But we needed to get out of here, so we’d deal with it.
“Fine,” I answered for everyone, knowing they’d likely rather take their chances with the amalgamites instead of face reintegration. “Hook us all up, please.”
There was a group groan.
“All of your tattoos have been configured,” Lydia replied. “You may leave at any time.”
We didn’t use our tattoos very much as topside cops, but the easiest way to transport down for your reintegration cycle was through the ink. You could use a portal station instead, if you wanted, but that seemed like a waste of time to me.
“Perfect,” I said. “Thanks, Lydia. Everyone, activate your transports now.”
I didn’t wait for their replies, assuming they knew my words were intended as a command not a suggestion.
“What about us?” Rachel asked as Turbo landed on her shoulder.
My initial reaction was that they should head down to safety as well, leaving me up here to see who my ‘brothers’ truly were, but I had the feeling that not even I could handle four amalgamites.
If I was to face them, I’d need to truly come to grips with my newfound skills.
That meant training.
I hated training.
Not as much as reintegration, but unfortunately I was going to get to do both.
Yay.
“Activate your tattoos,” I said with a sigh. “We have some work to do.”
Chapter 6
I was glad to see my team had made it safely to the Netherworld, but I didn’t think any of us truly wanted to be there.
Me, especially.
I was the one who had to go through all sorts of crap because of my various genetic bits.
The others on my crew only had to deal with their particular race-based issues. Chuck would be put through blood-avoidance training; Felicia would have her hunting instinct tamed; the mages would go through power management courses, which were designed to keep them from attempting to gain dominion over the normals; Turbo would be reminded why he should keep his language to a minimum and also how not to fling dust at everything; and Warren would undergo self-assurance entrainment so he wouldn’t attempt to summon demons while topside.
For now, though, we were all here and everyone seemed to be in decent health.
“Are any of you injured?” I asked.
“I have a few welts on my bottom,” Warren admitted, “but it wasn’t bad enough that I needed to invoke my safe word or anything.”
I looked at him. “Ew.”
“Oh, wait,” he said as his face turned red, “you meant because of the attack, didn’t you?”
“A little bit, yeah,” I replied before studying the rest of my crew. “You’re all fine?”
They nodded.
“Good.”
“Next in line,” called out a burly looking woman who was obviously a werebear. She then pointed at Warren. “Let’s go, pal. I haven’t got all day.”
Warren glanced at us and shrugged as he walked up to get his paperwork underway.
“Any idea who those people were?” asked Chuck. “I thought you were the only amalgamite around?”
“I thought the same thing,” I answered, sighing. “I don’t suppose any of you took pictures of them?”
There was a collective squint.
“We were somewhat preoccupied with trying to stay alive, I’m afraid,” Griff answered for the team.
“Next!”
I motioned for Turbo to go get his paperwork done. He already knew my side of the story anyway.
“The thing I don’t understand,” I began, “is why they sent amalgamites after all of you, but only sent a team of werewolves to wipe out me and Rachel.”
“That does seem odd,” mused Griff. “The first thing that comes to mind is that they weren’t planning to kill us. Rather, they were just going to capture us to use as a bargaining chip should you somehow survive the assassination attempt.”
I nodded slowly, since that was similar to what I’d been thinking. But I couldn’t get myself to fully accept that scenario.
“It just doesn’t add up,” I said finally. “Four amalgamites have a much better chance of killing me than five werewolves.”
“Valid point,” Griff conceded.
“Next!”
I motioned Rachel to go forward. She gave me a stern look. I gave her a sterner look. Her eyebrows wiggled as a mischievous grin crept upon her face. Then she skipped up toward the line.
Weirdo.
“It could be that whoever sent the wolves only intended you to be kept occupied,” Serena suggested. “That would give the amalgamites the chance to kill all of us unimpeded.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, though it was probably the most likely solution to this puzzle.
“That actually sounds reasonable,” I said after a moment. “It would make it so you couldn’t come and cover my ass once they decided to turn on me, too.”
“Exactly,” Serena agreed.
Now the big questions were who put out the hit on all of us and why did they do it? My guess was we had another uber in town. That seemed to be the only time weird shit like this happened. But an uber who could churn out amalgamites seemed rather unlikely, unless he gave them a shot or something that…
I turned to Griff. “Could a mage or wizard infuse the people you saw with something to make them appear to be like me?”
“You mean dapper?” asked Chuck with a smile.
I rolled my eyes at him. “Are you on a comedic kick lately or something?”
“The mage would have to be rather powerful,” Griff answered before Chuck could reply. He was looking away thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t last for long, either, but I suppose it could be done.”
“So an uber like that Reese guy who had the demon batteries?” I ventured. “Someone like him?”
Griff gave me a hesitant nod. “Again, it would take an enormous amount of power.”
“Next!”
Felicia headed off toward the clerk.
“All right,” I said as she walked away, “the most likely situation here is that we have another uber on the loose. But this one must have seen what happened to the last ubers who attacked the town.”
“We destroyed them,” Jasmine stated.
“Yep.”
“So, instead of attacking the town,” added Chuck slowly, “this uber has decided to come after us first.”
“Exactly,” I said, pointing back and forth between my two officers. “And coming down here has probably put the uber on his heels.”
I didn’t know if that was true, of course, but it made sense. Assuming it was a mage running all of this, I’d imagine that he’d first want to make certain the PPD was out of the picture. He’d know that reinforcements would eventually arrive, but by then he could be entrenched.
“It could be a she, you know,” Jasmine noted in a haughty way. We looked at her. “I’m just saying that you immediately assume it’s a guy, but it may be a woman.”
I gave her a sidelong glance.
“So it bothers you that we assume someone who is being a monster-sized dick is a dude?”
“Well, when you put it like that…” She trailed off. Then, she sighed. “It’s just that women are equally capable of being monster-sized dicks.”
“No argument here,” I said. “There was a particular dragon not too long ago who wanted to feed us to her children, as you may recall.”
“Precisely,” Jasmine bragged. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Okay, then,” I said, giving in with a shrug. “From now on, we’ll consider the brains behind this incredibly assholeish situation to be a chick.”
Jasmine held a look of accomplishment on her face, and she even stood a little taller.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
“Next!”
Chapter 7
I sat at the little table, looking across at the woman who was processing my paperwork. Ye
s, paperwork. You would think that with all of the technological advancements, they’d be doing everything digitally, but not so with the reintegration offices. Oh, they would transfer everything from paper to the computer at the end of the day, but they wanted to make sure it took as long as possible while you were undergoing the process of reintegration.
Supposedly, this had to do with calming the mind of the person being reintegrated.
Fail.
“Are you still an amalgamite?” she asked, pushing her mousy brown hair from her eyes.
What an odd question. That was like asking someone if they were still human. How could that possibly change?
I should have just said “yes” and moved along, but I couldn’t.
“How could I have changed into anything else?”
She blew out a long breath, making it clear that she no more wanted to be asking these questions than I wanted to be answering them. Then, she set down her pen and sat back, crossing her arms. This was the universal signal that it was go-time.
“You are a unique person, Mr. Dex,” she replied coolly. From what my crew said about their attackers topside, that may no longer be true. “Therefore,” she continued, “we have no precedent regarding what you are or are not capable of doing.”
“But that’s just dumb,” I countered. “Do you ask vampires if they are still vampires?”
“We don’t need to,” she answered, her voice as tight as mine. “There are thousands of years of data showing that vampires cannot transform into anything other than vampires.” She held up a finger. “And don’t bring up the point about them turning into bats. That’s folklore, and you know it.”
“I wasn’t going to bring that up,” I noted, crossing my arms. “I’m not stupid enough to believe that hoopla.”
Her plump cheeks were getting redder by the minute. Obviously, she had to deal with difficult people all day, but I was feeling singled out here. As she’d just admitted, she wouldn’t have asked that particular question to anyone else, making it prejudicial.
With dull eyes, she pushed forward. “I’m assuming the answer is ‘no’ to you having changed from being an amalgamite?”
“I have not changed, nor will I ever change.” I uncrossed my arms and sat forward as well. “Is there a way that you can put that in there so I’m not asked this silly question the next time I come down here?”
“No,” she replied, “and what’s the big deal anyway?”
“Seriously?” I scoffed. “How can you even ask me that? It’s offensive and racist to question if I’ve changed from being what I was born to be.”
Her look was not one that conveyed sympathy.
“Okay,” I added in a huff, “how would you like it if someone asked if you had changed from being a werebear?”
She shot me a look.
“I am not a werebear!”
That made me do a double-take. She was easily six and a half feet tall, two hundred and fifty pounds, and had more hair on her arms than Harvey and Portman put together.
“Seriously?” I said, furrowing my brow in disbelief.
“I’m a fae, thank you very much.”
I blinked.
“You’re kidding,” I said, looking her over again.
“I have a pituitary issue.”
Ouch.
Well, I felt like a rather enormous asshole at that moment. Typically, werebears were proud of the fact that they were big and hairy, but for a fae this had to be catastrophic.
“I…uh…well…”
“Again, Mr. Dex,” she growled like a werebear, “are you still an amalgamite?”
I looked down in shame.
“Yes.”
“Super.” She uncrossed her arms and started writing again. “Married or single?”
“Single, but I have a girlfriend.”
“Don’t care,” she replied. “Are you still the chief of the Las Vegas Paranormal Police Department?”
“Yes.”
“Are you still living at The Martin?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still drive a red Aston Martin?”
“Yes,” I replied, though I found that a weird question as well.
She went quiet for a few moments as she continued her writing.
I tried to think of a way to apologize for being a douche coconut, but anything I could think to say would just make things worse. Honestly, I felt like I’d just asked an overweight woman when she was due. And, yes, I had done that before.
“Please list all of the race types and classifications that are a part of your genome.”
“Vampire, werewolf, djinn, wizard, mage, pixie, fae, uh…werebear, weresheep, wererabbit, weretiger—”
She glanced up. “Weretiger?”
“Correct.”
The pen went down again and she tilted her head at me.
“You’re sure?”
How could I not be sure?
“I’m sure,” I said without inflection.
“That would make you only one of three surviving weretigers in existence.”
“Partial weretiger,” I corrected, “and, yes, I’m aware of that fact.”
Weretigers had nearly gone extinct during the last major war in the Netherworld. This happened during a combined attack from the werewolves, fae, werebears, and pixies. The tigers hadn’t had a chance, meaning only a handful remained. Unfortunately, they never procreated to extend their line.
The remaining tigers were too busy reading books and playing around on social media sites, making it so they never had time to build relationships.
After a while, all but two of them died off.
One female and one male.
The male, a weretiger by the name of Mike, refused to mate with the remaining female, Bethany, because he preferred the company of gentlemen. Worse, he wouldn’t donate a sample of his baby batter because that would require him to touch himself, which disgusted him something fierce. The reason for this was because he was one of a very few supernaturals who could have discussions with his penis…much like I did with The Admiral. Well, his penis turned out to be female, and thus he found the prospect of doing anything sexual with her, even on the plane of self-pleasuring, distasteful. I didn’t quite understand this being that I’d smack The Admiral about if the need arose. I wasn’t gay, but maybe Mike hadn’t found a way to shut up his penis the way I had mine.
My first thought was that a nice bite or scratch would infect someone and turn them into a weretiger, and that was true. But unfortunately, the remaining tigers wouldn’t play that game for a few reasons. Bethany was extremely timid. If you were to say ‘boo!’ to her, she’d curl up in a ball and wait for the end to come. Even if she had managed to fight back, though, it wouldn’t have mattered because she’d had herself declawed many years ago. As for Mike, he had his nails done on a regular basis and he wouldn’t dare do anything to mess them up. Besides, the only thing he bit into on a regular basis were pillows. Suffice it to say that those two weren’t exactly the proud warriors that weretigers were once known to be.
“If you would be willing to rub one out in a cup,” she said seriously, “we could possibly restart the line of weretigers.”
Her use of the phrase “rub one out” only made it more challenging to believe she was a fae.
“Rub one out?” I said with a grimace, not asking for clarification but more to point out that the term was not becoming of a lady.
She clearly didn’t catch my intended meaning, though, and therefore began listing other terms for the act.
“Yeah,” she said. “You know what I’m talking about. Tug your tugboat, slap your salami, yank your crank, fondle the fella, burp the worm, feed the chickens, drain the dragon, hit the ham…” She took a deep breath. “Pull the pickle, play the organ, launch the hand shuttle, rub the unicorn horn, wax the weasel, date your palm, hug the turtle…” She paused and looked up. “That last one has been going around in the Netherworld recently.”
“Wonderful,” I said, f
eeling like I’d just bitten into a lemon.
“Let’s see, there’s also—”
“No, no,” I interrupted, waving my hands at her. “I get it.”
“So you’ll do it?” she asked excitedly. Then she raised an eyebrow at me. “I mean, you could also just fuck her, if she’s keen on that.”
There was no way this woman was a fae.
“No, thank you,” I replied, stone-faced. “Look, there’s an emergency situation happening topside at the moment and I really need to get through this process in order to return there. So can we please move this along?”
“That depends,” she said, staring at me. “Are you going to help the weretigers or not?”
I sighed. “Right.”
Chapter 8
I almost felt dirty as I sat in the next room waiting for round two. I was sure Rachel would be understanding regarding my agreement to donate to the weretiger cause, but it wasn’t exactly a conversation I wanted to have. And I definitely had zero desire to give the old handshake to The Admiral.
“Yeah,” he said, “I’m not really fond of that idea either. Maybe Rachel will do it for us?”
“Not now,” I replied.
“Well, no shit, dude. Getting a handy during reintegration is even too weird for me.”
“I meant that I don’t want to discuss this right now,” I clarified. “I have other things on my mind.”
The rest of my team had already moved along to the next phase before I’d gotten into this room. Of course, they’d all breezed through the paperwork part of the process, so they had a head start.
My biggest worry at the moment wasn’t reintegration, though. It was trying to figure out who the hell these new amalgamites were. It was still baffling to think that they even existed. Try to imagine believing you were the only person left in your family. For all your life, you knew it to be the case. There were no parents, grandparents, siblings, or even cousins. You were completely unique and alone in this world. Then all of a sudden you found out you’ve got four others who are just like you.
Clash of Flames: An Ian Dex Supernatural Thriller Book 7 (Las Vegas Paranormal Police Department) Page 3
