On Sunday, February 27, Mrs. Oswald came home and found a very large tick in her backyard. The tick told her in a creepy voice that it was after her cats. She called the Guild. An hour later Eduardo arrived and killed the tick. Some people from the city—likely the Biohazard division of PAD—came and got the remains that night. The wolf griffin appeared on Monday morning. It was the size of a springer spaniel at first, and it ignored her and her two sons completely. It kept trying to claw its way into the house, but the bars held and the small beast didn’t seem like a terrible threat, so she’d called Eduardo again and gone to work. When she came home, the griffin was gone. Considering that the magic wave ended on Monday around nine in the morning, that wasn’t surprising. She thought Eduardo came out while she was at work and took care of it or that the wolf griffin flew away.
This morning when Mrs. Oswald was about to leave for work after a magic wave came, a much larger griffin swooped down on her and tried to maul her. She’d run back inside and called the Guild.
Watching it turn into a giant bug was too much for her.
“Can I use your phone to call Biohazard?!” I yelled over the roar of the enchanted water engine.
“Do what you need to do! I have my kids to take care of!”
Mrs. Oswald stepped on the gas and peeled out of the driveway like a bat out of hell. I went inside and checked the phone. Dial tone. Well, something had gone right for once. I dialed the Biohazard number from memory.
“Biohazard,” a gruff male voice said into the phone.
“My name’s Kate Daniels. I have a giant dead spider-scorpion thing on Chamblee Dunwoody Road. I need you to come and get it.”
“Sure,” the voice said. “Let me get right on that. You’re eighth in line. It will be twenty-four hours.”
“It’s an RM in a residential neighborhood.”
The phone went silent. “How bad?”
“It went from mammal to insect after death. The insect is ten feet long, not counting the legs.”
“Sit tight. We’ll be there in half an hour.”
Experience said it would be more like a couple of hours, but I would take what I could get. I dialed Cutting Edge. Derek answered, his voice raspy. “Cutting Edge.”
“Can you meet us here?” I gave him the address.
“I’m leaving now.”
“Thanks. Is Ascanio there?”
“Ready and willing,” Ascanio said into the phone.
“Call the Dunwoody Police Department for me and please check if there were any complaints against the Oswalds on Chamblee Dunwoody Road.” I gave him the address.
“Yes, Consort.”
Either it was force of habit or he was jerking my chain. Probably the latter. I hung up and went into the garage. A toolbox sitting by the wall yielded a pair of needle-nose pliers. Perfect.
I found Curran outside. He had turned into a human, had pulled his clothes on despite being covered in slime, and was trying to rinse his mouth out with a hose.
“Did it taste that bad?”
“You have no idea. This goo doesn’t wash off with water alone. I tried.”
“Let me see your shoulder.”
He glanced at me. I lifted the pliers and made pinch motions with them.
“Are we done?” he asked.
“No. We have to wait here until Biohazard shows up.”
“Why? It’s dead.”
I sighed and sat on the stairs in front of the door. “Because it exhibited reanimative metamorphosis. It was dead and instead of staying dead, it turned into something else and came back to life. It also went cross-phylum, from mammal to insect. That means there is a good chance it might come back to life again as something really strange, like a terrestrial octopus shooting lightning from its tentacles.”
“Why don’t we just set it on fire and scatter the ashes?”
“Because the ashes could still metamorphose into something nasty like leeches or flesh-eating flowers. We killed it. That means we initiated the RM process, so now we have to watch over the corpse until Biohazard shows up and quarantines it.”
“And if we don’t?” His tone was getting harsher and harsher.
“It’s a mandatory ten-year prison sentence.”
“So we performed a service by killing this thing and now they are punishing us for it?”
“Yep.”
“This is ridiculous. You’re bleeding. Don’t lie to me, I can smell it. You’re hurt. You need a medmage.”
“I’m not hurt that badly.”
His lips wrinkled, showing his teeth. “How badly do you have to be hurt?”
“There is a right-to-life exemption, which permits us to leave the scene if our injuries are life threatening. We’d have to provide paperwork from a hospital, or a qualified medmage, showing that we had to get treatment or we would’ve died. My injuries are not life threatening.”
“Paperwork is not a problem.”
“Yes, but I won’t lie.”
“How do you know your injuries aren’t life threatening? You’re covered in the fluid from its guts. How do you know it’s not poisonous?”
“If it’s poisonous, we’ll deal with it when I feel sick.”
“Fine. I’ll stay here with this thing, and you will drive yourself to the hospital.”
“No.”
He hit me with an alpha stare.
I opened my eyes as wide as I could. “Why, of course, Your Majesty. What was I thinking? I will go and do this right away, just please don’t look at me.”
“Kate, get in the car.”
“Maybe you should growl dramatically. I don’t think I’m intimidated enough.”
“I will put you in the car.”
“No, you won’t. First, it took both of us to kill that thing, and if it reinvents itself again, it will take both of us again. I’m not leaving you alone with it. Second, if you try to physically carry me to the car, I will resist and bleed more. Third, you can possibly stuff me in the car against my will, but you can’t make me drive.”
He snarled. “Argh! Why don’t you ever do anything I ask you to?”
“Because you don’t ask. You tell me.”
We glared at each other.
“I’m not going to the hospital because of a shallow cut.” And possibly a sprained shoulder, a few gashes to my legs, and a bruised right side. “It could be worse. I could’ve hit a brick wall instead of a nice, fragile old fence . . .”
He held up his hand. “I’m going to get a medkit out of the car.”
I didn’t even know any medmages besides Doolittle, who worked for the Pack. The woman who used to patch me up before I met Curran had moved away. I’d have to figure this out before long. In our line of work, access to a good medmage was paramount.
His Grumpiness returned with the medkit. I pulled my turtleneck up, trying not to wince, and turned my back to him.
Silence.
“It’s not that bad.”
His hands brushed my skin, warm and careful. The cold saline solution washed over the cut and I shivered.
“What about this?” Curran’s fingers touched the aching spot on my left side.
“That’s from the ghouls the other night. I’ll chant over it once you’re done cleaning. It will heal itself.”
Cold wind touched my wet back, making my teeth dance. Thanks, weather. Screw you, too.
“The rationale is, since we killed it once, we could probably kill it again. This is a residential neighborhood. We are going to do the right thing and watch over it.”
“This is a dumb law,” Curran said. “It’s easier to just not get involved.”
I grinned. “Aha! Now you are catching on. Welcome to human society, Your Majesty.”
“Kate. Chant.”
Ten minutes later he decided the wound had closed enough
to put a bandage over it. I pulled my turtleneck over my back. Unfortunately while it was rolled up, it had time to cool and now it felt like ice on my skin. Being covered in ichor didn’t help. Curran sat next to me.
“Shoulder,” I told him. He took his shirt off, displaying the world’s best chest to the wind. I clamped the first insect hair sticking out of him with my pliers. It was about the size of a thin metal skewer. “Ready?”
“Do it.”
I ripped the hair out. It was ten inches long.
He made a short gritty noise. It had to have hurt like hell. I wiped the blood off his shoulder with gauze. “Four more.”
“No time like the present.”
I managed all four in under a minute. The less he hurt, the better. Curran put his shirt back on and pulled me close. His eyes were dark. Whatever he was thinking wasn’t good.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
I had a feeling he was thinking that if he were still the Beast Lord, by now he would’ve had a team of shapeshifters standing guard over the corpse while he drove me to the Keep, where Doolittle would put me back on my feet.
“Being a human isn’t that bad, is it?” I asked.
“You remember the Savells? The house across the street from us?”
Heather Savell was a thorn in my side. The area didn’t have a homeowners’ association, but Heather very much wanted to have one. In her head, she pretended the HOA was real and she was its president. She took those imaginary powers and responsibilities very seriously. “Sure.”
“They sprinkled cayenne pepper around the border of their lawn.”
I almost ground my teeth. They sprinkled cayenne pepper to keep Curran off the property, like he was a stray dog come sniffing.
“Apparently they don’t understand I could step over it.”
“I’ll talk to them.”
He shook his head again. “No. They’re scared because they don’t know me. I get them. I don’t get you. Why are you protecting them?”
“Because they can’t always protect themselves.”
Curran looked at me, his face hard. “In the Pack, everyone is of a kind. We all belong together. We are united. Everyone contributes, some more, some less. We work toward a common goal of living a safe life.”
“So do these people.”
Curran grimaced. “If I were beating you in the street, they wouldn’t lift a finger to help you.”
“If you were beating me in the middle of the Keep, would anyone lift a finger? Or would they all simply decide to look away because alphas are fighting and it’s none of their business?”
Curran growled. “Kate . . .”
“You have a prejudice against people who are not shapeshifters.” I leaned against him. He put his arm around me. “It’s not a baseless prejudice, because when people fear someone, they treat them with suspicion. To a lot of people, shapeshifters are monsters, and you were the king of the monsters. I understand. To the Pack, I was a monster and they treated me accordingly.”
“Not all of them.”
“No, not all of them. That’s exactly my point.”
I turned my head and kissed him. His lips were warm and the familiar taste dashed across my tongue.
“You’ve never lived among non-shapeshifters, Curran. I have. I’ve seen a man run into a burning building to save a dog. I’ve seen people sacrifice themselves for strangers. Not all of them are willing to do this, but enough to matter. That’s why I help them. Give them a chance. I think they might surprise you.”
He sighed and squeezed me closer to him.
“Are you seriously considering taking over the Guild?” I asked him. “It’s in shambles.”
He grinned at me. It was the happy smile of an amused predator. “I’ve got this.”
“They will never be another Pack. They’re too independent. And they don’t like authority.”
“I don’t need another Pack. The Pack has too many rules anyway. I have some ideas for these guys. They just don’t know it yet.”
“They’ll fight you every step of the way.”
“I hope so.” Curran laughed quietly. “I’d take them on one at a time or in batches. It would be fun.”
This unchained thing was making him scary. “That’s what I love about you, Your Furriness. Your humility and modesty.”
“Don’t forget my razor-sharp wit and boyish good looks.”
“Boyish?”
“The Guild has something the Pack doesn’t,” Curran said. “Variety. There are shooters, melee fighters, and magic users. It might be what we will need to . . .” He paused.
“What is it?”
“The wind changed.” Curran rose and walked down the sidewalk. I followed him. We passed a lamppost, another . . . Another twenty yards and I would have to turn back. We were getting too far away from the spider-scorpion’s corpse.
Curran stopped and crouched. A large pale scrape crossed the sidewalk. He inhaled deeply, wrinkling his face.
“What is it?”
His expression was grim. “Ghouls. Lots of ghouls.”
A long ululating shriek of magic-powered sirens rolled through the streets. The cavalry was coming.
CHAPTER
6
BIOHAZARD ARRIVED IN style: two black SUVs and an armored semi carrying steel containers instead of a trailer. The SUVs vomited ten people in Biohazard contamination suits and one stocky, dark-haired man in a red hoodie. On the hoodie white letters spelled out WIZARD AT LARGE. Small world.
The wizard at large stabbed his finger at me. “You! The unclean one! Tell me everything.”
“Hi, Luther. I thought you worked for the PAD.”
He made a sour face. “Too much politics, too little magic. They have issues with my professional strategy. Also, their dental sucks.”
“So you got fired?”
“I quit.”
“When I quit the Order, you told me I was besmirched.”
“That’s because you quit in a huff over some silliness like trying to save people’s lives. I quit to maximize my earning potential. Don’t you know being a hero is a losing bet? The pay is shit and people hate you for it.” Luther looked at Curran. “Who is the male specimen?”
Curran offered Luther his hand. “Lennart.”
Luther grabbed Curran’s hand and smelled it. “Shapeshifter, feline, probably a lion, but not the run-of-the-mill African Simba. You’ve got an odd scent about you.” He glanced at me. “Why do you always hang out with weirdos?”
“It’s her special talent,” Curran said. “She attracts us like bees to honey.”
Luther shook his head and turned to the corpse of the bug. The Biohazard artist was busily trying to sketch it, while the rest of the crew stood around it with acid and flamethrowers. “Tell me about the thing.”
I explained Mrs. Oswald’s story.
“It spoke?” Luther asked.
“Yes.” Normal apparitions weren’t sentient. They didn’t speak, and if they did, not with that much power. “There was a lot of magic in the voice. You could feel it on your skin.”
“I don’t like it,” Luther said.
I didn’t like it either. “Someone has a grudge against cats. I don’t know if it was Mrs. Oswald’s particular cats or any cats in general. But the cat hater is persistent. First he or she sent a tick. After Eduardo killed it, the Summoner followed it with the griffin, and when the griffin was too small to break through the bars, he or she must’ve sunk some magic into it to make it bigger. And then it turned into that.” I nodded at the corpse. “I don’t even know what the hell it is.”
“We got a bug guy back at HQ. I’ll give you a call when he sorts it out.” Luther pondered the corpse. “The cross-phylum metamorphosis bothers me.”
It bothered me, too.
The s
ketch artist waved his sketchbook. “Done.”
“Okay, mates,” Luther called. “Bag it, tag it, and chain it up.”
The crew began rolling out plastic.
“Hey, Luther,” I said. “You guys didn’t hire any new ghouls, did you?”
Luther spun to me, his eyes focused, like a shark sensing a drop of blood in the water. “You know something. Tell me.”
“The Pack scouts found a lot of dead ghouls on a road to the east,” Curran said. “We had breakfast with the Beast Lord and he mentioned it.”
Luther pondered him. “Sure, I’ll buy that. Oh wait, I have a brain. Sorry, completely forgot. The ghouls were found in pieces. Someone ripped them apart with claws and cut them to pieces with a sword. And here the two of you are, one has claws and the other has a sword.”
“We’re not the only people in the city with swords and claws,” Curran said.
Luther squinted at us. “What are you two up to?”
“Right now, nothing,” I said.
“I don’t believe you.”
Derek jogged up the street. He wore a gray hoodie and a pair of old jeans, and he was running in that particular wolf gait that looked unhurried but devoured miles. Nineteen, just under six feet, with dark hair and a muscular athletic body, Derek turned heads. Then people saw his face. A couple of years ago he tried to save a girl. The creatures who owned her caught him and poured molten metal on his face. He recovered, but his face looked different now. His features were rougher, their once-handsome perfection gone. His eyes made it worse. They were dark and hard, the kind of eyes that belonged to someone older, someone who’d been through the grinder of pain and suffering and come out of it damaged but unbroken. He leaned against our Jeep and slouched.
“Fine,” I said. “We have a missing shapeshifter and we’re trying to find him. We could use some help.”
Luther held up his hand. “Stop right there. Shapeshifters are Pack business. Unless they request our help in writing, I can’t do anything. I don’t even want to hear it.”
Magic Shifts Page 9
