Behind him eight people crowded into the landing: Sandra and Lucrezia from Clan Bouda, both combat operatives; Russell and Amanda from Clan Wolf; two guys I didn’t know; Derek, the third employee of Cutting Edge; and my lawyer, Barabas.
“If this is a lynch mob, you didn’t bring enough people,” I said.
“You don’t answer your phone,” Jim said. His voice was at odds with his face: his face said “bone-breaker,” but his voice said “romantic ballad singer.”
“I crushed it.”
“Why?” Barabas asked.
“I was having relationship issues,” I told him.
Derek grinned. He used to work with Jim before joining Cutting Edge. At nineteen, he had been almost arrestingly handsome, but then some monsters poured molten metal on his face. We had killed the fuckers, but Derek’s face never healed quite right. He wasn’t disfigured, but he was scarred, and he looked like the type of man you would not want to meet in a dark alley. I’ve seen him walk into a bar and stop the chatter with his face alone.
Jim, Derek, Barabas, and two combat boudas, not counting the other guys. Either they expected me to put up a hell of a fight, or something heavy was about to happen.
“Can we come in?” Jim asked.
And see Raphael’s handiwork? Unfortunately, telling the Pack’s chief of security to shove off would have been extremely unwise, not to mention counterproductive to my investigation. Great. The shapeshifters gossiped worse than bored church ladies. Before tonight the whole Pack would know about Raphael’s stunt. “Of course.”
I watched them file into my apartment. The two boudas nodded at me in passing. This was interesting.
The eight shapeshifters spread through my living room and kitchen and suddenly my apartment seemed too small.
“I thought Raphael had moved out,” Barabas said.
Remain calm. “Actually, we never lived together in my place. I lived at his,” I said. I would not bite Barabas. It wouldn’t be right.
“He was back here last night while she was out,” Jim said. “Him, and a large moving truck.”
“Oh.” Barabas thought about it. His eyes lit up. “Oh!”
Slapping my lawyer was not in my best interests either. I turned to Jim. “You put a detail on my apartment?”
“The second you became a target,” he said.
Well, that just took the cake. I tilted my head. “So good of you to let me know, cat. I’d hate to mistake my babysitter for a threat and accidentally shoot him.”
Jim blinked. Ha! I had managed to surprise the spy master.
“So these are new furnishings?” Barabas said, his face pure innocence.
“Don’t tempt me, Barabas.”
The two bouda women made big eyes at the portrait of Aunt B on my shelf.
“Lovely decorations,” Sandra offered and bit her lip, obviously straining not to laugh.
“Yes, the way the light here plays on Aunt B’s face is very nice,” Lucrezia added.
“Fuck you, Lucrezia,” I told her.
Sandra groaned and the laughter burst out of her mouth. She doubled over. Lucrezia dissolved into giggles.
By tonight, not just the Pack, but the shapeshifters in Canada would know what Raphael had done to my apartment. I would murder him.
I crossed my arms on my chest and turned to Jim. “Is there a reason for all of you coming here?”
“Yes,” Jim said. “Why do you have your computer on the kitchen table?”
“This is a long conversation.”
“I have time.”
We sat down at the kitchen table and I briefed him on last night while Derek made more coffee for everyone. I explained Anapa in broad terms, the Bone Staff, the volhv, and the knife. At the end, Jim nodded at the computer. “Kyle, see what you can do with that?”
A beefy guy who looked like he bent steel rods for a living sat down at the computer, opened a small briefcase, hooked up some box with blinking lights to the tower, and his fingers started flying over the keyboard. He winked at me, still typing without looking at the keyboard.
“Gloria has no fingerprints on file,” Jim said. “No driver’s license, no city permit for her shop, nothing. She just showed up one day and set up her trinket bazaar.”
“And nobody cared because it was White Street?” How did he know all this?
Jim nodded. “How can I make your life easier?”
If we didn’t have an audience, I might have hugged him. “Gloria and her friends likely murdered Raphael’s people. First, I need to canvas White Street and the Warren and shake some information out. How often was she at the shop, who came to visit her, when did she leave, what did she drive, where she went, and so on. Basic legwork. Second, I need to establish Anapa’s whereabouts.”
“You still like him for this?” Jim asked.
“There’s something weird about him. I have a gut feeling that he is up to his ass in this mess, but he probably wasn’t working with Gloria. Third, I need a ritual knife expert. I left a message for Kate, so that should be taken care of if I can tear her away from Curran’s side for five minutes.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Jim said. “I’ll check in with you as soon as we know something.”
Someone knocked. This was my day for visitors apparently.
“Hold on,” Jim said and nodded at the door.
Derek walked to my door. I heard it open and then Derek’s voice said, “Come in, Detectives.”
Barabas hid behind the wall in the kitchen.
Collins and Tsoi entered my living room. Two uniformed officers followed and Derek brought up the rear. The cops stared at the shapeshifters. Jim and Company stared back.
“What are all of you doing here?” Collins finally asked.
“I could ask you the same thing.” Jim kept his voice calm.
“We need to speak to Nash,” Tsoi said.
“By all means,” Jim said. “We won’t be in the way.”
“We’d rather do this down at the station,” Collins said.
“Is my client under arrest?” Barabas said, stepping out in plain view.
Collins grimaced. Tsoi rolled her eyes.
“You didn’t have to jump out like a jack-in-the-box,” Collins said.
“But I know how much the two of you love surprises. I’d like to see the warrant, please,” Barabas said.
Collins locked the muscles on his jaw.
“No warrant?” Barabas smiled.
Tsoi was looking around the room, doing the math. Ten shapeshifters vs. four cops. Suddenly everyone’s face turned grim.
“All this would go away if you cooperated,” Collins said.
“We’re willing to cooperate, if we get full disclosure on the antique dealer case with access to evidence,” Jim said.
“Not happening,” Tsoi said.
“Your call.” Jim shrugged.
Collins turned and walked out.
“This isn’t over,” Tsoi said and left, the two uniforms in tow.
Nobody said anything until Sandra at the window announced, “They are getting into their cars.”
“I told you,” Jim said to Barabas. “I know Collins, he’s a reasonable man.”
Barabas sighed. “But I was looking forward to a fight.”
Suddenly things made sense: somehow Jim had discovered the cops were coming to pick me up, and he’d brought his posse over to keep them from taking me off.
“How did you know they were coming?” I asked Jim.
“I have my ways.”
“You bugged the PAD station.” Sonovabitch. If he got caught, there would be hell to pay.
Jim smiled without showing his teeth. “Something like that.”
“They are under heavy-duty pressure from above to solve the case,” Barabas said. “People with snake fangs made somebody in the mayor’s office really nervous. Almost makes me wonder if they know something that we don’t and they want to put a lid on this whole thing as fast as they can. The plan was to pick you up and swea
t you a little for information. We can’t let them do that—you have things to do and there is no reason you should be wasting time in their interrogation room. Since your phone was out, we decided to show up before they did.”
“We take care of our own,” Lucrezia said.
But I wasn’t their own. Well, not officially. And yet they had come here to back me up. I looked from face to face and realized they would do it again and I would do the same. In their heads, I already belonged.
Wow.
For once in my life I didn’t have to hide who I was. They had my back and that was that.
Half an hour later everyone filed out of my apartment. Kyle took the computer with him. On the way out, Sandra stopped by me. “Aunt B wants a word. Today at ten at Highland Bakery. She said not to be late.”
The gentle paw of the Bouda alpha. “I’ll be there.”
Jim was the last to exit. He paused at the door. “I’ve got the legwork. My people will do the background and they’ll dig up whatever dirt Anapa has.”
“Aha.”
“I know Collins. He is competent and thorough. When you leave your apartment, you’ll have a tail. I need you to do nothing for twenty-four hours or so. You know how the game is played: you’re the lightning rod. Lead them around, don’t lose them, go have lunch with Aunt B, visit a market or something. Be anywhere but near Anapa or White Street. Let the cops concentrate on you, so my people can work in peace. You can use a day off anyway. You look like hell.”
“You’ll spend your life a bachelor, Jim.”
“Stay away from White Street.”
“Fine, I got it.”
I hustled him out the door and locked it. I had phone calls to make.
At eleven o’clock I walked through the door of Highland Bakery wearing black pants, a black shirt, my steel-toed combat boots, and crimson lipstick. It matched the new me much better. My clandestine police escort conveniently parked right across the street.
Located on Highland Avenue, the low brick building that housed Highland Bakery had survived magic’s jaws mostly intact. This area was called the Old Fourth Ward. Before the magic took Atlanta apart, the Fourth Ward was a happening place with historic buildings from the beginning of the previous century, defunct factories converted to loft apartments, and renovated shotgun shacks—long, narrow, rectangular structures, once reminders of poverty transformed into trendy housing. Supposedly the name came from the structure of the house: if you fired a shotgun through the front door, the pellets would fly through the whole house and out the back door.
The Old Fourth Ward was home to the Boulevard—a place where more drugs passed hands than in most other areas of the city combined—and Edgewood Avenue—where dozens of bars and restaurants had offered drinks, music, and other pleasures of the nocturnal variety.
Now with Downtown in ruins to the west and Midtown equally ravaged, the Old Fourth Ward had quieted down. The bars and restaurants were still there, but they catered to working-class patrons. It was a place where carpenters, masons, and city employees came for lunch, and Highland Bakery was the place where they stopped on the way home when a craving for sweets struck them.
I had checked the outdoor area, but Aunt B wasn’t at any of the black wrought-iron tables, so I went inside, past the counter filled with confections of chocolate, berry, and cream, through the narrow room with a bench to the back. The restaurant was near empty—lunch was a good hour away. Aunt B sat in the corner, with her back to the wall. She looked to be in her early fifties, slightly plump, with a kind face and chestnut hair she put up in a bun. She wore a nice green blouse and khaki capris and looked just like a grandmother about to serve you some cookies.
Looks were deceiving. Most people were terrified of Aunt B. Hell, I was terrified of Aunt B. Even other alphas steered clear, including my best friend, the Beast Lord’s Consort. Whenever Aunt B was mentioned, Kate got this odd look on her face. Not alarm exactly, but definite concern.
On her right sat Lika, her beta. Tall, well built, Lika had short dark hair and a harsh face, the kind you would expect from a female soldier who spent too much time on active duty. Clan Bouda had a few women who were older, more experienced, and could take Lika out, but none of them wanted the hassle of the beta job. Betas had busy lives and a lot of responsibility. Alphas made decisions, betas saw them implemented.
Here was my chance. I would join Clan Bouda, just like everyone wanted. But I would do it on my terms.
I paused before the table and stared at Lika. “You’re in my seat.”
Aunt B’s face remained perfectly placid.
“Is that so?” Lika’s eyebrows came together.
“Move,” I told her.
“Move me,” she said.
I looked at Aunt B. Normally public challenges were to the death, but there were only three of us here.
“To submission,” she said. “I don’t want to lose either of you. There aren’t many of us.”
Lika got up from behind the table. She had about six inches on me and maybe forty pounds, all of it lean, hard muscle. But she had never seen me fight, while I knew her moves.
I pushed the nearest table back, clearing some space. Lika did the same.
Lika rolled her head to the left, cracking her neck, then again to the right. I rolled my eyes and pretended to look bored.
She lunged. It was a fast, deadly lunge. Her right fist snapped out like a hammer.
I ducked low under the lunge, smashed my shoulder under her rib cage, grabbed her legs a couple of inches under her butt, and heaved. My lunge had knocked her off her center of gravity and she had nowhere to go but up. I flipped her in the air and drove her down with all my strength, crouching to control her fall. Lika’s back hit the floor—boom! Before she had a chance to catch her breath, I drew a line with my fingers across her throat and stepped back.
Lika took two seconds to shrug off the daze and rolled to her feet. “Again?”
I looked at Aunt B, like a good little bouda. I knew about the chain of command. In fact, the chain of command made me feel secure and comfy.
Aunt B nodded.
Lika shifted her stance and rocked back and forth on her toes. Okay. I tensed, as if to advance. She took a step with her left foot and kicked out with her right in a roundhouse, aiming for my ribs with her shin. It was a hell of a kick. Had I stayed still, it would’ve shattered my ribs, crippling me. Can’t do much with shattered ribs, except bend over to one side and moan.
I caught her leg just under the knee, wrapping it with my left arm, took a step forward, pushing Lika back and off balance, and swept her other leg from under her. She went down hard. I crouched long enough to pretend-slice her side—marking her internal organs as my target. If I had claws, I could’ve shoved my hand into her, under and into the rib cage, and ripped her heart out. I took a few steps back.
Lika rolled to her feet. Her lip trembled in the beginnings of a snarl.
“No fur,” Aunt B said. “Ladies, in a public place, we wear our public face.”
“Again?” I asked and looked at Aunt B.
She nodded.
Lika charged. Her hands closed over my arms. A grappling move. She was banking on her superior strength. But no amount of strength could change simple physics.
I clamped my hands on her forearms, planted my left foot in the middle of her stomach, and rolled back. She didn’t expect it and the momentum pulled her down. I rocked forward, slamming my ankle onto her throat and forcing her back, and rolled up into a sitting position with both legs across Lika’s chest and her arm clenched to me. Before she had a chance to get her bearings, I leaned back, stretching her arm across my body. With my thighs as an anchor, all I had to do was pull a little and her elbow would be toast.
“Dislocate,” Aunt B said.
I pulled the elbow. The joint popped with a dry crunch.
Lika growled through her clenched teeth.
“There will be no rematch,” Aunt B said. “She has better technique and m
ore education. She’s also faster than you are. Are we clear, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lika squeezed out.
“Let her go.”
I released Lika’s arm, rose, and offered her my hand. The bouda looked at it for a second, sighed, and gripped my fingers with her uninjured hand. I pulled her up. “Good fight.”
“Whatever.” Her voice didn’t hold any real hostility. “I was tired of being a beta anyway. You can have all the hassle.”
Lika looked at her limp arm. “I’m going to the bathroom to fix this.”
“Don’t be too long,” Aunt B said. “I’m ordering your favorite red velvet cupcakes.”
“Yes, Alpha.” Lika walked away toward the bathroom.
Aunt B turned to me and smiled. I could’ve sworn there was pride in it. It couldn’t be. I was deluding myself.
“Sit down, dear,” Aunt B said. “Love the lipstick, by the way.”
“Thank you.” I took Lika’s spot and waited until the bathroom door closed behind her. “Why hurt her?”
“If you gave her half a chance, we would be here till sundown.” Aunt B shrugged. “Lika is stubborn. Nothing short of a decisive victory would stop her. Remember that. You’ll deal with her as my beta and she does prove troublesome on occasion.”
Aunt B looked at me from across the table. Her irises flashed a bright, ruby red. The weight of the alpha stare pressed on me. I held it for a moment too long and forced myself to look down at the table. “Welcome to the family,” Aunt B said.
I was in. For better or worse, I was now a member of Clan Bouda and Aunt B’s second.
A waitress came in with a tray of cupcakes, a pot of tea, and three cups.
“You haven’t lived until you’ve had their red velvet cupcakes.” Aunt B pushed a plump cupcake toward me. “Have one.”
Gunmetal Magic (kate daniels) Page 24
