Smoke & Mirrors

by C. L. Schneider

  Creed frowned as he drew my attention to the evidence. “Look at this.” He flattened the bag to show the contents better. Inside was the usual: cell phone, keys, wallet, pocket knife, a package of cigarettes, and matches. He smoothed the plastic over the matchbook. The design on the back was the silhouette of a naked woman in stilettos, her shapely body arched in a seductive pose. Creed flipped over the bag.

  I read the logo on the other side. “Juicy Bits.” Son of a bitch.

  “I know you said this organization caters to high-end clients, but that place has one hell of a criminal reputation.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  The last time I was inside the city’s most notorious strip club, I used my ex to lure out a psycho. Considering it ended with Brynne kidnapping us and Ronan in the hands of Naalish, it wasn’t a fond memory.

  I opened the bag in Creed’s hands and took out the matchbook. Ignoring his questioning stare, I marched out the door and into the interrogation room. I stopped at the table across from Dane and slammed the matchbook down in front of him. “Why do you have this?”

  Molasses would have been faster than the slow raise of his eyes. “To make fire.” Leaning forward, Dane’s lips formed a lewd smirk. “Unless you want to show me another way?”

  His insightful words were far from it. He didn’t know what I was. Nicholas Dane was nothing more than he appeared: a lowlife smartass, trying to get a rise out of me. Mission accomplished. I picked up the matchbook and flicked it at his face. “Why were you there?”

  “It’s a strip club, babe. If you have to ask, you’re a lot tighter than you look.”

  I drew back.

  Creed clamped a hand around my wrist. “I can’t take you anywhere.” He relaxed his grip as I lowered my arm. “Why don’t you give us some space?”

  I retrieved the matchbook from the floor and backed up. As Creed sat, and went to work, questioning the suspect in a far more dignified manner, I waited at the door. I tried to listen, to digest Dane’s attitude-laden replies. But my emotions were a pinball of anger, bitterness, and an unhealthy dose of self-pity. Because it always, always came back to Ronan. And I didn’t want it to. Not anymore.

  So many times, I’d tried to move on from him, to put our past behind me. So many times, I thought I had. But there was always some connection, some memory that surfaced. Some way for Ronan to worm back into my thoughts. Pushing them back out had become even harder since King Aidric confirmed he was alive. At least he was two months ago, when Naalish snatched Ronan from Aidric’s care. Her standing order had called for a myriad of punishments, including re-conditioning and castration. But Naalish had grown fickle and unpredictable.

  She could have executed Ronan weeks ago.

  Creed pushed back his chair and got up. I followed him from the room. He closed the door behind him, and I waited for his scolding. But Dane had pissed him off more than I had. “Damn that guy’s an asshole.” He plucked the crumpled matchbook from my grip and slipped it back inside the bag. “So, let’s have it. I assume you don’t always open your interrogations with a punch. Or is that why you’re not a cop anymore?”

  “I know the guy who owns the place. Previously owned,” I corrected myself. “And knew. He’s M.I.A. Dead, maybe. Probably,” I conceded with a shrug that was far more casual than I felt. “Ronan had some shady business associates.”

  “Was he ever involved with your underground meat market?”

  I didn’t correct him. Meat market wasn’t that far off, considering some parts had to be consumed for their “magic” to take effect. “He never mentioned it.” But I wouldn’t put it past him, I thought, recalling all the dirty jobs Ronan had done over the years—for himself and others—all the lies and chunks of time we were apart. “It’s possible. Ronan kept a lot of the illegal shit to himself. He knew how I felt about it.”

  “Who runs the club now?”

  “I don’t know. But we’re about to find out.”

  It’s not often I’m the only woman in the room wearing clothes. I’d like to say it earned me a measure of respect. Instead, my jeans, t-shirt, and jacket garnered looks ranging from outright resentment (that reality was impinging on their fantasies), to lustful anticipation (because maybe, after a few drinks, they might convince me to take them off), to drunken amusement at my audacity. The women were no better. They wore common expressions of aloof disdain like a uniform. Considering little else covered their skinny frames, it stood out.

  Their treatment didn’t surprise me. I’d endured it before. The years went by and the faces changed, but the club didn’t. Juicy Bits had always felt stuck in time. If there were differences from the first day Ronan brought me here, they were subtle. The cheap paneling and sticky tile floor, the dancers with more track marks than moves, the crappy speakers and bad lighting. Every breath tasted of regurgitated beer and desperation.

  On that first day, though, I’d overlooked it all. Strip joint or not, for the first time in his life, Ronan owned something tangible. I’d seen it as a chance at stability, a chance for him to become a legitimate business man and climb out of the scum he’d fallen into since arriving in this world. For him, it was an opportunity to dive deeper.

  He’d never meant the club to be anything but a front, a place to make better deals than his back-alley scores. He soaked up the new profits and expanded to new clientele, and it hadn’t taken long for those deals—and the danger—to escalate. He’d been so consumed by his thriving, new business, I often wondered how many nights went by before Ronan noticed my side of the bed was empty.

  Moving through the tables, Creed raised his voice over the synthesized version of Cherry Pie. “You look tense.” He glanced at the purple-haired girl in red tassels and cherry-covered hot pants doing the splits on the stage. “Do you want to wait outside?”

  “The skin doesn’t bother me. The memories do.”

  He faltered, like he was surprised I’d opted for honesty. I was, too.

  I said nothing more, and we wound our way to the bar. Creed moved to the quiet end. I held back, taking in the strong lyrriken scent wafting off the bouncers and several of the clientele. I kept an eye out, as Creed presented his badge and a picture of Nicholas Dane to the bartender. It was the same man as the last time I was here, with his lecherous swagger and a fashion sense worse than mine. Though, the orange and yellow Hawaiian shirt would have been passable if he were in Hawaii, there was no place, on any of the linked worlds, where his lime green, felt cowboy hat with a pineapple band wouldn’t be offensive.

  Creed was scowling as he left the bar. “Dane’s been here before, but the bartender can’t remember when. Neither can he recall the current owner’s name or the last time he was here.”

  “Want me to try? I promise I won’t punch him. Right away.”

  “Let’s hang around a while. Give him time to reconsider his answers.”

  “You mean, call his boss and tell him the cops are here?”

  “Hopefully.” Creed studied the crowd a moment. “Tell me about your ex.”

  “There’s not enough alcohol in the whole damn bar for that conversation.”

  Creed’s unsympathetic smile said he wasn’t budging.

  “We dated,” I relented. “It was a long time ago. He fell in with the wrong people. The danger excited him in a way I’d never seen before. When it excited him more than being with me, I left.” For a while, I thought. Ronan and I had taken each other back so many times, I’d lost count.

  “Could one of his colleagues be running things now?”

  “It’s possible. But I’m not sure they’d stick around with him gone.” His crew was also nothing like him. While Ronan could pull charm out of his ass faster than Oren, most of his “men” were little more than thugs.

  Creed took Dane’s picture out of his jacket again. “I’m going to show this around. Why don’t you take a walk? See if you recognize anyone.”

  “Sure.” As he moved off, a whiff of something new drifted in my direction. P
rocessing the out-of-place scent as a threat, I laid eyes on Creed. When I was sure he was heading in the other direction, I followed the trail.

  Moving nonchalant around the tables, I passed the bar and the row of private, curtained-off areas along one wall. Giggles and grunts spilled out through the gaps in the fabric. I ignored them and kept going to the narrow hall beyond. Doors labeled as Bathroom and Office, plus two that were unmarked, were closed. As was the heavy, metal back door at the end.

  The scent was originating from inside one of the rooms.

  I reached for the knob of the office door, and it burst open. The threshold was clogged by a towering surplus of brawn, squeezed into torn jeans and a purple Juicy Bits muscle-tee. A mohawk of curly black hair on his head added three more intimidating inches.

  “Hey, Jace,” I said. “It’s been a while.” A long while, I thought. I wasn’t sure how we left things or where we stood. Clearly, he’d sensed me, too, but I didn’t want my sudden presence to be interpreted as a threat. “Sorry to barge in. I didn’t know you were in town.”

  The surprise holding his mouth in an “O” morphed into delight. His low, cello-like voice escaped with an exclamation of, “Dahl!” as Jace threw himself against me.

  My leather jacket creaked, protesting his tight hold. The hug was enthusiastic and over the top, but there was little affection in the gesture. When he ran with Ronan, Jace and I shared some laughs. We had a few drinks. Mostly, though, we tolerated each other. He was loud and competitive, and obsessive about Ronan. It was obvious he never liked us together. And his embrace? It was nothing but a barefaced show of strength.

  I gave him one back and broke free with a quick flex. “You look good. How long has it been?”

  He pushed the air from his fleshy lips in thought. “Damn. It’s been at least…” Jace left off as shoes struck the linoleum behind me. A tremor ran through his large hands. I recognized the tell. His claws were itching to make an appearance. I also recognized the footfall.

  Jace had little restraint, and even less care for cops. As the shoes stopped behind me, I stepped aside, and divulged only what I had to. “Jace, this is Alex. He’s with me.”

  Taking my cue, Creed replied with a nod. He was going for aloof, but the small, backward tilt of his torso, the slight dilation of his pupils, and the increase in blood flow, gave away how hard he was trying not to react to the man’s size. It would be a lost cause if Creed had any idea what was really standing in front of him.

  Large, even for an ulfar, Jace was rowdy, loud, unpredictable, dangerous, and, at times, strangely cuddly for a werewolf—until he wasn’t.

  Jace took a step back. “You know I don’t like people, Dahl.”

  “It’s okay. Alex doesn’t either. He won’t mind waiting out here while you and I catch up.” I shot Creed a look. “Isn’t that right?”

  His surrender was less than enthusiastic. “Don’t be long.”

  I stepped in and closed the door. “I’m surprised to see you here, Jace. Don’t tell me you took over Ronan’s back-alley empire?”

  “Empire,” he breathed in proudly. “I like that.”

  I walked past him, inspecting the small, windowless office. The boxes in the corner were dusty. The water cooler hadn’t been cleaned in so long, something pink was growing on the drip tray. Two items sat on the scarred, fake-wood desk: a jug of rum and a marble ashtray crammed with cigarette butts. Behind the desk, the chair was torn and dingy, but the flat screen on the wall sparkled like new. “Looks like you get a lot of work done in here.”

  Jace blinked, either not liking my jab or not getting it.

  “Ronan’s associates don’t mind dealing with an ulfar?” I said. “Your kind aren’t known for their suave negotiating tactics or stealth…or manners.”

  “Some left.” His dime-sized nostrils flared with a sniff. “Their loss.”

  “At least you still have the Market. I imagine holding onto such a prestigious client like that wasn’t easy.” It was a stretch, but the minute uptick in his breathing confirmed it. Careful of the scattered ash, I perched on the edge of the desk and threw my net back in the water. “Something tells me anyone who heads up an underground, criminal organization wouldn’t like change, especially if it affects his bottom line. How did you manage to keep him on the hook without Ronan around?”

  Jace crossed his arms, making his hairy biceps plump and bulge. “What are you doing, Dahl? Showing up here, askin’ questions, bringin’ the law to my door. Unless…” Pausing for an exaggerated inhale, Jace let the air out with a dreamy sigh and moved in close. A bit of fang descended from his gums. “Is he dinner? You know I love take out.”

  “Drop the act, Jace. You’re stupid. But you’re not ‘eat a cop’ stupid.”

  His grin was slow and deep. “I heard they gave you a nickname: Barracuda…” he whispered. “I like it.”

  I squelched my reaction. No one outside the department knew the nickname Ronnie had given me. Few on the task force used it besides her. “Where did you hear that?”

  Knowing he’d gotten to me, he shrugged. “Word gets around.”

  I wasn’t happy, but I couldn’t dwell on it now. “I’m looking for information on a human, a truck driver named Nicholas Dane.”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “Your bartender confirmed he was here. Does he work for you?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Does the name Norman Key mean anything to you?”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Could he and Dane work for one of your clients?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “You should see a doctor for that acute memory loss, Jace. It seems to be going around.”

  “Like a goddamn epidemic,” he grinned.

  “Gather your men. Maybe they haven’t become afflicted yet. And don’t tell me they’re not here. I’m not sure why Ronan’s crew would take your orders, but the place reeks of lyrriken. I almost didn’t pick your stink out from theirs.”

  “I guess you’re getting’ old. ’Cuz I noticed yours right away.”

  “Nicholas Dane?” I snapped. “Does he work for you?”

  Jace snorted and glanced away. “We take the human’s money and their pride here, Dahl. We use ’em. We don’t hire or befriend ’em. We’re not like you.”

  “Dane’s in custody. We have his mobile butcher shop in impound, and it’s bursting with evidence—evidence that leads right back here. There’s a lot of pressure on this, Jace, so don’t expect Dane to keep quiet. After all, he’s only human.”

  “You’ve been swimmin’ upstream a long time, Dahl. Give it a rest.”

  “Upstream from what?” Not what, I thought, whom? There was one ideal, one creature I stood against. “Are you talking about Naalish? Is this connected to the queen?”

  “Isn’t everything connected to your queen in some way?”

  “If Naalish is involved, why are you? She never cared for the ulfar.”

  “What she cares about is that we don’t shed on Drimeran soil. She’s less touchy on who gets subcontracted for a job here. Besides, there’s barely enough of us left to give the queen a fuckin’ hiccup.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Guild ever send you to my world?” I shook my head, and he sighed. “The Glaciers of Hundsyskaa. The Volkaero Tundra. The Wellspring of Garheatu.” Snatching up the jug, he took a few hearty gulps, and said with his swallow, “All gone.”

  I took a guess. “The land turned black?”

  His response was a glare and another drink.

  “When did this happen?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “You don’t remember when your world died?”

  “Time evaporates when you spend most of it on the run. I think you know somethin’ of that, eh?” I didn’t reply, and he said plainly, “Before we met.”

  “That was over fifty years ago.” Had the blight been around that long? Aidric did say it was a slow-moving problem. “Why did
n’t you ever mention it?”

  “You were an asshole.”

  “I was the asshole?”

  Fangs still out, Jace bared them in a grin. “A few thousand of us escaped. We bounced between worlds a while, ‘til your king heard and gave us aid.”

  “Naalish pronounced this world off limits for your species centuries ago.” It was a ruling I thought was upheld, having only encountered two other ulfar in all my years of hunting. And they were across the country. Except, maybe they’re not. The creatures I fought in the steel factory were small for wolf-shifters. But their claws were right. And with the bite marks on the victims… “Why would Aidric bring you here?”

  “You’ll have to ask him. My guess is, he knew our banishment was unfair. We do have a right to be here, same as you. Like lyrriken, ulfar are kin to the humans.”

  “Except, we didn’t get caught eating them. Repeatedly. I remember hearing about a particularly brutal meal the ulfar made of a little girl in red visiting her grandmother in the woods. The villagers found pieces of her all over the forest.”

  “An exaggerated tale that brought the slaughter of many of our kind. But we’ve evolved since those dark days. And if the ulfar can learn restraint, there’s hope for the lyrriken, eh?” Jace chuckled. The sound died slow, like a sputtering engine, and he muttered, “It’s funny what you’ll sacrifice for life.”

  “How many of you are in the city?”

  “Aidric scattered us. My pack was the only one to remain. I kept us together a while, but to survive in this world, we had to lose our ways. Then we lost each other.”

  “You’re their alpha?”

  “Not anymore. Some shit went down, and Naalish found out we were here. She demanded we leave or allow ourselves to be tamed. By a human,” he growled. “She said all he wanted was obedience. But he took a lot more.” Jace paused for another lengthy draw from the jug. “He thinks lettin’ an ulfar off the leash to fill his fuckin’ orders, is enough to satisfy their need for the hunt. Maybe it is,” Jace shrugged. “Now that he’s broke ‘em.”

  His ramblings hadn’t revealed a name, but that Jace was spilling anything at all surprised me. There had to be a reason. “What about you?”