from the sky, too, and its wards prevent strangers from entering from above. The compound’s magical protections come courtesy of Fran and Ona, who had to be bribed to work together. In reality, the compound is probably one of the biggest buildings in town. I know for a fact that it’s the biggest residence, housing over fifty dragons, which is why I don’t spend a lot of time here anymore. I love my den, love leading it, but sometimes I need to get away. I’m not much of a people person, and the wyryns tend to get eager and annoying when I’m around.
We pull into the garage and get out of the car.
“This way.” I gesture for everyone to follow me into the main building, which holds a couple of kitchens, meeting rooms, and more. The residential quarters are in separate wings connected to either side of the main building.
Despite it being the middle of the night, the house is booming with noise and movement.
“Palha!” The loud greetings come from all around me, and I have to gesture for everyone to be quiet. It’s mostly young wyryns here tonight; most of the elder ones live in town and don’t usually spend nights at the compound.
Reed, a hyper young redhead, bounds up to me, looking over my shoulder. “I haven’t seen Marie in a couple days, is she okay?”
“She’s fine.” I gesture Reed away when she opens her mouth to speak again.
“I have business to attend to, so unless someone is dying, don’t disturb me,” I announce, watching disappointed expressions cross several faces. I turn and lead the others up the stairs to the meeting room.
“There are a lot of them,” London remarks as I close the doors behind us.
“Of course. It’s a big den, which is why the person trying to take me on is stupid. Not only do you need a small army to take me down, but it’d have to be a good army. My people are all highly trained in combat. Shit, when she isn’t fucking up, Dina is a force to be reckoned with.” She’s probably the only person who has more experience interrogating than I do, and an almost equally dark past. “Even mousy little Klara could probably kick both of your asses on a good day.”
Mel lays the backpack down on the table, and we all take seats away from each other.
“Let's start by putting all files that mention Oltinie aside,” I tell them. “And then we’ll go through those and look for addresses.”
We rifle through the papers in companionable silence. We only speak when one of us finds a potential lead; otherwise everyone is too focused for conversation. Even London, who hardly never shuts his mouth, is quiet today. We find over a dozen Oltinie addresses, small maps and blueprints attached to each one.
Blaine’s phone rings a couple of hours in, cutting through the silence and surprising us all.
Blaine frowns as he answers, and I lean back in my chair, eavesdropping on the conversation.
“Hello?”
“Levitsky.” Feliks Alenin’s annoying voice is easy to recognize.
“Yes?”
There’s the sound of shuffling on Alenin’s end. “We’ve got a lead on the case, and you need to come in.”
My ears perk up at that, and I look at Blaine pointedly, but he ignores my gaze. “Okay, I’ll be right in.” He hangs up, and his dark eyes glide over the rest of us. It’s pretty evident that we were all listening in on the call.
“You need to—”
“I’ll call in an hour and give you guys an update,” Blaine cuts me off, and for once we’re on the same page. “And you can let me know if you’ve found anything.”
I should have known that we wouldn’t be agreeing for too long. “If we find something, you can be sure we won’t be sharing it with you within hearing range of the CDA,” I mutter.
“Like I said, I’ll call in an hour,” Blaine repeats, frowning at me.
Mel escorts him out of the compound and returns quickly. The next couple of hours flash by in a blur, the three of us gathering as much information as we can, trying to narrow down the addresses. We only keep the ones that we know are vacant.
“Levitsky never called,” London says finally, and I look at the clock, realizing he’s correct. The agent should have called us by now, even if all he had to say was that he had nothing to say. I’m surprised he hasn’t; he knows from experience that I’m not always patient when it comes to this case.
“He probably got caught up at work and hasn’t had time to get to his phone,” Mel reasons.
Another hour goes by, and there’s still no call from Blaine. His phone goes straight to voicemail when we call.
“Maybe he’s decided to ignore calls like you do,” London says.
I shoot him a glare, though it doesn’t carry as much power as usual. “I doubt it.” I look at the clock again and realize that it’s eight in the morning. I start to get a bad feeling in my gut.
“I’ll call one of my contacts at the CDA and ask if they saw him around.” I immediately dial up Ben, one of our most reliable CDA moles.
“Hello?” His voice comes across the line, alert.
“Have you seen Agent Blaine Levitsky?” I cut straight to the chase.
“No.” The sinking feeling in my stomach intensifies. “I haven’t seen Levitsky since…the day before yesterday.”
“What about Feliks Alenin?”
“No, same deal as with Levitsky. Haven’t seen him in days.”
I take a deep breath. “And have there been any new leads on the dead bodies case?” I have a feeling I already know the answer.
“No, we haven’t found any leads in almost a week. Is there any—”
I hang up, running a hand through my hair.
Fucking great.
Blaine is missing.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“I vote that we go find him,” London says, his nose wrinkled in frustration. “If he’s still alive, he won’t be for long, considering what we know about our enemies’ tactics. They move fast and ruthlessly.”
“I agree,” Mel says, looking over at me with concern in her eyes.
“I don’t disagree,” I say, and she lets out a relieved breath, “but we have no location to go o
n yet. If his phone was on when he was taken—assuming that he was taken and we’re not just suspecting the worst—” Despite my words, my gut definitely feels that the agent was taken. “—then I can get a friend to track it. But it’s going to take at least an hour.”
They both nod in agreement, but I don’t miss the surprise on their faces. I know that my compliance is what they find surprising.
“Okay, it’s better than nothing. In the meantime, we can keep looking for a solid answer in these papers,” Mel says, pulling the stack of discarded papers toward herself. London retakes his seat and helps her, though I don’t miss the tight pinch of his lips.
I turn away from them, pulling out my phone to call Neema, a tiger shifter who’s a wiz with computers and all things technology. Whenever the den needs something related to tech, I call her first.
“Hello?” her soft, sleepy voice comes across the line.
I don’t bother with pleasantries or introductions. “I need you to track a phone for me.”
A groan hits my ears as I hear her sheets rustle. “Do you realize what time it is here, Uleb?” Uleb is an alias of mine, a simple respelling of my name, but no one has ever thought to put the pieces together. While some of my close allies know my true identity, Neema is not one of them; the tiger and I have never met in person. She’s been more than helpful over the last few years, though.
The problem is that she lives on the other side of the world.
“I know, I’ll double your fee. Now get your ass out of bed.” I give her all the details she needs, and she tells me she’ll be in touch within the hour.
“We’re going to need backup,” London says as I hang up.
I turn, studying him, his head bent as he continues to look at the papers. “No problem. I have a ton of backup right downstairs.”
“We don’t want to take too many people,” Mel says, frowning. “That would draw attention. I say we take about half a dozen with us and leave another dozen half a mile out in case shit starts to go south.”
The strategy sounds good enough, and I nod in agreement.
