by L. A. Banks
“I read most of your reports and initially thought a lot of it was bullshit . . .,” Colonel Madison finally stammered. “I thought—I don’t know.”
“It is a lot to take in at one time, sir.”
“I’ll never be able to sleep at night without meds after this—after knowing.”
“If it’s any consolation, sir, General Westford said the same thing when he first took over our unit. It is a mental paradigm shift that takes some getting used to.”
Colonel Madison stared at her for a moment with a pained expression. “But how do we win against this, Captain?”
“You coexist with it, you can’t wipe it out. It’s been around too long. What I’ve been trying to get across to the Joint Chiefs is that, if we elect to go to war, go into direct confrontation . . . well, the ramifications could be catastrophic. Each group of entities—which prefer to be called beings, if you want to be politically correct—considers itself a sovereign nation that was here on this land first, just like the Native Americans were, and they will fight to the last being to protect their boundaries, populations, cultures, and borders. So rather than behaving like exterminators, we have to be in the mindset that we’re supernatural cops . . . patrol officers or, better yet, peace officers that kinda keep the lid on things when one of the species gets out of hand—and eating us is getting out of hand. No one from the supernatural community is going to blame us for retaliating against what just happened back there with you and your men. They’d do no less.”
“But how do we guard against such attacks . . . I mean, I saw what a wolf can do. Captain, no offense, but I saw you and Hunter, and I’m glad you’re on our side. I’ve gotta tell you, though, my men are freaked out . . . I’m trying to be sure not to make any sudden moves while talking to you in this vehicle so I don’t seem like I’m threatening you in any way. I don’t know how to read this. How in the hell do we keep the human population safe if the supernaturals pick us off like cattle to eat us whenever they want?”
“Generally, that doesn’t happen, unless something is going wrong. But they have their serial killers from time to time just like we have ours—and the supernaturals hate their nut jobs just as much as we hate ours, because letting them roam loose causes chaos and draws undue attention to their otherwise quiet, off-the-human-grid existence.”
“You keep saying ‘us’ and ‘we’ when referring to humans, Captain . . . and I mean no disrespect, but how can you say ‘us’ when you’re technically not human?”
For a moment Sasha just stared at him, but then nodded to make him know that no offense had been taken. The last thing she wanted to do was scare the poor man by delaying her reply, but his statement had taken her aback. He was right. Until he’d pointed that out to her, she hadn’t thought of it that way.
“I . . . sir . . . you’re right,” she said, now looking out of the window. “I’m a hybrid . . . half human.” She returned her conflicted gaze to his. “I was raised as a human, conditioned as a soldier, and love the uniform I wear and represent. But you’re right. I walk a fine line. When I speak of humans, my mind says ‘we’ and ‘us.’ But when I’m with my wolf pack and the den leaders, the Shadows, I also say ‘we’ and ‘us.’ I guess that’s something anyone who is half of one thing and half of another goes through? You claim, and are claimed by, both. But rest assured, Shadow Wolves don’t eat people and I’ve never, ever in my life fed on a person. Nor has Hunter.”
The colonel nodded, seeming to understand and seeming equally relieved by her assurance. “But what about the Vampires?” he asked after a moment, new strain lacing his voice. “Okay, I can see how the wolves and whatever can eat other things besides people, but the entities that survive on human blood—what do they do, go to blood banks?”
“Well, there’s the rub, sir,” she said, trying not to smile. “Vampires prefer their blood warm from the vein with a little adrenaline fear kick mixed with some sexual desire in a cocktail served right off the neck—but there are enough kinky donors to keep down the attacks on humans who don’t want to play.”
“Who in the hell would knowingly give their neck up to a bloodsucker?” Colonel Madison leaned forward, eyes bulging.
“They tell me those beings are really good in bed. I can’t give you perspective from direct contact . . . but they definitely have a cult following of humans—plus they’re rich as all get-out. Then, of course, they have their own private-label bottles, hideaway blood banks for emergencies, et cetera.”
Colonel Madison sat back as though he’d been sucker-punched. He stared out the window toward Hunter and spoke to Sasha without looking at her. “Can I ask you something, Captain, that’s really personal . . . you don’t have to answer, but I’m trying to wrap my mind around so much in the last twenty-four hours that . . .”
“It’s okay, Colonel.”
“Hunter, as you call him . . . he’s not just a subject-matter guide, he’s a paramour, right?”
She swallowed a smile. “Uh, yeah . . . sir . . . and he’s also a head of state in the wolf world, like I am.” She waited until he looked at her full-on. “Trashing my apartment, locking me up, pointing weapons at me, stuff like that, sir, would be like going into the White House and treating the POTUS’s wife like that . . . it would cause Secret Service to come running from fifteen directions to put you down hard, sir. Not a threat, just a fact that you should know, sir.”
“Okay,” Colonel Madison said, glancing from where Hunter stood outside then back to Sasha. “I hadn’t really put all that together in quite that way before.”
“Not a problem, sir . . . just know that we have a vested interest in keeping a lid on this current problem and finding out who did it.”
“That’s good to know, Captain,” Colonel Madison said with a genuine nod of respect. “Thank you for that.”
“I may have been made in a lab, but we wear the same uniform, sir. I know your men meant a lot to you . . . I know they meant a lot to their families. We’ll find who did it . . . but you have to let me work unencumbered, sir. You have to get our people to stop shooting at me and Hunter and stop delaying us during the investigation.” She nodded toward the crime scene. “The scent trail is worthless to us now, just like your dogs out there are walking in circles because there’s been so much human contamination to the site.”
Colonel Madison nodded. “We’ll stand down and just keep a scene containment squad. We can be at your ready.”
“Sir,” she said glancing at the late-afternoon sky. “Please take my advice when I tell you that in all honesty, since it’ll be getting dark soon, the safest place for all your men is back at the base. You leave a unit of young soldiers out here in the bayou at night to protect a crime scene that’s as good as worthless, and you’ll just be asking for their funerals.”
She’d gotten out of the Humvee mentally drained. The colonel’s innocent questions had given her a lot to think about regarding her personal life. How did she identify, human or wolf? And that analogy to the POTUS’s wife? Sheesh!
However, the nature of her identity—wolf or human—was a truly haunting question that would linger at the back of her mind for a long time to come. It was the crux of the issue that Hunter wanted resolved within her once and for all. She was just glad that Hunter was completely ready to get out of there. Sir Rodney and Shogun were waiting on his return in town, and they were all losing precious daylight.
It was odd to see everyone gather around her and Hunter with curious gazes. But it was good that as long as she announced how they were going to leave by way of shadow—with everyone looking on in awe at the spectacle—thankfully no one would get nervous and shoot.
CHAPTER 13
Diner patrons craned their necks to watch the television on the wall as the waitress turned up the volume with the remote. Even the fry chef leaned through the kitchen partition to hear the breaking news. The cable news anchor’s voice blared through the now silent eatery before announcing Colonel Madison.
“T
he U.S. military is calling off its investigation of paranormal activity in the New Orleans area, citing insufficient evidence. In a news conference expected to take place in the next few minutes, West Point graduate Colonel Keith J. Madison, who had been appointed to a special investigatory unit by the Pentagon’s Joint Chiefs in Washington, will take the podium.”
Russell Conway stared at the screen in disbelief as the diner began to murmur with disgruntled comments. But a hush fell over the establishment once again as soon as the images on the screen cut away to a live shot at the NAS base.
“Good afternoon,” Colonel Madison said, reading from a prepared statement. “We have combed the area with the best forensics teams and technology, as well as employing some more traditional techniques such as tracking dogs. Based upon what we’ve been able to view with boots on the ground, we believe at this time that the incidents that have occurred and have unfortunately taken human lives were the result of catastrophic drug wars that played out on American streets. As you are aware, the Mexican drug cartels are brutal, using heavy body armor and assault weapons like AK-47s, et cetera. When seeking revenge, it is also characteristic of those illegal organizations to take hostages and dismember victims of their kidnappings in order to strike terror into the hearts of those they seek to leverage. Therefore, our units will reinforce the border and place additional pressure on these cartels by assisting the efforts of American law enforcement, which has been stretched thin.”
Reporters at the press conference went wild, shouting questions toward the colonel. The governor at the podium had to regain order.
“Colonel Madison will answer a few questions only and then he must return to more pressing matters,” the governor said crisply, and then waited for a nod from Colonel Madison to choose a journalist.
“What was going on in the bayou last night, Colonel? Why was there a no-fly zone over the old Bayou House? Some say there was an incident out there involving heavy gunplay? Were any military personnel or civilians hurt?”
Colonel Madison cleared his throat. “Although that was more than one question, I will be happy to answer.”
Nervous laughter filtered through the television crowd, and Russell leaned forward to hear better.
“Local law enforcement as well as the FBI have been doing a fine job combing the residential areas and business districts. Therefore, the military went back to the original scene of the horrific shoot-out that occurred at the location. The Bayou House was our AO, area of operation—and we did not want news helicopters flying overhead and possibly prematurely broadcasting any potentially sensitive data that could help us in the investigation. Now that we know there was no additional evidence to be found, we have removed our restriction. However, the area is still dangerous, the building out there is unstable—hence it is still off limits. We do not want civilians going out there scavenging or doing amateur investigations until all rubbish can be removed from the site.”
“But what about the reports of gunfire, Colonel?” another reporter shouted.
“We have no knowledge of that in the area.” Colonel Madison looked away. “Next question.”
“Ambulances went down the road, Colonel. So you’re saying there were no fatalities or injuries out there?”
“No.” Colonel Madison lifted his chin, ignoring the new barrage of questions. He gave the governor a look, who stepped in front of him at the podium.
“Martial law will continue in New Orleans for another week at least until the local law enforcement and FBI can ensure that the violent activity surrounding this most recent drug war outburst has been contained.”
“But, Governor, what about the two civilians found—”
“We cannot comment further on an ongoing investigation.” The governor turned to Colonel Madison. “Thank you for your time today, Colonel. The people of the great state of Louisiana appreciate your service to our country.”
Russell pushed back from the table with disgust. It was the worst cover-up he’d ever seen, and he’d seen plenty. He fingered the Blood Oasis membership card in his khaki pocket. Vampires were as good as blood-hounds. They hated Werewolves probably as much as he did, and could lead him to their dens.
Sasha nodded and turned away from the bar television mounted at The Fair Lady. “Damn, he’s good.” She was surprised when Hunter quietly agreed with her.
“Is that the colonel who was giving you a ration of dung?” Sir Rodney asked frowning.
“One and the same,” Hunter muttered.
“Well, either the man is blind or he’s a quick study,” Shogun said carefully, glancing between Sasha and Hunter. “Which is it?”
“He’s a quick study,” Sasha said, oddly feeling protective of the colonel now that she knew him a little better. “He’s a good man . . . just got screwed up by the fear. But he’s cool now.”
Hunter cleared his throat. Shogun just sat back.
“’Fraid you’re selling to a tough crowd. I take it that wolves don’t get a bad scent out of their noses easily, especially if their noses have been put out of joint.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Sasha said with a hard sigh and then quirked a half smile. “But gotta love ’em anyway, Sir Rod.”
“Ah . . . the forgiving heart of a lady,” he said with a small bow from where he sat.
Sasha laughed. “Chauvinist to the end.”
“Too old to change my ways,” Sir Rodney said with a casual shrug. “But I’m not generalizing about the female species. Remember, I was married to one who had held a grudge for at least two hundred years with no end in sight. So, lassie, you are special—one of the good ones.”
Sir Rodney’s wry comment finally made Shogun laugh and brought a smile out on Hunter’s face. The more he fought it, the wider it got, until he stopped being so morose and just gave in and laughed.
“See, I could be like her,” Sasha said, raising an eyebrow.
“Okay, okay,” Hunter said, waving her off. “I can live with you forgiving Madison.”
“Thank you,” she said, “Sheesh, you guys are rough.” Then she looked at Sir Rodney. “Thanks so much for having Garth make sure Clarissa was all right.”
“Aye, now how could I allow an innocent who is like family to you remain bewitched by an Unseelie spell? That would be unfair.”
Sasha leaned over and hugged Sir Rodney. “I won’t ever complain about public displays of chivalry again.”
Bodies relaxed, smiles merged with Fae ale and more burgers, and sudden peace came over Sasha. Even though she knew there was a tough few weeks ahead of her, the camaraderie that permeated the small table of leaders soaked into her bones. For just this moment in time, there was no conflict between her dual roles as a military person and a wolf. There was no conflict between rival brothers, and Shogun looked good . . . his eyes were merry and his color was good; he didn’t seem like a man wallowing in what could have been. Hunter had eased up at the table and wasn’t on guard, tensing at his brother’s presence and listening too hard to every inflection in every comment Shogun threw her way. And Sir Rodney was Sir Rodney—funny, droll, an Old World trip.
Stuffed and sated, she pushed her clean burger basket away from her and then stretched. “All right, so we’re all good on the plan? We’ve got like three hours until it gets dark, when you two head back to the sidhe.”
Shogun nodded. “I’m good with that. It also makes sense that I cover ground in the Asian community . . . it’s very closed to outsiders, in general, and I think I can break through faster if they think I’m a Korean American cop or FBI guy that can speak the various languages in that community. My father, before he died, insisted that his children learn as many regional languages as possible—Mandarin being one of them. If I know my aunt, she probably snatched a young Chinese girl . . . and if she’s coed-age with all that’s going on, they haven’t even taken a missing persons report on her yet.”
“This is where a little Fae glamour can help.” Sir Rodney discreetly summoned several books of matches
from the bar to their table with a wide smile, folded them into his hand, and began distributing FBI badges.
“Where were you when I was in high school?” Sasha said, laughing.
Sir Rodney bowed and then wagged his finger at her with a broad grin. “I would not have been party to corrupting the morals of a minor, even if it was just to get her a fake ID.”
“What can ya do?” Sasha said, marveling at her badge. “This is really pretty cool.”
“Fades at midnight, as most quickie Faery charms do . . . but on the morrow, I can make more.”
One day she’d have to ask Sir Rodney if Cinderella was truth or legend, but she needed to stay focused.
“I’ve got Tulane,” Sasha said. “It’d probably be better if a female cop or FBI type went in there and checked around the dorms looking for any students who’ve gone missing. One of the victims was a student, so it’s likely Shogun’s aunt got a body and then fed from the same hunting source—the university.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Sir Rodney said, polishing off the last of his Fae ale. “But I won’t be needing a badge for where I’m going. Visiting the local ladies of witchery by definition requires that one be anythin’ but a human cop.”
“No argument there,” Hunter said, glancing around the establishment. “While you charm the ladies, Rodney, I’ll just hug the shadows out by the baron’s old burned-out manor house. If she attacked out in the bayou and the military went in there full-force, she’ll find a safe fallback position . . . one heavily guarded by Vampires, if that’s who she’s allied with now. Their human helpers by day are no problem to evade. I’ll be out of there before any Vamps wake up and take issue with me snooping around on the premises.”
“I’m not so much worried about Vampires as I am worried about her,” Sasha admitted, now staring at Hunter without a smile. “We’re still within that couple-of-days window where the moon is full enough for a Were transformation, and if Lady Jung Suk is trailing sulfur, then that means she’s demon-infected. So, just be careful.”
