A Shadow of Crows

by Yasmine Galenorn

  “Dude, did you go home?” I asked. “Don’t you keep a fresh set of clothes at the office?”

  He snorted. “No, I didn’t go home. I went down to the dance studio to use their shower. They don’t mind if there isn’t a class going on. Or rather, they wouldn’t mind, I like to think.”

  “You mean, they don’t know you’re doing that?” I asked, suppressing a laugh.

  “That’s none of their concern, Tweedle-Dum.” He wrinkled his nose at me. “When the cat’s out of town, the mice will party down.”

  “You’re calling yourself a mouse now?” I liked needling him. We got on just fine, though I still picked on him for thinking that I wasn’t capable of handling the job when Angel and I first joined the agency.

  “Scat, and take Tweedle-Dee with you,” he countered, jabbing his thumb at Angel. But he suddenly froze as his phone rang. He pulled it out and I recognized that it was his work phone. We all had the same brand for work, as well as our personal phones. “Uh oh. Excuse me, but don’t go anywhere. This may be important.” He darted off to the side to take the call.

  I let out a long breath. “Today seems all out of sorts. We really fucked up on the case today. Although, technically, it was Herne who messed up. I’m thinking his father probably ripped him a new one. We let Callan get away and that was a major gaffe.”

  Angel nodded. “Yeah, so I heard. Viktor told me all about it while you were in there with Raven. What’s your next step?”

  “I don’t know. Herne will have to figure that out. We don’t even know what his father told him yet.” I paused as the door opened and Raven came out, Herne following her.

  She moved like she looked—with a sinuous edge, graceful and fluid. She was carrying a paper—the invoice for our retainer.

  “Thank you, both of you,” she said, glancing from Herne to me. “Please, let me know the minute you find out anything.”

  “It will take us a few days to sort out everything, but we’ll be in touch. You’ll get a call by Friday whether we’ve found anything or not. Meanwhile, if you hear anything new that could relate to the case, please let us know.” Herne motioned to Angel. “Go ahead and take her retainer, and also, let the others know we’re meeting first thing tomorrow morning in the break room. Eight o’clock, sharp on the dot. Then, you can close up and go home.”

  I gave a little wave to Raven. “I hope we can help you,” I said, receiving a smile in return. To Angel, I added, “I’ll be out in a few. Just saying good night to Herne.”

  She gave me an absent nod, already inputting Raven’s information and payment.

  I returned to Herne’s office and shut the door behind me. As I crept up behind him, he turned from where he was examining the fronds on one of the ferns.

  “Come here,” he said, holding out his arms.

  I pressed my face against his chest, bringing in deeply the scents of autumn and crisp leaves and cinnamon apples. “You smell so good.”

  “All thanks to the hellacious new deodorant I bought,” he murmured, pressing his lips against the top of my head. “It’s been a day, I’ll say that.”

  “Angel likes our new client. She thinks Raven is genuine. I like her too.” I kept my eyes closed as I swam in the warmth of his embrace. “Mmm, don’t move. You feel good.” I wanted to walk him over to the daybed, but I sensed he needed to talk more than to fuck. “What’s up?”

  Herne lingered for a moment, his lips still against my hair. Finally, he let out a soft sigh. “You can always tell, can’t you?”

  “Yes, I can.” I nodded, disentangling myself from his embrace. I took his hand and led him over to the daybed, where I curled on it and patted the seat next to me. “Sit down. Talk.”

  He paused for a moment, then silently slid onto the cushion beside me and leaned back, resting his head against the wall as he closed his eyes.

  “Father was…not happy.”

  “How not happy?” I had met his father. Cernunnos was intimidating and, when he wanted to be, he was downright scary.

  “He chewed me out. I ‘fessed up. I told him I had been the one to burn the scroll. Let’s just say that some of his remarks might have contained the words ‘stupid’ and ‘idiotic’ and ‘pathetic.’ And I deserve them. I can’t believe that I accepted the priest’s word about the scroll.” Herne slapped his thigh, staring at the floor.

  I leaned over to stroke his face, bringing his chin to bear so that he was looking at me. “Listen to me. Any one of us could have made the same mistake. You have no reason to think the priest was going to be that stupid.”

  “I suppose.” Herne shrugged, the frown still plastered on his face.

  “What will happen to him? What did Cernunnos do?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but if it helped Herne to talk about it, so much the better.

  He ducked his head. “Well, I doubt if he’ll see the outside of a jail cell for any time soon. My father threw him in the dungeons for disrespect and there he’ll sit until Cernunnos gets over his miff. Or until the priest begs for forgiveness. I have no idea who will break first. But I can tell you this—some prisoners have been there several hundred years and I doubt my father even remembers why he sent them down to the dungeons in the first place.”

  I nodded. “What are you doing tonight? I’m cramping, so I think I just want to crawl into bed with a heating pad and a movie.”

  Herne laughed. “That time of month, is it? At least we know the Queen’s Root is working.”

  Queen’s Root was the name of an herbal mixture that Ferosyn, Cernunnos’s main healer, had given me to prevent me from getting pregnant. He had pointed out that condoms weren’t likely to withstand the ardor of a god, and if I didn’t want little godlings running around, I’d better religiously down the mix. Once a month, on the same day every month, I was to stir two teaspoons of the Queen’s Root into a cup of hot water and drink it. This was the first month I had been using it, and my period was right on schedule.

  “Thank gods for small favors. Or rather, thank Ferosyn.” I grinned as he flashed me a curious look. “Come on, don’t tell me you want me to—” I stopped at a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” Herne called.

  The door opened and Angel peeked in. “Pardon me. I don’t want to interrupt you, but there’s someone here to see you, Herne.” The look on her face was unreadable, but there was a quiver in her voice that put me on alert.

  Herne frowned. “Who is it? Another client? Ask them to come back tomorrow, would you?”

  “I don’t think she’s a client.” Angel shifted, an uncomfortable look in her eye. “You’d better talk to her. She seems to know you.”

  Still frowning, Herne and I followed Angel out into the waiting area.

  There, standing by Angel’s desk, was a statuesque woman. At first I thought she was Fae of some sort, but then I realized that wasn’t the case. Taller than Herne, she didn’t exactly look human, either. I wondered if she could be a demi-god. She was wearing a gray pinstriped pantsuit and her long blond hair was pulled back into a neat French braid. With a pair of sunglasses in one hand, and a Louis Vuitton handbag draped over the other arm, she looked every inch chic and pulled together.

  She swept past me without a glance, coming to stand in front of Herne. As Angel and I watched, the woman reached out to stroke his face. Herne quickly glanced from her to me, then back to her again, and took a hasty step back.

  “Herne, what’s this? You’re not happy to see me? It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” She didn’t sound pleased, and she was so solidly planted on the floor that I doubted Viktor could have moved her if he tried. She glanced around at the room. “So, this is your office, is it? Hmm, smaller than I would have thought fitting for a demigod.”

  Herne tugged at his collar. He was wearing a turtleneck sweater with black jeans, and his hair was gathered back in a braid. He also looked guilty as sin, though I wasn’t sure what he had to be guilty about.

  “My
rna, I…” He seemed at a loss for words.

  Wondering what the hell was going on—the tension was incredibly thick—I cleared my throat. “Hello, I’m—”

  “Did I ask who you are?” she said, interrupting me without even looking my way. “I’m here to talk to Herne. You may leave us. I have something to discuss with the Lord of the Hunt.”

  I swung around to stare at her. I’d had just about enough with the hoity-toity attitude. “Excuse me, but—”

  “Ember, please. It’s better if you just let me talk to her in private. Everything will be all right. You and Angel go home and I’ll call you later.” Herne gave me his do-as-I-ask look, then his gaze flickered back to Myrna and he gave her a slight shake of the head.

  She straightened her shoulders, still studiously ignoring Angel and me. A swell of anger welling up, I clenched my fists and turned to Angel. If Herne was going to stand here and let her talk to me like that, then I wasn’t going to stick around to take it.

  “Come on, Angel.” I gave Angel a quick shake of the head when she started to say something, and she gathered her purse. “I’ll get my things and meet you downstairs.” Without a word to Herne or to his visitor, I spun on my heel and marched into my office. By the time I gathered my jacket and purse and returned to the waiting area, Angel was the only one there. I looked around. “Where are they?” I asked, lowering my voice to a whisper.

  She nodded to his office. I thought about creeping up to the door to listen in, but then decided that I was better than that. As we headed toward the elevator, though, I could hear raised voices behind the door. To my grim satisfaction, neither one of them sounded happy.

  I WAS TOO angry to speak, and Angel let me stew as she drove us home. We had come in her car today, and so I jammed myself back against the seat, staring out the window. I might be quiet on the outside, but inside, my mind was whirling.

  Who the hell was the woman and why had Herne let her talk to me like that? Where did he know her from? More important, when had he met her? And if she was an old friend of his, why had he never mentioned her? The thoughts swirled in my head till I couldn’t stand it. We were about a block from home when I slammed my hand on the dashboard.

  “Who the hell did she think she was, talking to me like that?”

  Angel snorted. “Apparently, she’s someone named Myrna.”

  “Myrna schmyrna. That doesn’t tell me who the hell she is.” I crossed my arms and slumped back in the seat. “Do you think she’s his lover?”

  “You’re his lover. You know Herne’s a good egg.” Angel eased the car into the parking spot in front of our house.

  “He’s also gorgeous and hot and a demigod and…and…”

  “And he treats you like his own private goddess. Herne isn’t stepping out on you.” She paused before opening the door. “At least, I don’t think he’d do that.”

  I jammed the door open and slid out of the passenger seat. “I know,” I said. “But damn it, you don’t let people walk all over your partner—man or woman. When somebody treats them like shit, you speak out. You tell them to knock it off. You tell them to shut the fuck up.”

  “There are probably circumstances that you know nothing about. But,” she added, grinning fiercely at me, “if there aren’t, I’ll help you whip that godly ass of his. And I promise not to enjoy it.”

  I stared at her for a moment, then sputtered, laughing. “I love you, you know that?”

  “I do, but it’s nice to hear it now and then,” she said.

  Still laughing, I looped my arm through hers as we sashayed through the front gate and up the sidewalk to our home.

  Chapter 3

  BY THE NEXT morning, the worst of my cramps were over and I had managed to shake off most of my anger, thanks to Angel and Mr. Rumblebutt—my Norwegian Forest cat, who was as black as night. His fur was so long that he looked like a powder puff on legs.

  Although if I was forced to admit it, some of my anger had morphed into fear.

  Herne hadn’t even called me, and I was reduced to playing out a dozen scenarios in my mind, at least half of which ended up with him and Myrna rolling around on the floor of his office, all naked and sweaty. I tried not to go there, but combining hormones, along with the knowledge that Cernunnos was pissed at us, and then throwing Myrna into the mix, I couldn’t help but let myself dwell in What-If-ville.

  “How did you sleep?” Angel asked as we lingered over coffee the next morning.

  We had both woken early, for a change, and Angel had fixed breakfast. Bacon, eggs, and her incredible French toast. The woman could put a world-class chef to shame with her cooking.

  She brushed a strand of hair back from her face. Angel was modelesque—tall and slender, with rich brown skin, and hair that coiled tightly down to her shoulders. She was as beautiful inside as she was out, and we had been BFFs—best friends forever—since we were eight years old. When we met on the playground, Angel had pushed me into a mud puddle. I had dragged her in with me. We came out of the fight united in friendship.

  “Like a log, actually. No dreams, no nightmares, just uninterrupted blissful sleep. Mr. Rumblebutt woke me up once for not petting him, but ten minutes of chin scritches later, he was good and I was back asleep.” I lifted my coffee cup, saluting her. “Fantastic breakfast.”

  “It’s easy to cook here.”

  The kitchen was so different than the one in my condo. That had been cramped and tiny. The kitchen in our house might not be a gourmet kitchen, but it was spacious and updated and had just about every gadget that Angel could hope for.

  Angel paused, then said, “I got a text from DJ this morning.”

  DJ was her little brother. He was currently being fostered by a shifter family. DJ was actually Angel’s half-brother, and he was a wolf shifter. His father had abandoned Mama J. early on, just like Angel’s father had. When Mama J. died in a car accident, Angel had taken over caring for DJ.

  “How is he?”

  “Doing good. He’s maintaining straight As, and he sounds happy.” She looked anything but overjoyed.

  “So what’s wrong?” I knew Angel. She wasn’t the only one who could sense when something was wrong.

  She pushed her plate back. “I miss him. I miss having him around. He’s my little brother and he’s growing up without me. Don’t get me wrong, I know that Cooper and his family are doing a great job of taking care of him, and keeping his nose out of trouble, but I feel like…”

  “Like he won’t need you anymore?”

  She ducked her head and nodded. “Yeah. I feel like he doesn’t need me at all.”

  “Do you think that if he didn’t need you, if he was forgetting about you, he’d go to the trouble to text you about his grades? He wants you to be proud of him. He adores you, Angel. You mean the world to him. But he’s really in the best care right now. It would be dangerous for him here, with our line of work. And right now, he needs to learn about his shifter side as he approaches puberty.”

  She squared her shoulders. “You’re right, of course. I know you’re right. DJ loves me. He texts me good night every night before he goes to bed, and he texts me every morning to remind me to be careful. I guess I’m just feeling a little lonely. He’s the only family I have. Well, besides you.”

  I didn’t take offense. I had a feeling I knew what was going on, beyond her feelings about DJ. “I’m your soul sister, but I have Herne and I’m busy a lot with him. Right?”

  Blushing, she stared at me, then finally nodded. “Right. I’m happy for you. You guys make a great couple, but…”

  “Kipa has asked you out five times,” I reminded her.

  She snorted, then, the tears gone. “Kipa is gorgeous and sexy and funny, and he’s just about the worst boyfriend material ever. Nope. Not even going there.” She gathered up our plates. “You’re doing dishes tonight.”

  “The dishwasher is doing them, technically, but yes, I’ll rinse and stack when we get home.
And I think you could do a lot worse than Kipa. At least he’d be fun to practice with.” I took the plates from her and carried them over to the sink where I rinsed them to keep the syrup from hardening up. Then I fed Mr. Rumblebutt, who had hopped up on the counter, and made certain the trash was firmly tucked away under the sink, out of his reach.

  “I could do a lot better, too,” she said.

  With that, we headed to the office, opting to take both our cars. I had the feeling Herne and I were going to be having a long talk that evening.

  THE WILD HUNT Agency was in downtown Seattle. During the day, the area was a cluster of humanity, home to the streeps—the street people—and the disenfranchised. Old Town, as the area was called, was in the Pioneer Square area, an unending array of private offices, restaurants, thrift stores, neighborhood markets, and boutique brothels where you could order anything from a spanking to a lap dance to hardcore deep and dirty sex. Prostitution had long been legalized, and the revenue alone helped pay for a number of the street repairs. But not much could spruce up Old Town, and it labored under the weather and the wear-and-tear.

  The Wild Hunt was in a five-story brick walkup, with an elevator that was on the blink about as often as it worked. The entry was a long flight of stairs off the street. The front door on the street entered into a lobby, which housed an indigent urgent care clinic. The second floor belonged to a daycare and preschool for the low-income mothers in the area. A yoga and dance studio shared the third floor, and the fourth floor was ours. The fifth floor was still empty. The building itself was old, but the landlord kept it up. The neighborhood streeps kept an eye out for people who didn’t belong, because they knew we did our best to keep an eye out for them.

  In the elevator, I found my anxiety growing. I had managed to push what had happened the previous day to the side, but now I was going to have to go in there and face Herne, and either he was going to answer some questions, or we had a serious problem on our hands. But when Angel and I entered the office, we found that only Viktor had arrived.