Ella looks at me over her shoulder, concern splashed across her face: You all right?
Nodding, I swallow my anxiety and fend off the terrible memories of my time as Delos’ captive.
Riker tucks the folder under his arm. “As long as you make sure not to tip off any of our potential suspects to the fact we’re looking into them, then yes, you can go ahead and round up some of these acquaintances. Once you’ve got them at your office, give me a call, and I’ll send some agents over to question them.”
“Excellent.” Targus claps his hands, then picks up his messenger bag. “Well, if you don’t need anything else from me for the time being, I can head back and start setting that up.”
“Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Of course.” He gives us a little parting wave and heads for the door. “I’d like to see this killer brought to justice just as much as you. After all, there’s far too much corruption in the ICM already, as you well know. We don’t need more bad apples poisoning the bunch. Best to nip this in the bud before any other aggrieved parties get bad ideas.” He opens the lounge door and slinks out into the hall, wearing his even smile every step of the way. “Don’t you agree, Commissioner?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Riker says.
Targus gives Riker a friendly nod, and walks off down the hall.
Thirty seconds pass in silence, then Amy says, “So we’re all in agreement that smiley-faced freak is hiding shit, right?”
“When is an ICM practitioner not hiding something from us?” Desmond shakes his head. “Though I have to admit, the ‘good neighbor’ act really threw me for a loop. Never had one of them try that before.”
Riker blows air through his teeth. “I almost believed it for a minute there. Then he started being too helpful.” He yanks the folder out from under his arm. “The ICM must know who the perp is already.”
“You think they’re covering for him? Because he’s a pillar of the community?” Ella asks. “Or are they just trying to lead us on a wild goose chase while they do, in fact, handle the matter internally?”
“I doubt it’s a cover job.” Desmond peels himself off the wall. “Too late in the day to sweep this kind of violence under the rug. That farce fell to the wayside when Delos and his cohorts were exposed as rogues. My guess is option number two: they want to deal with the man themselves to keep the matter on the down low.”
Riker tosses the folder onto the coffee table. “Right. Because when DSI gets involved in a citywide manhunt, it’s always loud. At least to the supernatural community.”
I finally step out of my lonely corner to ask, “What do we do then? Just pretend to play along with Targus?”
Riker takes a heavy breath. “I would strongly prefer not to get on the bad side of the new chapter leader from the get-go, but at the same time, I’m not going to risk innocent lives by allowing the ICM’s bureaucracy to hold the reins on this case. So yes, we pretend we’re letting him control our access to the practitioner community, while we simultaneously chase down leads of our own.”
“Nice plan.” Amy shoves her hands into her pockets. “Now if only we had leads.”
“Yep, that’s the problem.” Ella raps her boot against the floor. “Since we have Sadie Wheeler on lockdown, there’s a chance our perp will skip her for now and pursue the next name on his list, but we still don’t have that list.”
“I noticed Targus didn’t offer it either,” Desmond says.
“I considered asking him for it, after I saw it wasn’t part of his peace offering, but I had a funny feeling he was going to give me an excuse for why he couldn’t hand it over.” Riker strides over to the door. “No point in wasting more time playing his games than we have to. I recommend we forget the victim list for now and focus on catching up to the practitioner himself. The Wolves should have what they need to start tracking the man. Switch off with Delarosa’s team and follow the Wolves around town until they find something of value.” Riker glances at the folder, half its contents spilled across the coffee table. “I’ll have Delarosa’s team do the mock interviews with the red herrings.”
“Are you going to tell them it’s all for show?” Amy asks.
Riker smiles. “After they’re finished. More believable to Targus that way.”
Desmond laughs. “I like the way you think, Commissioner.”
“And I like it when you all get results.” He motions for us to leave the room. “So go hunt that damn wizard down.”
“Question.” I raise my hand like a kid in a classroom. “What if the rest of Delos’ relatives don’t live in Aurora? What if half of them live in Texas or something, and the perp ‘magics’ himself down there after giving up on Sadie Wheeler?”
Riker cocks an eyebrow. “We have a travel budget. Use it.”
Chapter Eight
The Wolves lead us on a winding path through Aurora that begins at Sarah-Jane Coble’s house, stops at Fletcher’s place, continues straight from there to the Wheeler apartment, and then takes a jaunt to the roof, down the fire escape, and around the corner into the alley where I got my ass handed to me. After that point, we start a new leg of the journey with no known destinations. As the Wolf group traipses down the sidewalk, we tail them in our SUV, weaving in and out of parking lots and street-side spaces so we don’t hold up traffic and call attention to ourselves. Although at one point, we do pull into a McDonald’s to grab some dinner, because our stomachs have noticed the sun is pretty low in the sky and we haven’t eaten since lunch.
Desmond, binoculars glued to his face, keeps an eye on the Wolves as we come around to the pickup window. “They’re still southbound, heading toward Napoleon Avenue. I’m guessing our perp cut through the dog park on the other side of the street and continued onto Havertown.”
Amy, feet on the dashboard, clicks her tongue in annoyance. “Probably means he’s holed up in the suburbs somewhere. Damn. We’re going to be out all night if we have to search every acre of the southern burbs. There are tons of wooded areas where he could be camping out.”
Ella takes the food bags from the McDonald’s employee, rolls up the window, and passes our meals out. “Smart choice on his part, since he’s unlikely to run into DSI patrols that far out. Fits with the rest of his profile. Meticulous and calculating.” She pulls us around the building and heads back toward the street so we can resume following the Wolves. “On the up side, a wooded area with practically no civilian presence is a good place to engage a practitioner. We can let loose without worrying about bystander casualties.”
“All right. Point made.” Amy unwraps her burger and rips a huge chunk out of it. “And I have to admit I wouldn’t mind tearing into that bastard with all I’ve got, after what he did to Byers’ team.”
“We’ll get him,” Ella assures her, “and we’ll make him regret taking on DSI.”
Desmond’s prediction comes true. The Wolves cut through the dog park, and we go around the long way to find them crossing onto Havertown Street, the two trackers sniffing the air every ten paces or so to ensure they don’t lose the scent. We continue down Havertown, the buildings growing smaller and more sparsely clustered every block, and finally, we leave Aurora proper behind and enter the first of the city’s many suburban neighborhoods.
By this point, night has fully set in, and without the help of the city’s streetlights, the terrain around us is bathed in darkness. We have to draw closer to the Wolf group to keep an eye on them, but there are plenty of driveways for us to duck into for a minute or three, so we don’t look too suspicious.
I hope.
While we’re parked in front of a two-story home whose windows are dark and whose driveway is empty, Desmond presses his face against the window and says, “Looks like one of them is doubling back.”
I shove the last handful of fries into my mouth, wipe my hands with a napkin, and shimmy across the seat so I can peer out the window as well. Sure enough, the biker woman is jogging down the sidewalk toward our vehicle. She doesn’t
seem panicked or upset about anything, so I assume she has some kind of update for us. As she closes in on the SUV, Amy rolls down the passenger-side window and gestures for the woman to lean in so the conversation doesn’t carry across the neighborhood.
The woman pokes her head into the vehicle and says, “Looks like your guy is roughing it. The scent trail continues into those woods. You won’t be able to follow by road after another block or so.” She juts her thumb in the direction of a dense patch of trees set behind the intersection where the one-way street we’re currently on is terminated by a two-lane that leads out of the neighborhood. “I recommend you find a place to park and follow us on foot from here.”
“Will do.” Ella puts the SUV in reverse. “Give us a few minutes. We’ll signal you when we’re ready to continue.”
“Got it.” The woman ducks out the window and heads back the way she came to regroup with her friends.
After a minute of searching, I spot a house one block over that has an open garage door and a big FOR SALE sign in the front yard. Ella does a U-turn, illegally drives the wrong way up the street and around to the other block, deftly backs us down the short driveway, and somehow squeezes the huge SUV into the cramped garage without acquiring so much as a scuff to the paint.
The space is so tight we can barely open our doors, and poor Desmond, by far the biggest among us, has to practically compress his ribcage to exit the vehicle. When he finally manages to tug himself free, he shuts the door behind him none too gently and swears under his breath as he trudges out of the garage, one hand rubbing his back.
“Throw out your back there, Professor?” Amy teases.
Desmond gives her a flat stare.
Ella laughs softly. “All right. Back on task, guys. Everybody have their grenades?”
“Got mine.” I pat the two small canisters hooked to my belt, each of which contains enough aerosolized neon-yellow paint to make an elephant glow in the dark.
Shortly before we left the office, we took some time to brainstorm strategies for overcoming the creature’s invisibility. And during a minor stroke of genius, if I do say so myself, I remembered that one of the DSI academy combat classes utilizes these paint grenades in mock fights to illustrate damage patterns. If we can nail the creature with at least one paint grenade, we can eliminate its ability to attack unseen and severely impair its effectiveness as the practitioner’s weapon.
“I’m all set,” Amy replies to Ella after adjusting her belt.
Desmond nods. “Me as well.”
“Good. Then let’s not keep our guides waiting,” Ella says.
We set off down the sidewalk and swing back around to where we were before, finding the Wolves loitering at the intersection, waiting for our signal to pick up the practitioner’s trail once again. Ella raises her hand and provides that signal when we’re half a block away from them. Biker Lady sees the signal and tugs the coat sleeve of Redmond the roid head, who responds by barking something incoherent to the group. All the Wolves snap to attention, tuck away their phones, and cluster together behind Redmond and Biker Lady, ready to resume the hunt.
Redmond waves them forward, and as a unit, they all jog across the street, over to the edge of the tree line, and then split off into what is clearly a predetermined formation that spans about twenty feet. Based on how each Wolf enters the woods, I figure it’s some kind of modified search configuration, the kind of thing you’d use when looking for a missing person in heavily wooded terrain. I say “modified” because a few of the Wolves hang farther back than the rest. A defense squad, I assume, ready to pounce if the search team gets ambushed.
My team pauses at the intersection and waits for the Wolves to pull ahead about thirty feet. Just before we lose sight of the ones at the back of the pack, we cross over to the woods and mimic their formation, spreading out with about five feet between each of us. Close enough to help one another, far enough apart to avoid getting hit by the same attack.
At last, we enter the woods.
Progress is slow through the thick underbrush and louder than I’m comfortable with, as dead leaves we can’t see in the dark crunch underneath our boots. Ahead, the Wolves are rendered shadows shifting in the night, each of their steps eerily quiet, the lack of light unable to fool their animalistic eyes. They’re in their element, I can tell, from the comfortable way they swerve around trees, the way their backs hunch and their hands brace against the ground to improve their maneuverability through the dense brush.
They’ve probably run through these very woods before in their wolf forms, or if not, then a patch of similar terrain not far from here. They can navigate better than any of us, even the youngest and most inexperienced of them, and if there’s an ambush waiting somewhere ahead, they can flee much faster than us too. And on Newsome’s orders, they’ll leave us behind at the drop of a hat.
I try not to resent that. While they shouldn’t be forced to risk themselves to help us, it sure would be nice to have allies willing to fight alongside us. Vincent Wallace wasn’t exactly my best friend, but he was willing to help me when it really mattered, willing to sacrifice himself to help save the city from Delos’ machinations.
Newsome has obviously reversed course on that kind of behavior, to insulate the Wolves from the myriad consequences of direct involvement in DSI’s operations. On one hand, I understand that she wants to protect her people from harm. On the other, the supernatural community as a whole is a battleground. This isn’t the time for that sort of neutrality.
If Newsome thinks she can hold the Wolves on the sideline and wait for the dust to settle after the whole mess with the Methuselah Group and the Black Knights comes to its inevitable bloody end, she’s living in a delusion. It’ll only be a matter of time before one of those groups strikes at the heart of Aurora again, only a matter of time before there’s another parade of funerals, rows of black body bags filling the morgues. No degree of neutrality will shield the Wolves from that chaos. They’ll suffer the same way the humans do, and they’ll fit the same way into those black bags too.
What is with supernatural leaders and their refusal to admit—?
A Wolf lopes quietly toward me. As she gets close, her shadowed form resolves into that of Biker Lady. Stopping a couple feet in front of me, she speaks in hushed tones, “There’s a structure about forty feet straight ahead. Some kind of sheet-metal shed that’s part of an overgrown property, nothing left of the main house but a caved-in ruin. Looks like there was a chain on the shed’s door, but it’s been broken off. The scent trail leads right up to the doorway. This is where you all go ahead of us. We’ll wait at the edge of the clearing while you investigate.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “I’ll pass the info on.”
When she turns around and darts off again, I move to my right until I run into Ella, situated in the middle of our line, and relay the information to her. She gathers the rest of the team, and we carefully press forward in the indicated direction.
The brush thins out close to the edge of the clearing, so we crouch low and proceed in a slow shuffle. I faintly sense my teammates charging their beggar rings, so I kick my own magic into gear, the buzz of energy growing stronger until my every muscle sits on the verge of a static shock. I’ve gotten so used to the feeling over the past few weeks, it’s almost like a security blanket.
Just don’t forget what your limits are while you’re wearing those suppression rings, Kinsey, I remind myself. Pretend you’re a regular DSI agent and act accordingly. Use the same combat tactics you would if you only had beggar rings available to fight a powerful sorcerer.
We pass the Wolves, each one hiding behind a different tree, and they observe us as we creep up to the very edge of the tree line. In the clearing beyond stands the remains of a mid-century property that appears to have gotten left behind to rot when the layout of the suburb was overhauled to make it that lovely uniform block shape we city dwellers all know and love. The ruin of a modest one-story house sits on the left side o
f the property, the bulk of it caved in from decades of bad weather wearing down the structural support. There’s not enough open space inside for anything the size of a person to hide, so I focus my attention on the aforementioned shed.
As Biker Lady stated, there’s a ten-by-five shed on the opposite end of the property, the sheet metal rusted over, the half-rotten wooden door hanging open at an angle that implies the top hinge is starting to go. The interior of the shed is pitch black, but with my magic sitting just underneath the surface of my skin, my eyes are a little sharper and can cut through the darkness somewhat. Vague shapes populate the space, the outlines of worktables, some tools, and what I think is a metal stool. There’s no movement at all inside, but that doesn’t preclude the presence of the invisible creature.
Ella taps my shoulder and signals for me to come at the shed from the back end. She then indicates for Amy to do the same. The two of us break off from the group in opposite directions and move as swiftly through the brush as we can without alerting the entire neighborhood to our presence. Encountering no hostiles the whole way around, we meet on the other side of the property and once again situate ourselves the edge of the clearing.
Since we know where to look, we home in on Ella and Desmond, their figures mostly hidden by the tall brush. Amy raises her hand above the brush to indicate we’re in position. A moment later, Ella gives the signal to approach the shed.
Amy and I emerge from the brush at the same time Desmond and Ella do. As the two of them make straight for the door, Amy and I advance to the back of the shed and split up to cover one side each. My boots rustle through the tall grass grown up around the shed as I draw closer to the front, gun half raised in anticipation of a sudden attack. When I reach the front corner, I stay there, back pressed against the sharp metal edge, and watch Ella and Desmond enter the shed in the corner of my eye while keeping the bulk of my attention on the clearing.
Spell Caster Page 9
