Shifter Legacies Special Edition: Books 1-2

by Mark E. Cooper

  Sound tech found murdered in studio. Police baffled.

  He didn’t quite snort at his imaginary headline. He buttoned buttons as fast as he could. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “You wouldn’t want me to lose my job would you?”

  Would he!

  “Of course not,” he said, allowing her caress. “Why don’t you use magic for all this?”

  “We do most times, but I thought the mundane equipment would make a nice change.”

  He gritted his teeth in anger. Equipment of a magical nature did not use wires, so of course she wanted to use a mundane microphone. He felt like ripping her head off for that. Ronnie edged the technician aside and helped David with his tie and jacket. The disgruntled tech stalked away, only to be replaced a second or so later with the makeup artist. A tall man, he easily topped David by six inches. He wore a bright orange silk shirt with lace at collars and cuffs. The style—popular among college students—didn’t suit his pale complexion at all. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, David refrained from telling him.

  “Hello there,” the makeup artist said, offering a limp hand to shake. “Swen’s the name.”

  “David.” He shook hands and indicated Ronnie. “May I introduce my good friend and assistant Ronnie Burdett?”

  “Charmed I’m sure,” Swen said, squeezing Ronnie’s hand briefly. “They sent me over to fix your face, David, but there isn’t much time… quick, grab that seat before someone else does!”

  Ronnie grabbed the chair and Swen pushed David down into it.

  “They never give me enough time,” Swen muttered as he rummaged in the box at his feet. Similar to a mechanic’s toolbox, it contained all his powders, paints, and brushes. “I’m an artist by the Goddess. It’s intolerable the way they treat me. No mirrors, no lights…”

  David sat silently through the muttering. Swen finally found what he wanted and went to work. Creams and powders came and went. David tried hard not to let his agitation boil over. He hated the feel of the brush on his face, and the nauseating smell of the products Swen chose to use threatened to make him heave. He suffered in silence.

  “There we are.” Swen stepped back. “We can’t have you all shiny-nosed can we?”

  “No,” David growled. He softened that, “thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Just wait until I tell my boyfriend I did a shifter. He’ll just die!”

  No doubt.

  David waited for the commercial break and quickly took his place. He grimaced as he sat next to Susan. His seat was still warm.

  “Everything all right?” Sue asked, noticing his expression.

  “Fine.”

  “There’s no need to be nervous. Just take your queues from me and answer my questions. I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”

  David nodded, letting her condescension go. He settled himself comfortably and watched the clock cycle toward zero. Ronnie stood in the shadows behind camera three and smiled at him. He could smell her pleasant earthy scent even from here despite being assaulted by dozens of others in the studio. It was something familiar amidst the strangeness. It calmed him having one of his own kind nearby, especially a bitch.

  He noted the many differing reactions his presence provoked. The cameramen smelled of boredom and sweat, the stagehands smelled of sweat and fear—they knew what he was. Sue smelled of frilly things and flowers. The combination was particularly off-putting—like being trapped in a whore’s boudoir. Rancid meat would have been preferable.

  The clock reached zero.

  “Welcome back,” Sue said, smiling professionally for the cameras. “In the studio today we have someone intimately familiar with the issue regarding preternatural creatures. David Lephmann, President of NSPCL and a self-confessed lycanthrope. Welcome to the show.”

  “Thank you, Sue. It’s good to be here,” he said then smiled. If his ease surprised her, Sue gave no sign of it. Even her scent remained unchanged; sickening, but unchanged.

  “Why don’t we start with an explanation of what the NSPCL is and what it does.”

  He nodded. “Very simply, it stands for the National Society for the Preservation and Conservation of Lycanthropes, and what it does is provide support and help for lycanthropes of all types.”

  “I see. So your organisation helps werewolves—”

  “Not just wolves, Sue. Any werecreature can expect our full support and help.”

  “I see,” Sue said with a smile a little less warm for his interruption. “Your organisation doesn’t welcome other preternatural creatures then?”

  “Not specifically, but we will help on occasion if the situation warrants it. We do—as I’m sure you’re aware, Sue—have close ties with other organisations whose members are classified as being beyond the mundane.”

  Sue glanced at her notes. “Now that we have some background, perhaps you would care to comment on the current debate.”

  “Certainly. In my opinion, this debate on whether to legislate against people different from the majority is reprehensible. It’s tantamount to genocide.”

  “Harsh words—”

  “Death is a harsh reality we all must face. Organisations such as the Anti Monster League would imprison my people in death camps to be exterminated.”

  Sue’s eyes widened and darted uncertainly to her producer. He nodded enthusiastically and signalled her to continue. “There has been no suggestion of that, Mr. Lephmann.”

  “Professor Goddard suggested it less than an hour ago live on this very programme. We are people like any other. Some of us are kind and decent; others are less kind—just like people everywhere. President Mitchell’s proposed amendments are a huge step forward for anyone believing in justice and equality.”

  “I can see how the amendments would please your people, Mr. Lephmann, but what of Techtron? What does any corporation have to gain from backing the Amendment Lobby?”

  David hesitated. Sue had deviated from the teleprompter without warning. He had been half-expecting something to go wrong, but not this.

  “I’m here today representing the NSPCL, not Techtron.”

  “But isn’t it true that you’re also Techtron’s CEO as well as spokesman for the Amendment Lobby?”

  “Yes of course, but—”

  “You wear so many hats, Mr. Lephmann. Isn’t there a conflict of interest inherent in representing so many diverse organisations?”

  David smiled. “Not at all, Sue. Their interests coincide. The Amendment Lobby is composed of various non-human groups; each having their own needs and desires, but paramount among these is the aim of securing equal rights. Currently they cannot vote, they cannot hold public office, they are excluded from venues and businesses of all kinds—places their human counterparts may enter freely. As a result, their ability to earn a decent living and pay their taxes is compromised—”

  “And Techtron wants to help them out of the goodness of its heart,” Sue said abruptly, interrupting David before he could take over her interview and use it to promote the Amendment Lobby’s agenda.

  David quickly changed tack. “Techtron is a multi-billion dollar corporation. I very much doubt your viewers would believe me if I said its involvement was altruistic.” Leaning back, he interlocked his fingers and smiled. “No, Sue, as always Techtron’s investors want a good return on their investment. Higher returns require higher profits. That is the plain truth of the matter. Techtron’s board of directors believe that expanding our policy of hiring non-humans would greatly decrease our overhead.”

  “Cheap labour you mean.”

  “That’s harsh, Sue, and too simplistic. Mr. Newman and others might dispute me in this, but non-humans are physically superior to humans—”

  Sue’s eyes gleamed with a predatory light. “You call yourself superior? A strange thing to say considering your platform is based upon equality.”

  David forced himself to chuckle. It was a struggle not to get angry, but then it was always that way for his kind. “You misunderstan
d. What I said was that non-humans are physically superior to humans. They are generally stronger and have greater stamina, so they can work harder for longer periods.”

  “Working harder for longer argues for, not against, my point, Mr. Lephmann.”

  “Techtron’s salaries are significantly higher than those of our nearest competitors, Sue. Unlike other companies, our pay grades are based upon an employee’s ability not his species. Were it otherwise, your roundabout accusation that Techtron is enslaving people and forcing them to work might apply. It doesn’t.”

  “What of the guilds?”

  “Techtron does not discourage guild membership. Our employees are free to make their own choices.”

  “You don’t discourage it, but neither do you encourage it.”

  David smiled. That was true, but the guilds had not ceased trying to force him to make guild membership a condition of employment at Techtron. There was no possibility of that. A growing number of employees were non-human and therefore unable to join one.

  “No that’s true… was that a question?”

  Sue shook her head slightly. “An observation. I doubt you’re making many friends among the guilds with your experiment, Mr. Lephmann.”

  He shrugged before he could stop the movement and cursed silently. He didn’t want to appear uncaring. “Non-human integration into our workforce is not an experiment, Sue. It’s policy. As for the guilds, they do not accept non-human members. Although I would welcome a change in their stance, I don’t see that happening soon. So no, you’re right; I have no friends among them. Guild cooperation aside, hiring non-humans has proven very profitable for us. Techtron’s current share price is a reflection of that. Other companies have taken a keen interest in what we are doing, and some—particularly those in the security industry—are following suit.”

  Sue smiled and inclined her head slightly, acknowledging his victory. “Let’s turn our attention to the current situation—a non-human serial killer loose in the city. What have you to say regarding Professor Goddard’s words earlier today?”

  Sue had finally returned to the list of questions Channel 5 had supplied to David when they asked him to appear on the show. He breathed a silent sigh of relief and turned his thoughts back to the answers he had prepared.

  “Unfortunately, Ian Goddard and organisations such as AML will see those like me dead by the millions.”

  “Why?”

  “A minority of my people have foolishly abused society’s trust, and as a result AML has gained ground in its vendetta against non-humans. For years now, Mr. Newman has been recruiting men and women from all walks of life with a single purpose in mind—eradicating people like me.” David stared into the camera’s lens, and it obligingly zoomed in upon his face. “Please, please… don’t let it happen.”

  “And on that note, here’s a word from our sponsor,” Sue said with a pleasant smile.

  The commercial came on.

  * * *

  Chris awoke feeling rested and alert. Not a bad thing, but for her it was unusual. She often joked that she could hibernate like a bear, never waking despite noise, and found early mornings a trial. This morning was different somehow. She felt hyper-alert and full of beans. She could hardly wait to get onto the streets and start catching bad guys.

  She was about to climb out of bed and get dressed when everything began to go wrong. There was a needle in her arm. She stared at it in surprise. There was a clear plastic tube attached to the needle, feeding a colourless liquid into her arm.

  IV?

  She followed the tube up to a stand holding a bag full of clear liquid next to the bed. She looked around the room. It was bright and cheerful but sterile. There was nothing to help her with why she was here, but she had visited enough victims in hospital to recognise a private room.

  “Shit,” she whispered. What was she doing here, why couldn’t she remember?

  A pulse-monitoring sensor clamped her index finger and more wires disappeared under the covers. She took a peek expecting nasty injuries, but everything seemed fine. She inventoried her room again, looking for something that would explain her presence, but she found nothing to help her. It was a hospital room like any other. She was thinking about seeking an explanation outside when the door opened to admit two people she knew from work.

  “Hi guys, looking for me?” she asked cheerfully. She could finally get some answers. Her smile slipped when the gloom on their faces registered. “What?”

  “We have a few questions, Chris,” Jimmy said for both of them. Baxter stayed quiet, looking uncomfortable.

  “Shoot.”

  “What happened that night?” Baxter asked gruffly.

  At least he’s his usual charming self.

  “Which night?”

  “Don’t mess me around. I’m not in the mood for your mouth. Give me what I need.”

  Normally she would have busted his chops for that, but she was in a good mood. She felt so full of energy she was surprised it wasn’t crackling over her skin. Whatever the IV contained, she wanted the recipe!

  “Be nice, Dave. I don’t know which night you mean. And while we’re on the subject of what I don’t know; why am I in hospital?”

  Baxter’s face darkened, but Jimmy stepped into the breach—figuratively speaking. He remained near the door as if unwilling to come too close.

  “Ease up, Dave. She doesn’t know. Like the Doc said—”

  Chris fiddled with the pulse sensor as she studied their faces. Something smelled off. They were acting strangely, standoffish, and instead of asking how she was feeling like friends were supposed to do when visiting someone in hospital, they wanted to interrogate her.

  “What don’t I know? What’s going on?”

  “That right?” Baxter asked, ignoring her question. “You don’t remember?”

  “Remember what dammit? You know why I’m in here. So tell me.”

  “Can’t do it, Chris,” Jimmy said. “Orders.”

  “Orders? Cappy said—”

  “Not him, the Doc.”

  “The Doctors said not to tell me? I feel okay, no broken bones, no holes, what gives?”

  “We’re wasting time,” Baxter said tightly. “Your case is big news; Cappy is under pressure to wrap it up quick. That means he’s ragging my arse. I don’t like that.”

  “I’m a case?” she said, frantically trying to remember something that would shed light on her case. That she was a case worried her. What was it about?

  “If she says she doesn’t remember, then she doesn’t,” Jimmy said to Baxter. “We should be looking at the scene and talking to the witnesses. We might learn something that will lead us to Ryder.”

  Ryder?

  “What scene, where is—”

  “The hell we will,” Baxter said ignoring her. He was acting as if she didn’t exist, or didn’t matter. Maybe both. “This case is deader than a vamp.” He stormed out the door without a backward look.

  Jimmy smiled sadly. “Don’t think too badly of him, Chris. It’s hard for him seeing you like this. For me too. The Doc said you wouldn’t remember anything, but Cappy insisted we ask in case he was wrong.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “See you around, Chris. I wish… sorry about… sorry.”

  Jimmy left.

  “Sorry for what?” Chris said to the empty room.

  She threw back the covers and examined herself more thoroughly, but she found nothing wrong. Under her gown she was butt-naked, but that didn’t matter, what did was the sight of her body free of damage.

  Chris blushed as another man entered her room without knocking. What is this, Grand Central Station?

  “Lieutenant Humber?” the man asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

  She hurriedly pulled the covers up to her chin. “Yes…” she said, finally noticing the white coat. “Doctor…?” She felt better knowing he was a Doc. He had probably seen worse hundreds of times.

  “Brauer.”

  “Am I dying or something, Doctor Brauer?”<
br />
  His jaw dropped. “No of course not.”

  “If I’m not dying, Doc, why are you standing over there like you’re waiting to sign the death certificate?”

  He grinned and took a step forward, but then he stopped again as if realising he was doing something he shouldn’t. “Do I really look like that?”

  “You really do.”

  “You’ve seen it I suppose.”

  “Too many times. Come in, take the load off,” she said patting the bed.

  “I can’t do that I’m afraid.”

  “No? Why not?”

  Brauer looked around the room for inspiration. Chris watched him and tried to figure out what he was thinking. She couldn’t begin to guess.

  “What’s the last thing you remember, Lieutenant?”

  “Call me Chris, Doc. Everyone does.”

  “The last thing?” he asked intently.

  What was his problem? “The last thing? I was... running?”

  “Were you?”

  She frowned. She couldn’t recall why she was here. She was uninjured—she wasn’t hurt in any way that she could detect. She concentrated, trying to bring something forward. Nothing came to her but the smell of her own sweat—no, it was Brauer’s. She could tell the difference. He was terrified of her.

  “Why are you sweating, Doc?”

  “It’s hot.”

  “No.” It was comfortable, just right in fact.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  Did she? She said earlier that she remembered running. Was that right? “I was… chasing someone?”

  He nodded.

  “A perp?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did I catch him?”

  “Did you?”

  “Cut the bull, Doc!” she said, suddenly furious at his evasions.

  Brauer backed up and pressed himself against the door. “He caught you.”

  The anger fled as fast as it had come. “Oh.”

  That made sense now that she thought about it. She was the one in the hospital not the perp. Jimmy had mentioned someone named Ryder, but she didn’t know that name. Why couldn’t she remember?

  “He shoot me, or what?”

  Brauer licked his lips. Fear rolled off him in waves almost smothering her. Goddess! What in the nine hells was going on?