by Deanna Chase
A heavy weight landed on my shoulder, and I jumped as Shaw came to stand beside me.
“Don’t.” His thumb smoothed over my collarbone.
I pushed out the word. “What?”
“Make this about you.” He led me forward into the shelter of his arms. “You’re one of the good guys. You don’t take innocent lives. You don’t hurt innocent fae or people. You’re a good marshal.”
I buried my face against his hard chest, taking solace in his familiar scent. Not the earthy citrus one, the tempting lure, but his essence, bare skin that reminded me of sunrises and wet grass, new beginnings.
His chin dug into my scalp when he rested it on top of my head. “I don’t know what’s changing with your magic. The magistrates kept you suppressed for so long while you were in school, it’s possible you have skills none of us suspect. We’ll learn them as we go, okay?” He drew back to pin me with his gaze. “Even if this thing between us goes south, I’m always here for you, got that? Promise me that much, Thierry.”
Numb as I was, his words couldn’t hurt me. “You sound certain we’re going to fail.”
“Spectacularly,” he said with a tender smile, “and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
His lips brushed over mine softly before he faded back into the dark corner of the room to work. I raised my phone’s camera, grateful for the separation the screen gave me. Each tidy row of this grim exhibit exposed a new horror. A black mother púca and her litter huddled in their sleek rabbit forms. An emerald-haired mermaid sunned on a hollow rock, waiting on a tide that would never rise to carry her back out to the sea.
We lost hours in that room, poring over what Shaw had dubbed humanity’s capacity for greed and cruelty. As fae, our hands were no less bloody. He and I were capable of committing worse acts.
Already my palm itched in anticipation of the judgments to come while the darker aspect of my nature pondered how human souls tasted. Would they be as filling as the chimera? Would the flavor be as rich? The effects last as long before my own hunger began gnawing my gut, begging to be fed?
Hesitating before a manticore, its human face twisted with rage on its lion’s body, its enormous batlike wings unfurled in flight, its scorpion stinger poised over its spine, I snapped one last picture.
We were all monsters here.
Chapter Eleven
Down the street from the warehouse, Shaw and I found a coffee shop to hole up in until we got a confirmation from the marshals on the ground in Odessa that the Richardsons were heading our way.
We picked at bear claw pastries while staring at the phone on a napkin in the center of the table.
It mocked me with its blank display and distinct lack of flashing lights, so I thumped its screen.
“Feel better?” He spun his empty coffee cup on the edge of its base.
I huffed. “The phone had it coming.”
“Clearly.”
Flicking an almond off my Danish, I switched tactics. “How many marshals are on that team?”
“Marshal Johnathan Worth is handling the investigation into Mr. Richardson.” His gaze touched on his phone. “He oversees evidence collection onsite. Maybe three others are bagging and tagging.”
“Who’s your contact?” I pressed.
“Worth,” he answered. “I’ve worked with him before. Quiet guy. He’s a dhampir.”
“Half human and half vampire,” I said slowly. “How does that work? Vamps are dead, right?”
“If you’re thinking I asked him which of his parents was a necrophiliac, you’re wrong.”
Heat stung my cheeks. “Sorry, nothing should surprise me these days.”
“You’re young yet.” He chuckled. “Wait until you’ve been a marshal for a few years.”
Ignoring the age comment, I shelved my vampy curiosity for later. “Can you call anyone else?”
He shook his head. “I left a message for Mable when you went to the ladies’ room.”
“What?” Snow in July was almost as likely as Mable missing a phone call. “She didn’t pick up?”
His cup spun a little faster. “It rang three times then rolled over to voicemail.”
“I don’t like this.” I sank back in my chair. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Sit. Wait.” He mirrored my position. “This is also part of the job.”
“The boring parts were glossed over, much like Paperwork Mountain.” I narrowed my eyes. “Is it too late to turn in one of those instructor-review forms? There were serious gaps in my education.”
“This coming from the only person in her academy class who graduated,” he said.
I shrugged. “If I hadn’t wrecked the tower, more cadets might have reached the flag.”
“No.” His grin turned smug. “I had collected all the flags but yours.”
A nervous pang tightened my chest. “Tell me that wasn’t on purpose.”
“You saw me,” he said, voice rough. “It was all I could do not to…” He crushed the foam cup in his hand. “You earned your badge. Don’t let anyone tell you any different. The magistrates sent Watchers in the event the results were contested. You were the only one who fought, did Mai tell you that? The other cadets handed me their kerchiefs.” He snorted. “She threw hers in my face and ran.”
I barked out laughter. “Mai did that?”
Massaging the base of his neck, he nodded. “Not everyone is as brave when faced with the hunger.”
Not his hunger, but the hunger. I wasn’t the only one who craved distance from myself.
“It’s still you.” I let him see I believed what I was saying. “Underneath it all, it’s still you.”
“You think so?” His gaze drifted toward the ceiling. “Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
“Don’t make me beat you with a hypocrisy stick.” I leaned over the table and shoved him. “You don’t get to give me fortune-cookie advice if I can’t return the favor. Get your head out of your ass, bucko.”
“Bucko?” A softening of his features told me he was amused. “Confidence is sexy on you.”
“Yeah, well.” I ducked my head to hide my tingling cheeks. “Fake it ’til you make it.”
A sudden, urgent buzzing killed our conversation. Both of our gazes shot to his phone.
It was in his hand, at his mouth before I could intercept. “Shaw.”
Eager for something to do, I scooped our trash onto a tray. I dumped it before grabbing my cup. May in Texas was hot. Not bake your brain in your skull temperatures like we saw in July and August, but I figured another round of drinks for the road wouldn’t hurt. Though I might switch us to decaf.
Six cups of joe had Shaw’s leg bouncing under the table. My finger tapping wasn’t much better.
At the counter, I ordered two bottles of water. I hated the plain stuff, so back at the table I doctored mine up with a packet of the kiwi-strawberry flavored powder I carried with me. Shaw declined with a shake of his head.
“What do you mean?” He massaged his temples. “People don’t just disappear.”
“The Richardsons?” That would explain the lack of update.
He made a hush gesture with his hands, which tempted me to snag his phone and get straight to the answers. Instead, I turned up my bottle and chugged water to flush the caffeine out of my jittery system.
As it became apparent I wasn’t getting details out of him until the call ended, I blocked out what I could of his conversation. Counting red sprinkles on the inflatable donut behind the register helped distract me.
“Something’s wrong.”
A second passed before I registered Shaw had spoken to me.
“Mable said no one at the office has heard from the marshals in Odessa in the last twelve hours. She’s organizing a group to drive up there now.” He tapped his phone on the table. “No one has seen the Richardsons since they were released from custody. The marshal who tailed them is missing.”
I tensed to stand. “What’s our next move?”
“Five agents don’t fall off the grid.” He ran a hand over his mouth. “Not without help.”
“Do you think the Richardsons took them out?” I frowned. “Are they capable of that?”
His voice lowered to a cutting whisper. “How can you ask that after what we saw?”
“The marshals would have looked human,” I said just as softly. “They would have been wearing glamour. It’s one thing to murder fae you can convince yourself are animals, or abominations. It’s another to pull the trigger while you’re staring down fae who look human, on two legs, at eye level.”
He ground his teeth. Good. Our almost-relationship wouldn’t survive another humans are food diatribe. Humans were not food. Fine, not just food. They were, well, they were…people.
An exhale whistled through his teeth. “We have an hour until we get an update.”
“If the Richardsons were coming to Dallas, they’d be here by now.” I frowned. “That means they should have tripped a perimeter spell. So either they’re not coming or they’re crashing somewhere under the radar.”
“They’ve got money,” he reminded me. “We’re assuming they didn’t hop a plane overseas.”
“Fae law has a longer reach than mortal law,” I countered. “Their lock spell was weak, but it was proof they’re more magically capable than we anticipated. Then there are the missing marshals to consider.”
“The spell failed.” His leg kept bouncing. “It should have sealed the door to the frame.”
“What if it wasn’t meant to keep us out,” I wondered aloud, “but to alert them if we got in?”
“They had to know we would search the warehouse. They didn’t make any effort to hide it.”
“What if that was the point?” I chewed on my thumbnail. “What if they counted on us following the obvious breadcrumbs while they were biding their time, waiting to be released from custody? What if what they’re hiding isn’t in the city?” I dug out my phone and dialed Mable. “I need the last-known whereabouts of the subjects and confirmation whether they returned to the ranch after their release if you’ve got it.”
Shaw stared at me, waiting until I hung up before making a rolling gesture with his hand.
“She’s calling me back.” Stomach tight, I pushed out of my chair. “I could use some air.”
He waited until we got outside and the sidewalk emptied, then he closed the gap so our elbows brushed with each step. “Those fae had to come from somewhere. The Richardsons couldn’t procure them solo.”
The same thought had occurred to me. “They were fencing for a poacher.”
“Had to be.” He let me pull a step ahead. “How is this poacher getting rare fae out of Faerie into Texas? There’s only one tether between realms in the state, and it’s anchored on conclave grounds.”
Good question. No poacher had balls big enough to parade his conquests across conclave property. They must be using a tether outside the state that anchored to a more remote location. It might even be off-map.
“The chimera was alive.” My steps slowed as it truly hit me. “That means they’re smuggling live fae.”
Shaw stopped beside me, an odd look on his face. “Predators have to eat.” He pressed redial and brought his phone to his ear. “Hey, I need you to dig up sales records for the cattle. Find out if the ranch was self-supporting.”
The familiar sound of Mable’s voice drifted to my ears as she signed off with a huff.
I followed his reasoning. “You’re thinking the ranch was a front.”
“Predators like chimeras and manticores require massive amounts of fresh meat to keep them alive for any period of time. It makes sense that if the Richardsons were bringing in fae from out of state, they would do it in bulk. It takes time to process a body. More time if the fae are kept alive for other reasons.”
Black-market vendors would sell their own mothers for fresh organs, horns, hooves, bones from rare stock. Sold to the right magic practitioner or initiated fanatic, those parts were worth their weight in gold. Even as small as Wink was, its back-alley streets housed a licensed Unseelie bazaar on the fae side of town.
“The question is where.” We reached the parking deck adjacent to the apartment tower. “The ranch was destroyed.”
“The house and the barn were destroyed,” he corrected me as we searched the reserved guest spots for our car.
“Same difference.” Or was it? “Do you remember the receipt for the construction of those storm shelters? Each of the five shelters on the property would have cost him around one hundred grand to build.” A half million dollars buried underground. “It’s excessive even by Tornado Alley standards.”
“Underground holding cells?” Shaw jabbed the key fob, and our car chirped.
“We need to find out if the storm shelters were discovered and, if they were, whether they were searched. With a bill that high there must be blueprints floating around somewhere. At this point, I’d settle for a map showing their general vicinity on the property.” I borrowed his pen. “I’ll ask Mable when she calls.”
“You do that.” He started up and backed onto the street.
I looked up from my note-making. “What’s with that tone?”
“I’m dropping you off at the hotel.” He stomped on the gas. “You follow this lead.”
The pen rolled out of my hand. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to disable the perimeter spells.” At my puzzled glance, he added, “I have something better, but it takes time to arm them. The new hexes will track the Richardsons if they cross a warded threshold.”
“Impressive. An incubus with a knack for spellwork.” Most used their lures to get what they wanted. “I had no idea you were so handy.”
“I slept my way through a coven once,” he said in a detached voice. “I kept my eyes open and walked away three grimoires richer than when I got there.”
If he was waiting for condemnation from me, we would be here for a while. I wasn’t much for throwing stones, and all the panes had already been shattered in my glass house.
“Stop bragging.” I rescued my pen from between the seats and began doodling in my notebook until his white-knuckled grip on the wheel eased. “I have work to do.”
“I’ll try to make it fast.” He sounded hesitant, as if he didn’t trust he had gotten off the hook so easily. “The sooner we leave the better.”
“Leave?” I twisted to face him. “We’re driving back to Wink?”
“No.” His lips hitched into a half grin. “We’re flying into Midland then driving to Odessa.”
An hour. We could be on the ground in an hour. Two tops. “What if the conclave finds out?”
“Oh, they will.” He winked. “I plan on them reimbursing our tickets.”
“Shaw.” My teeth worried that same thumbnail. “I’m still on probation for the next six months.”
“I can’t make the decision for you. It’s your job if they don’t buy into the asking-for-forgiveness-instead-of-permission bit.”
I thought about that room, those fae and the humans who had profited from their misery.
“I have a confession to make. I’ve never flown before.” The potential for fiery death had my stomach executing a double barrel roll. “We should probably grab Dramamine on the way to the airport.”
Yeah. Because motion sickness was the worst of my problems.
Chapter Twelve
After staggering off the plane, I made a beeline for the ladies’ room while Shaw strode to the rental car desk to snag us a new set of wheels. We finished at the same time and met at the exit door.
“Here.” He passed me an ice-cold bottle with a peach on the label. “This was all they had.”
With a hand held in front of my mouth, blocking my breath, I accepted. “Much appreciated.”
The first sip was god-awful. I hated peaches. I know, I know, take away my Southern belle card. At least swishing the water around my mouth got rid of the bile taste clogging the back of my throat.
While I was doing the good old rinse-and-spit routine, Shaw jingled a set of keys in his hand.
What can I say? He was a subtle kind of guy.
“Feel better?” A pack of gum rested on his open palm.
“Yeah.” I took two hits of wintergreen and started feeling human again. Half human anyway.
He tossed the chunky keys then plucked them from the air. “Then let’s get a move on.”
Vibrations in my jeans pocket almost set off another round of dry heaving. “Hmph?”
“Thierry?” Mable’s gentle voice was a balm to my raw nerves. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” I took another swig of vile peach water. “Just an upset stomach.”
“Oh.” She perked. “In that case, take some of the pink stuff, dear. It should do the trick.”
I dredged up half a smile. “I’ll do that.”
Papers rustled in the background on her end. “Give me a minute. There. All right. I have the information you requested.” Her exhale blasted the receiver. “I hope I’m not too late to be useful.”
“You’re fine. It’s not like we could use our—” phones on the airplane, “—never mind.”
She clicked her tongue. “Knowing Shaw, it’s probably best I don’t ask.”
“I— Yeah.” I didn’t want to start lying to her. Shaw was a big boy. He could fess up when the time came.
“As for the information you requested…” she hummed while the familiar click-clacking noise of fingers on a keyboard filled the line, “…the Richardsons were last seen en route to their ranch by a marshal heading into town for lunch. He passed their car, recognized the subjects and called in the sighting. That’s all I have there.”
Considering our lack of contact point, I had to ask, “What happened to him?”
“That call is the last recorded contact we have on file for him.”
A pang echoed through my chest. “What about the others?”
More clicking as her keyboard sang. “It looks like his call was the last documented contact from the ranch.”
