Way of the Wolf: Shifter Legacies 1

by Mark E. Cooper

  Angel was frowning hard now, not getting it.

  “Tell me about that night in the morgue. Maybe I can cover this up.”

  Angel’s eyes gave nothing away, but she went very still. Was that something? She wasn’t certain. It could just be that the girl was trying to figure out what she was talking about; it didn’t mean Baxter was right.

  “I don’t know what you’re asking, de-tec-tive,” Angel finally said.

  Her eyes narrowed. That had sounded a little false to her. Her heart began to hammer. Could it be? Could Baxter be right again? How did he make such leaps and be right? Maybe right. As her answer, she retrieved two photos from her jacket pocket and held them up for Angel to see, but it wasn’t Angel who reacted. It was Flex. He surged to his feet reaching for something. Chris’ boomer was in her hand like magic, its barrel shoved hard into his muscled chest.

  “Sit!” she snarled, her heart hammering. Bloody hell, she hadn’t believed Baxter, but she did now. “Whatever you were reaching for better come out real slow or I’ll have to face a board of enquiry about discharging an unsanctioned weapon. Again. Of course, I don’t suppose it will matter much to you. You’ll already be six foot under by then.”

  Flex swallowed and looked to Angel. The girl didn’t notice, she was staring sickly at the photos lying on the table and didn’t see him begging for orders. He sighed and slowly withdrew his hand holding a K6.

  “Naughty,” Chris clucked. “On the table.”

  He carefully put the gun down and she quickly slid it into her lap to hide it. She shoved Flex to make him sit. He let himself drop back down, and she pocketed his gun. The sick look hadn’t left Angel’s face, but as Chris watched, the girl mastered herself and folded away her emotions. They had to be there under the surface, but she wouldn’t know it by the disdain Angel managed to mask them with. The girl spun one of the photos around and looked directly into Chris’ eyes.

  “These are fake.”

  How did she...? Chris smiled and shook her head. The girl was bluffing. She was good at that herself, and recognised it, but Angel was also a witch. She was trying her itty-bitty powers of compulsion to make it stick. She could feel the effect where it clashed with the mood enhancement the tech was trying to impose. It tickled in the back of her brain.

  “Stop it. That won’t work on me. I’m onto your tricks,” she said and Angel’s eyes widened a little. Ha! That had set her back. “I felt it. Didn’t expect that, eh?”

  “How?”

  “The tech in here is messing you up,” she said, but it was a little more complicated than that. Her dad was witch born—a term he used for anyone with the gift—and was a practicing shaman. She wanted nothing to do with magic, but it was in the family and she could sense its use. “It tickles, Angel, please stop or I’ll make you stop. Don’t make me hurt you.” The tickling sensation went away. “Good decision. You know using magic on a police officer is a felony.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, de-tec-tive. I haven’t tried magic on you, and you can’t prove I have.”

  “Good one, and you’re right. I can’t prove the compulsion attempt, but I can prove body snatching, now can’t I?”

  DD was as good as advertised and had done an amazing job on the stills. The photos showed one of the perps—the one they’d decided was the closest match to Angel—looking to one side with the gassed fed at her feet. DD had altered the fit of the ski mask just a little, just enough to reveal a slice of Angel’s neck tattoo so that it peaked out from under the wool. It looked absolutely convincing, as Flex had so ably shown.

  “What do you want? You wouldn’t have come alone if you planned to arrest us.”

  “Oh I don’t know,” she drawled leaning back in her seat. “The big guy here is making me reconsider that. I think trying to kill me rates a different response. I think I’ll keep things simple and just take you both into Central.”

  Angel snorted. “Don’t try to kid a kidder. Where’s your backup? You came in here wanting something from us. Stop wasting my time and tell me what it is.”

  Chris slipped her gun back into its holster. She didn’t need someone taking notice and calling the cops on her. She laced her fingers together on the table, leaned on her forearms, and caught Angel’s eyes with her own. She held them, wanting to see truth in them.

  “I want to know what the hell is going on. Not for the job. For me.” She touched her bandaging. “I got this. I nearly croaked more than once that night, like kicked off for good, Angel. I want to know why.”

  “And you think I know?”

  “You know, I know you do. I want the whole story. Who was O’Neal to you, and why steal his body? How did you get involved with vamps in the first place and why? What do they have on you to make you do this stuff?”

  Angel spluttered in surprise. “You think...?” she shook her head and laughed. “You really don’t know anything, do you? Here I was thinking the cops are closing in, and you don’t know a thing about what’s been going on! Damn me, they thought you did. They’re so fixated on what the cops are thinking and planning...” she shook her head. “Wait until I tell him.”

  “Tell who, who are they?”

  Angel flicked a look at Flex. He shrugged and then nodded. She frowned. “I won’t give you a name—”

  “You will, or we’ll continue this at Central!”

  “Whoa, calm down. I didn’t say I wouldn’t talk, I said I won’t give you names, not yet anyway. You don’t dick around with these people, de-tec-tive. I won’t say shit that will piss them off.”

  Chris could understand that stance at least. Screwing around with the monsters was a quick way to get dead. “Fair enough. Put me in direct contact then.”

  Angel snorted. “No.” She raised a hand to prevent the protest. “I said no, but I’ll ask.” She checked her wristband and noted the time. “He won’t be up for a few hours yet.”

  “He? He who?”

  “I’m not sure what you know or don’t know about what’s been going on, but I can guess. Nothing much.”

  Chris’ eyes narrowed at the dig. “I know O’Neal was a new made vamp. I know his maker lost control of him somehow, or worse, never tried in the first place. I know his maker screwed up and let his,” she made air quotes, “child kill a bunch of women, and had to clean up his mess. I know his mistakes nearly killed me!”

  “Then I was right. You don’t know shit. The vamp your guys shot that night was one of the good guys. He saved your life, de-tec-tive. He’s been looking for the rogue who turned old John for weeks. I told him about you and your little undercover sting. They’re still called stings, right, like in the movies?”

  Flex smirked.

  “Why snatch the body?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? The same reason the feds wanted it. You did know I yanked it out from under them before they could disappear with it?” Angel raised an eyebrow and laughed. “You didn’t!”

  “I was dying at the time,” she said sourly. “That’s why the feds were in the morgue? They were trying to take O’Neal’s corpse?”

  “Yep. They were signing it out when I got there. Lucky for us they hadn’t thought ahead and were waiting for transpo. I brought my own, so took care of that for them.”

  “And the feds wanted the body why?”

  “Necromancy.”

  She started in surprise, unable to help her reaction to hearing that. “No way!”

  “Way,” Angel said and laughed. “Old John was turned by someone, but he’s dead. How were you going to find his master then?”

  She couldn’t answer that. She’d been assuming the swordsman was O’Neal’s master, and that Angel would lead her to him. If she believed the girl, and she was leaning that way, then how would she discover the rogue vamp behind all this now? But necromancy... it was the blackest of magical arts. It was shocking that Barrows would resort to it. At least she was shocked by it. Angel didn’t seem to think it was remarkable, but then she’d been hanging with dea
d things herself lately. Working with vamps might change one’s outlook she supposed.

  “And you have a necromancer too?”

  Angel nodded.

  “And the result of the... ah, questioning?”

  “No idea, I just supplied the corpse. It’s someone else’s problem what they do with it.”

  “It’s been a couple of weeks. Your vamps must know something by now.”

  “I don’t know what they know or don’t. They haven’t told me anything. Maybe necromancy needs a full moon or something. What the hell do I know about it?”

  Chris frowned. Actually, some magical ceremonies did depend on the cycle of the moon. She knew that from the stuff her dad did, but she had no idea what was needed regarding necromancy; apart from the corpse thing.

  “Assuming the vamps know who this rogue is, what do they plan to do, do you know?”

  “What do you think?” Angel said scornfully. “Look, there are four Houses that control every vamp in LA... you do know that?”

  “Vamps are vamps. They’re all monsters to me, same as the shifters. All I care about are the ones breaking the law.”

  “But you can’t ignore their culture!”

  Chris smirked. “Culture? Did you just say their culture?”

  “I might have dropped out of college, but I’m not stupid! You can’t deal with these people the way I do and ignore how they live their lives or ignore the rules they follow. You talk about the law and that’s fine, but they have their own laws and leaders. If you think your law is all that matters, you can think again. Break yours and a shifter might get a taste of the slam, but break theirs and nine times out of ten they’re dead meat. No appeal. Vampires have no rights. You know that better than I do being a cop. You know what happens to them if they get on the wrong side of the law for anything, big or small. They get put down. When was the last time you heard of a termination though?”

  “In LA? Years I guess.”

  “Exactly. The Houses are the reason for that. They control their people absolutely. You think they’re doing a bad job? Look at Chicago or New York if you want to know what will happen here without strong House leadership.”

  “So what went wrong if your four Houses are so great?”

  “They’re not my Houses. I told you, they’re for vamps, like packs are for shifters. The Angels are my crew; they’re my House and pack.”

  “Damn straight,” Flex rumbled.

  Chris sneered at him, but her heart wasn’t really in it. “You still haven’t said what went wrong with O’Neal.”

  “Like shifters, the vamp Houses control territories in the city. The entire thing has been parcelled out with borders and everything. They don’t intersect. The shifters have their territories too, some within vamp borders, some not, and then you have the human gangs like The Angels. Most don’t give a fuck about the monster’s territories because they’re stupid; they’re in a constant war with them because of it. Not being an idiot, I’ve made it my business to know how to deal with the monsters. The Angels are in a good place because I have allies. We fight who I say when I say and only if I say. I don’t do wars, they’re expensive.”

  “Yeah, and we’re not talking money,” Flex said.

  Chris nodded. “So what went wrong?”

  “A vampire in Chicago got ambitious a few years back. His name was Alexander. He built an empire out of his House and went to war with everyone else. He got cocky and it all blew up in his face. The feds got into it and Alexander’s House imploded. Vamps call it the Shadow War now. Alexander’s crew, the survivors anyway, scattered across the Republic. Most have been hunted down now by vamps who want a quiet life and don’t need rogues entering their territories making trouble. Most, get it?”

  Chris groaned.

  “Yeah,” Angel said sourly. “We think one of them wants to set up a House here, but so far we haven’t found him or her, and believe me we’ve been looking.”

  “So the new guy or gal is making trouble for our home-grown vamps?”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Angel agreed with a small nod. “We think he’s building an army to use against the Houses. Maybe old John escaped somehow, or maybe his master let him go for his own reasons. We don’t know. Our necromancer will ask him about it among other things. As soon as we have a location, all hell is going to rain on his arse.”

  Chris grunted. “I want in.”

  Angel looked doubtful.

  “I’m sure you can talk to someone.”

  “I can ask, but I don’t see them agreeing. They don’t like airing dirty laundry in front of witnesses.”

  “Especially not in front of cops,” Flex said. “What can you offer them but official notice and trouble?”

  She couldn’t think of anything, but they owed her. Maybe that would move them? “Tell your vamp he owes me.”

  Angel snorted.

  “Seriously. Tell him that his incompetence nearly killed me that night and see what he says.”

  Angel’s eyes bugged. “You have got to be kidding! I can’t say that!”

  “Of course you can. Tell you what, give me the link when you have him on the line and I’ll tell him.”

  “Ha-ha—no,” Angel deadpanned. “I’ll ask him.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said, secretly pleased with the situation. “Call.”

  “I told you, he won’t be awake yet.”

  “Awake, right.” Chris checked the time on her wristband but they had a couple of hours until sunset. “I’m going to get a drink. Want anything?”

  Angel shook her head.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Chris went to the bar for a couple of beers. When she came back to the table with two open bottles of Empire, she found Flex arguing with Angel, but they went quiet as soon as she was close enough to hear them clearly. She didn’t care. Flex probably wanted Angel to ditch her, but that wasn’t happening. She was determined to meet the swordsman. She took her seat and slowly drank beer, waiting for sunset.

  When the time came, Angel pulled out her link and made the call. “Mister Gavin, it’s me... yeah I know. This is kind of an unusual situation. No, not that kind of danger... or that kind either. Listen, I have someone here who wants to meet you. She says you owe her,” Angel winced and listened intently. “She’s a cop. No, but if I don’t bring her to you I have a feeling she won’t go away.”

  “You got that right,” she said and Angel waved her silent.

  “Okay if you say it’s alright. Yeah, I’ll bring her now. Okay, bye.” She put away her link. “I’m to bring you to him.”

  “I heard.”

  “Now is when you get to change your mind. If I take you to him and it goes bad, don’t come crying to me when you end up dead.”

  She snorted.

  “I’m not kidding,” Angel said seriously. “If you come after me with fangs in your mouth, I’ll stake you quicker than you can blink.”

  Chris believed her. “I would probably let you. I’d rather be dead than a bloodsucker.”

  Angel stood. “You have wheels?”

  She nodded and led the way to her car.

  * * *

  27 ~ House Lochlain

  “Do you keep in touch with the others?” Chris asked as she negotiated traffic.

  “No.”

  “At all?”

  Angel shrugged. “Most of them got out of the life years ago. That or they’re dead. The only thing still the same at the Rascals is the name.”

  “TC still leads it.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t talk? You used to be tight.”

  “Yeah well, shit happens.”

  She frowned. She knew what had happened but didn’t want to bring up Danny’s death again. “This vamp, how well do you know him?”

  “Well enough to know that if you cross him you won’t live long enough to do it again.”

  “Is that supposed to frighten me?”

  “It’s supposed to warn you, but take it however you
want. Mister Gavin and the Angels have a working relationship—”

  She snorted her derision of that notion. “Don’t pretty it up for me. He’s one of the monsters, and it disgusts me that you work for him.”

  “Think what you want, but we don’t work for him. We work with him and the others in Monster Central. We do better than most. Don’t believe me? Ask around. Fighting the vamps and furries is a waste of time and effort. There’s no way to win.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Flex said from the back seat. “You annoy them and they either make you into one of them or they make you disappear.”

  Angel nodded. “We have Lochlain protection because we’re useful. Staying useful is my current goal in life.”

  Flex chuckled.

  “Lochlain?”

  “House Lochlain,” Angel said. “You’ll meet the master of the House soon enough. I suggest you think of something polite to say before we get there.”

  “Fuck polite, I want answers.”

  “You won’t get them with that attitude, I can tell you that. He’s over six hundred years old, de-tec-tive. If you want him to even notice you’re in the room, you better have something to say worth listening to.”

  She fumed, but she did want answers. She was still inclined to go in demanding them, but her earlier idea might work better. A six hundred year old vamp was probably old school. The old tended to cling to tradition and look back at the past wearing rose tinted glasses. She bet someone as old as this vamp would be even more likely to follow outdated concepts. Did he look back and not see poverty and disease but chivalry? Did he remember open sewers and not smell it, but remember with fondness riding the streets on horseback? She bet he did, she just bet he did. If she went in there and made him acknowledge his debt to her, she might gain the answers she sought. It was a plan. A good one? That remained to be seen, but it did have merits—the main one being she didn’t have another.