by Amy Sumida
I picked up a spoon and changed it into the badge then I grabbed Arach's tunic and transformed his clothes into a sleek, black suit. I tucked the badge in the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Go for something tall, dark and handsome,” I suggested. “But not too handsome; you don't want to be remembered. On second thought, it doesn't matter if they remember you, this you doesn't exist. Go as handsome as you like.”
Arach grinned wickedly and remained as he was.
“Ha-ha, very funny.” I did give a little chuckle. “Handsome and human.”
“And hurry it up!” Thor snapped.
Arach didn't even glance at Thor as he glamoured himself to look like a male model in a suit; short dark hair, slicked back from a rugged face, and a pair of icy blue eyes that were the perfect degree of piercing for an FBI agent. Arach's body had remained the same build but it was markedly tanner.
“Nice,” I said appreciatively. “Now, you'll introduce yourself as Special Agent Smith of the FBI. I'll prompt you on the rest.”
“Agent Smith?” Odin asked with a grin. “Like the guy from The Matrix?”
“Well, I did use a spoon to make his badge.” I shrugged and smiled back.
Then I grabbed Arach's hand and headed to the tracing room with him. Ilmarinen had sent Odin a picture of an open space of grass beside the crime scene, and we all took a good look before we went invisible—except for Agent Arach, that is—and traced away.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I've seen a lot of terrible things in my life but that bus will haunt me. It wasn't an explosion as I'd expected. When Odin said a bus full of people had been killed, I'd immediately thought; bomb. But no bombs were involved. I suppose that was a small blessing; there weren't burned body parts everywhere. But it was almost worse to see the bodies whole; humans of every age and gender. The little girl in her pink, polka dot dress was the worst. When you become a mother, every tragedy that happens to children is seen as something that could happen to your children. When I saw that little girl, Lesya's face flashed over hers.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I do that when something deeply disturbs me; I jump around the subject, going to the worst bits first so I can get it out before I lose my nerve. So, let me backtrack.
We arrived on the outskirts of a crowd and had to maneuver our way in. The Squad spread out to carefully peer at the scene around the shoulders of firemen, EMTs, and Police. Arach and I, however, strode straight to a cop who stood guard at a Police barricade.
“Pull out your badge and tell him you need to see the officer in charge,” I whispered to Arach.
Arach arrogantly lifted his badge into the cop's face and demanded, “Who's in charge here?”
Great; he was going off script.
“Um... Officer Dumont.” The cop waved a hand toward a stodgy, gray-haired man whose uniform hung loosely on his lean body. The cop moved the sawhorse barrier to let us through. “Go on in, Sir.”
Arach nodded crisply and moved past. I stuck close to him; my hand tucked in his.
“Okay, tell Officer Dumont who you are and then say you're only here to collect information, not take his case,” I instructed.
Arach barely nodded.
“Who the hell are you?” Dumont growled as soon as we were in hearing range. The officer had a wealth of wrinkles that deepened like the skin of a Shar-Pei as he scowled at Arach. “Tell me they didn't send the Feds.”
“I'm Special Agent Smith with the FBI.” Arach smoothly pulled his badge out and flashed it at Dumont. “I'm just here to learn what you've discovered; that's all. I'm not interested in taking your case.”
Dumont grimaced and sighed. “Fine, but I don't have the time to go through it with you. Reynolds!”
A slim, blond officer ran up.
“Give Agent Smith all the information we've gathered so far,” Dumont ordered. “Do not hand over any evidence; just show it to him.”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Special Agent Smith,” Arach corrected arrogantly.
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Arach didn't know if that made a difference or not, he just liked being called special and would not allow anyone to take the title from him.
“Oh, whatever!” Officer Dumont threw his hands up in the air and stalked off to snarl at another cop.
“This way, Sir,” the blond man said as he led Arach toward the bus.
The bus perched halfway on a curb; traffic blocked off in both directions around it. Its large, tinted windows gave nothing away; only hinted at the bodies inside with huddled shadows. But I had smelled the blood as soon as we arrived and the scent grew stronger the closer we got to the folded-back door.
“We have eighteen dead; seventeen passengers, including the shooter, and then the driver.” Reynolds glanced at Arach and frowned. “Aren't you going to write this down?”
Shit; I forgot to give Arach a notebook.
“I have an excellent memory,” Arach said haughtily. “Eighteen dead; seventeen passengers, including the shooter, and one driver. Go on, Officer Reynolds.”
“Oh, okay.” Reynolds cleared his throat as we reached the bus. “The shooter used a handgun; an unregistered G19. He must have had to change the magazine at some point, but none of the passengers were able to escape. We think he took out the driver first, which sent the bus careening. I guess it was lucky that it didn't hit other cars or accelerate into a building or something. Anyway, the bus rolled to a stop here while he continued to shoot the passengers. I'll let you check it out on your own then I'll take you over to see the evidence we've collected.”
“Is the body of the shooter still on the bus?” Arach asked.
“No; we had to take him off.” Reynolds grimaced. “He shot himself near the front and collapsed in the aisle. He's over by the evidence table.”
“Very well.” Arach strode onto the bus and made a show of inspecting every body.
As he did, I scented the air and tried to ignore the blood that called to my beasts. I walked down the aisle; taking in the terrified expressions frozen on the passengers' faces and their defensive postures. The shots had been random; some in the head and some in the chest. Several people were shot two or three times before they took a fatal wound and this was at close range. It obviously wasn't the work of an expert marksman.
Then I saw her; the little girl.
She sat next to a window, hemmed in by a woman. Judging by the way the woman's arm lay half over the girl's lap, I was betting that she'd been huddled over the little girl when they'd been shot. The EMTs must have pushed her back to verify that they were both dead. Both the woman and child's eyes were squeezed shut. One of the girl's hands was clenched in her mother's skirt and the other around the neck of a stuffed giraffe. Blood stained her pink dress, nearly covering the front; only the sleeves and that damn giraffe were untouched.
I must have made a small sound of distress because Arach was suddenly behind me. His hand moved over my back until he found my arm and then my hand. He squeezed tightly and pulled me away from the mother and child.
“If she truly wanted to protect her daughter, she should have attacked not cowered,” Arach murmured furiously.
“Seriously?” I hissed. “You're criticizing a mother who was trying to shield her child with her own body?”
“No; I'm reminding you that you would never be that woman,” he whispered. “You would have killed anyone who threatened your child, even if it meant dying in the process. As would I.”
I let out a long breath. “Yeah; I would have. But I have magic and strength on my side; that woman did not. She was afraid, and fear can freeze the body.”
Arach grunted noncommittally. I knew what he was thinking; that a parent gives up their right to let fear immobilize them as soon as their child is born. You are a god to that little person, and Gods are supposed to guide and protect. Gods do not fear. At least in theory... and in the eyes of their children.
“I smell no magic here,” Arach declared.
“I don't either. Let's check out the body.”
Arach reached out, and I took his hand. It merely looked as if he held his hand curled in a loose fist. He stepped down the bus steps with that hand just slightly behind him, and then I moved out beside him.
“Show me the shooter,” Arach ordered Reynolds.
“Yes, Sir.” Reynolds took us to the other side of the bus where a plastic folding table had been set up to hold bins of bags and gloves, clipboards, a roll of crime scene tape, and one covered box.
Reynolds walked past the table to where a body bag lay. He bent over the black cocoon, unzipped it with a strident, tearing sound, and then spread the sides open for Arach to get a look.
“Hey, Reynolds, can we bag up the other bodies yet?” A man in coveralls stepped up.
“Yeah, we're done in there.” Reynolds glanced up at the man.
Arach and I ignored them; we were too busy smelling. This body had two interesting scents on it; one was the unknown god I'd seen arguing with Qaus and the other was Qaus. Beneath those scents laid a fainter residue that both Arach and I recognized. I knew Arach noticed it because I saw him flinch, but he wouldn't be able to put a face to the smell. Only I had seen Lempo.
I switched into dragon sense even though I knew what I'd find; or not find, rather. Sure enough, there was no trail to follow. Not because Qaus had hidden it with rainbows. No; it was far more simple than that. There was no trail because Qaus had never been there. He'd come into contact with the human at some point—some recent point—but he hadn't gotten on the bus with him. Neither had the mystery man or Lempo. So, there were no scent trails to track.
Well, if the shooter had hung around Lempo, he at least had some fun before he was turned into a suicidal psychopath. Sorry; that was inappropriate.
Arach zipped up the bag and stood. “Show me the evidence.”
My husband was doing pretty well with his acting debut. He'd quickly picked up the terms he needed to use and employed them in his improv. I was impressed.
Reynolds took us over to the worn plastic table—war wounds etched into its surface and filled with the stains of age—and flicked off the lid of the covered box carelessly.
“The Glock he used.” Reynolds pulled out a handgun in a plastic bag. “Shells.” Another bag of spent bullet casings emerged. “Personal items.” He laid several baggies on the table; one of them had an MP3 player in it.
“Through the bag, press that big button on the rectangular, black thing,” I whispered to Arach.
Arach picked up the player, surprising Reynolds, and pressed the button. Music started to play through the earbuds. I instantly recognized Vainamoinen's voice. Arach pressed the button again and turned it off.
“Is that significant?” Reynolds asked. “That music?”
“No; just curious about what a man listens to before he slaughters people,” Arach murmured as he looked over the weapon and the other personal items.
Reynolds' eyes narrowed at Arach; he wasn't buying it.
“Thank you for your help, Officer.” Arach held his hand out.
Reynolds shook it with even more surprise. “That's it? That's all you need?”
“Tell him you'll be in touch after you speak with your superiors,” I whispered.
“I must take this information to my... to the FBI,” Arach just couldn't admit that anyone was superior to him, not even if he was acting, and I nearly snickered. “Then I'll contact Officer Dumont.”
“Oh, okay; I'll let him know,” Reynolds stammered as we walked away.
We headed through the crowd and down the street until we found a deserted alley. Arach and I ducked inside and traced back to Pride Palace.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“We're back to Qaus,” Thor muttered after we were all seated at my dining table. Again.
“And another unknown god,” Kirill reminded us. “He must be in league vith var goddess too.”
“But no trace of the Goddess herself,” Trevor growled.
The Squad had searched the entire area, including the outside of the bus. They'd even listened in on police conversations. And they found absolutely nothing. Our only evidence was the scents found on the body and the music that had been playing in the Mp3 player. In light of what Odin had learned from Ilmarinen, the music and Lempo's scent seemed to be evidence that may not have been planted per se but were nonetheless meant to mislead. Which left the mystery god and Qaus. But Qaus was nearly as hard to track as the unknown war goddess and with his rainbow trick, he could evade us even if we did find him.
“We need to focus on Qaus,” Odin said.
“How?” I asked. “I've got lions watching his house, but he hasn't—”
My phone buzzed. I frowned and drew it out of my jacket's pocket. I had a text from Christopher; one of the lions I had sent to watch Qaus' rental in Portland. Its proximity to Sampo now seemed even more suspicious.
“Chris says Qaus has just returned!” I jumped to my feet.
“That's some convenient timing,” Blue murmured as he shared a dark look with his wife.
“You heard her; let's go!” Thor thundered as he got up and waved everyone else out of their seats.
We all ran for the tracing room. At the wall, I flashed a pic of the house to those who hadn't been there yet, waving them in ahead of me. Within seconds, we stood on the street outside Qaus' Portland rental. We rushed inside and caught Qaus in the kitchen; opening the fridge. He just stood there, half bent over and gaping at us as we ran over to him. At the last second, he seemed to collect himself, slammed the fridge door, and traced away. But he'd been too distracted to use his rainbow magic to cover his trail. I grabbed Kirill and traced after Qaus; knowing that Arach could follow the trail too and would bring the others.
We came out into a lush field, blossoming with Spring flowers. The fluffy seeds of Cottonwood trees drifted like snow around us. Qaus backed away from Kirill and I but didn't trace.
“It's not what you think, Vervain!” Qaus shouted.
“No? You didn't help compel a man into shooting seventeen people today?” I growled as Kirill and I stalked closer.
Qaus took the same amount of steps back. “What?” He gaped at me, blinked, and frowned. “No; I didn't. I... I think I'm being framed.”
“You're being framed?” I laughed. “That's rich since it's you who's doing the framing.”
“Of who?” Qaus snapped. “Who am I supposedly setting up?”
“Finnish Gods,” Kirill growled.
“I'm trying to stop the Finns!” He shouted. “They've been killing Gods. They have this machine—”
“Grab him!” Odin shouted as he and the others appeared.
Everyone rushed Qaus, but he traced away with a heavy look at me. This time, he remembered his rainbows.
“Damn it, Odin!” I hissed as I turned on my husband. “He was talking, and when villains talk, they give up their plans.”
“And how was I supposed to know that, Vervain?” Odin snapped back at me. “You took off with only Kirill. We had to form a damn chain with Arach to follow you.”
“Hey, at least I grabbed Kirill.” I got in Odin's face. “I had to act fast; before Qaus remembered to use his rainbows to cover his tracks. I would have at least gotten something out of him if you'd taken one second to assess the situation before you acted.”
“This is not helping,” Thor said steadily. “We're all on edge. Let's just calm down and talk this through. What did Qaus say to you before we got here, Vervain?”
“He said that he was the one being framed.” I grimaced.
“Ridiculous,” Odin huffed.
“But a good defense,” Kirill murmured thoughtfully. “It's hard to know who is telling truth vhen everyone points finger at someone else.”
“But the Finns have been cleared,” Odin reminded us. “Qaus' accusations are false.”
“He said the Finnish Gods have been killing other gods,” I added. “He started to tell us about some kind
of machine.”
“No doubt it's a machine that the war goddess uses to steal magic,” Odin concluded. “Such as the magic of compulsion.”
“Well, we're at the end of the trail now,” I grumbled. “There's nothing else to do here.”
“All right; let's all go home and take a breather,” Thor said. “I want to physically check in with Thrud anyway. I've been monitoring our connection, but I should go to see her in person.”
