by Ким Харрисон
Glenn looked ready to protest but then dropped his gaze. "Thank you."
The easing of my tension didn't last, and my blood pressure went higher the closer we got to the body. My nose started working, and over the scent of musk gone rank and excited vampire was the smell of redwood. I smoothed my expression into nothing, my gaze going to the tidy-looking guy in jeans and dress shirt standing a little apart from everyone. They have a witch out here? Interesting.
The circle of Inderlanders parted to show a Were corpse sprawled dramatically at the base of a large tombstone, the grass stained with black blood. A dead wolf the size of a pony was a lot less disturbing than a naked man, even one that had blood matting his fur and the eyes rolled back so far the whites showed. A hind leg had a clean tear to the bone, slicing the femoral artery open. The scent of blood was strong, and my gut tightened. Suicide? I thought, averting my gaze. I doubted it.
Denon was smiling at me with his lips closed to hide his human teeth. Beside him the witch's nostrils widened as he took in my scent hidden behind the orange spice perfume I used to muddle Ivy's instincts. His mouth quirked, and he touched his clean-shaven chin with the back of his hand. My skin prickled when he tapped a line, and I didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered that he thought I was a threat. What did he think I was going to do? Curse everyone? But upon remembering he could see my aura as easy as sneezing and that it was covered in black demon smut, I couldn't blame him.
Two men stood from their crouch over the corpse, leaving one to take core samples to determine how far the blood had soaked into the ground. I felt like we had interrupted punks tormenting a dog to death, and I forced myself not to back up when they turned their attention to us.
Glenn looked cool and casual in his suit and with his gun on his hip, but I knew by the strong scent of cologne coming off of him that he was wired for action. Eyes fixed on Denon's, he said evenly, "Ms. Morgan and my team would like a moment with the body before you move it."
Someone snickered, and my face warmed.
"Whoring for the FIB, Morgan?" Denon said, ignoring Glenn. "I see the bus is picking you up again. Or did you need to use a disguise to get them to stop for you?"
I frowned, sensing Glenn's rising anger. Denon's honey-smooth voice made him sound like he should be hawking negligees on the women's channel. My God, it was beautiful, and I wondered if it was what had attracted his vampire master in the first place. That, and his deliciously dark skin now marked and scarred beyond belief. It hadn't been that way when he was my boss. Clearly things had changed.
"You seem upset, Denon," I taunted. "I bet you had some splainin' to do about almost releasing that murder victim." I smiled sweetly. "Be a prince and run the updated coroner's report over to me this afternoon? I'd be interested to see what you almost burned in the kilns."
The witch snickered, and the last Were rose, his gaze darting nervously. Denon's pupils widened to shrink the rim of brown about them. It wasn't as obvious as last year. He was losing status with whoever had promised to turn him when he died. A few more years like this and Denon wouldn't be much more than a shadow. And given his anger, I think he blamed me.
The Weres flanking him fell back at Denon's thick, casually moving fingers. The man eased closer with the same grace as before, but it lacked the threat it once had. That I wasn't trapped in a five-by-five cubicle probably helped.
"Leave," he said, his words smelling of baking soda toothpaste. "This is an I.S. matter."
Glenn stiffened, his hand nowhere near his gun. "Is that a refusal to let us examine the body?"
Denon moved his hard-muscled bulk gracefully in undeniable threat.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I cried, then lurched back when Denon's arm shot out, his hand reaching for my raised arm.
Glenn moved, his squat stature stepping smoothly in front of me to grab Denon's hand. In a motion as sweet and smooth as melted chocolate, he twisted Denon's arm, levering the larger, muscle-bound man into submission. I blinked, watching with wide eyes. It was over already.
Bent at the waist, the living vampire shifted his weight. Glenn's grip tightened, and his feet scuffed for better traction. The Weres retreated, tense as Denon's neck reddened. Facing the ground and his arm held straight behind him, he was like a kitten being held by the scruff of his neck. Something popped, and Denon grunted.
Glenn leaned closer while holding the bigger man helpless. "You," the FIB detective said softly, "are a disgrace." He pushed on Denon's arm, and the man grunted again, sweat beading up on his shaved head. "Either crap or get off the pot, but this halfway nothing is giving the rest of us a bad name." Shoving him away, Glenn set his hand comfortably near the butt of his weapon.
Denon caught his balance and spun to face us. Hatred that Glenn had shown him up in front of his peons radiated from him. It was obvious his shoulder hurt, but he didn't touch it.
"I can handle my own battles, Glenn," I said dryly to distract Denon. I might survive one of Denon's retaliations, but Glenn was vulnerable without his gun and the element of surprise.
Glenn frowned. "He wasn't going to fight you fair," he said, handing me one of those zip-strips with a charmed core of silver that the I.S. used to keep ley line witches in custody.
My eyes went from the innocuous-seeming strip of plastic to the witch, then to Denon, scowling. "You little pissant," I said loudly. "What's the matter with you? All I want to do is look at the body. You got something to hide?" I took a step forward, and Glenn caught my arm. "If you've got a beef with me, let's do coffee and I'll explain things to you in little words," I said, jerking from Glenn. "Otherwise, get out of my way so we can do our job. Until murder has been ruled out, the FIB has as much right to look at the body as you do."
The little vein in Denon's forehead had popped, and the low-blood vamp gestured for everyone to fall back to the van. They moved slowly, hands in their pockets or fiddling with equipment. From out of sight, I heard the rustling of the FIB guys. The tension grew, not lessened, and I pressed my weight into the earth in case I had to move fast. Ceri's advice to avoid ley line magic flitted through me, but I sent a thought out for the nearest line anyway.
"You're a fool, Morgan," Denon said, his resonant voice vibrating in me though he stood ten feet away beside a tall tombstone. "Your search for the truth is going to kill you."
That sounded more like a threat than before, but he was walking away, I.S. personnel trailing behind him. At a loss, I tucked the zip-strip into my bag and looked for Jenks while Glenn organized the FIB personnel. Jenks was staying out of sight, though I'm sure he had seen the encounter. Slowly my pulse eased, soothed by the sounds of the insects and lapping water.
Glenn would have a hissy fit if I tried to look at the body before he was ready, and seeing the witch standing by himself, I smiled. It had been ages since I'd talked shop with anyone, and I missed it. He stared at me, and with that stellar response, I checked my impulse to go over.
"We're done here," Denon said loudly to the subordinate Weres.
"Leave the cleanup for the FIB." It was condescending, but Glenn made a pleased sound, making me think he didn't want to share his separate findings. Denon must have heard him, for when the officers headed for their vehicles, the living vampire grabbed the witch's arm and pulled him aside.
"I want you to stay," he said, and the man's eyes narrowed, the sun peeking through the leaves to make eerie shadows on him. "I want a report as to what the FIB does and finds."
"I'm not your lackey," the witch said, eyeing Denon's grip. "If you want my findings, submit a request at the Arcane's front desk like everyone else. Get your hand off me."
My eyebrows rose. He works in the Arcane Division? My dad worked in the Arcane. I looked him over with a new interest. Then I caught myself, cursing my idiotic attraction to the dangerous. God, I was a fool.
Denon let go of the witch's arm. Stiff and prideful, the big man headed for the van, gesturing to make the Were in the front passenger's seat move to the back.
The door slammed shut, and shifting back and forth, the van worked its way onto the thin strip of pavement. The other I.S. vehicle followed, leaving us, the ambulance, and the witch—the latter having no way to get back to the I. S. tower that I could see. Man… I knew how he felt.
Sympathy rose high. Gathering my resolve, I headed over. I'm being nice, not looking for a date, I told myself, but he did have pretty blue eyes, and his hair was that soft curly brown that would feel oh so nice between my fingers.
From behind me came Glenn's hushed but impatient words, and the guys in lab coats descended on the Were like birds. Jenks dropped out of the oak tree, startling me with his harsh wing clatter when he landed on my shoulder. "Ah, Rache?"
"Can it wait?" I muttered. "I want to talk to this guy."
"You have a boyfriend," he warned. "And a girlfriend," he added, making me frown. "I know you. Don't overcompensate because of one lousy kiss."
"I'm just going to say hi," I said, stifling a swat at him. And it hadn't been a lousy kiss. It had been a pulse-pounding, hell-of-a-kiss that had shocked me and left me breathless. I only had to figure out if the thrill had been an honest emotion stemming from Ivy or my shallowly reveling in the wicked thrill of being someone I really wasn't. My eyes dropped. It matters. One will lead to hard questions about myself, the other will hurt Ivy. Leading her on just so I can find a thrill is really, really wrong, and I'm not going to do it.
Forcing a smile, I halted before the guy. His I.S. badge said TOM BANSEN, and he used to have long hair, according to his picture. "I'm Rachel—" I started, extending my hand.
"I know. Excuse me."
It was terse, and, pushing past my extended hand, he went to stand over the FIB personnel and watch them take their data. Jenks snickered, and I stood there with my mouth hanging open. My eyes fell to my outfit. It wasn't that unprofessional. "I just wanted to say hi," I said, hurt.
"He doesn't smell as witchy as you do," Jenks said smugly. "But before your head swells up, if he works in the Arcane, he's classically trained and would flatten you. Remember Lee?"
My breath came and went, and I felt a stab of worry about this Friday. I had devoted my life to earth magic, and while not any less strong than ley line, it was slower. Ley line was flashy and dramatic, with a quick invocation and wider application. Demon magic mixed them both into something very fast, very powerful, and everlasting. Only a handful of people knew I could invoke demon magic, but the smut on my soul was easy to see. Perhaps that, along with my growing reputation that I dealt in demons, had him on edge.
I couldn't let the misunderstanding stand, so, ignoring Jenks's muttered dire predictions of hell and snowflakes, I sidled up alongside Tom. "Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot," I said against the murmuring backdrop of the FIB conversation. "Do you need a ride anywhere when this is done?"
"No."
The denial was downright hostile, and the FIB guys crouched over the body looked up, eyes wide.
Tom turned and walked away. Pulse pounding, I took a step after him. "I don't deal with demons!" I said loudly, not caring what the FIB thought.
The young man retrieved a long coat hanging over a tombstone, draping it over his arm. "And you got that demon to testify how? That mark on your wrist is from what? "
I took a breath, then let it out. What could I say?
Looking justified, he walked off, leaving me surrounded by FIB personnel trying not to meet my eyes. Damn it, I thought, my jaw clenched and my stomach churning. I was used to fear and mistrust from humans, but from my own kind? Mood sour, I hitched up my shoulder bag, Tom had a cell phone pressed to his ear. He'd get a ride. Why had I even bothered?
Jenks cleared his throat, and I started, having forgotten he had been sitting on my shoulder the entire time. "Don't worry about it, Rache," he said in a small voice. "He was just scared."
"Thanks," I said. While I appreciated the thought, somehow it didn't make me feel much better. Tom hadn't looked scared. He had looked hostile.
From across the way, Glenn finished giving instructions to a young officer. Clapping him on the shoulder, he headed in my direction, the gleam back in his eyes and his posture holding a repressed excitement. "Ready to take a look?" he said, his thick hands rubbing together.
I glanced at the dead Were, nose wrinkling. "What about the footies?" I said dryly, remembering the last time I was at one of his precious crime scenes.
He shook his head, eyes on the body. "They fouled the site," he said, his disgust at the I.S.'s techniques clear. "Apart from throwing up on the victim, you can't make it any worse."
"Gee, thanks," I said, jumping when his hand hit my shoulder companionably. I smiled at him so he knew it wasn't unwelcome, just surprising, and he squinted.
"Don't let it get to you," the FIB detective said softly, his dark expressive eyes going to the witch's distant silhouette among the tombstones. "We know you're a good woman."
"Thanks," I said, exhaling to let the hurt go. What do I care what one witch thinks anyway? Even if he is cute?
From my ear Jenks snickered. "Awwww, you two are so sweet, I could fart fairy balls."
Tossing my hair to make him fly away, I turned my attention downward. The men at the body had finished their preliminary look and moved off, loudly discussing how long the corpse had been here. It couldn't have been more than since morning; the smell wasn't bad, and there was no tissue damage from decay or flies yet. And yesterday had been hot.
My thoughts flashed back to a gutted deer carcass I'd found in the woods this spring, and, steadying myself, I crouched beside Glenn. I was glad that my nose wasn't as sensitive as Jenks's. The pixy looked positively green. After letting him hover uncertainly for a moment, I swung my hair out of the way in invitation, and he immediately landed on my shoulder. His warm hands gripped my ear, and he took dramatic breath after noisy breath, complaining about the reek of alcohol that my perfume used to carry the orange scent. Glenn glanced at us as if wondering what the hell we were on about. I turned my attention downward.
Mrs. Sarong's personal aide made a very powerful wolf, and to think that the person in fur before me had committed suicide was ludicrous. He had the silky black hair most Weres did, his lips pulled back to show teeth whiter than a show dog's, now stained with his own blood. That his bowels had released somewhere else was proof to me that the body had been dumped. A bad feeling rose as Denon's words echoed in my memory. The I.S. was covering something up, and with me helping the FIB, it was coming out. Someone wasn't going to be happy about that.
Maybe I should just walk away.
"He didn't die here," I said softly, settling in more firmly where I crouched.
"I agree." Glenn shifted uncomfortably. "He was identified from an ear tattoo, and it's only been about twelve hours that he's not been accounted for. The first victim had been missing for twice that."
Damn, I thought, feeling a chill. Someone was getting serious.
Glenn picked up a foreleg and rubbed a thumb against the hair. "This has been cleaned."
Jenks flitted down, his tiny feet hovering just above the dull nails, almost as long as he was tall. "It smells like alcohol," he said, hands on his hips as he slowly rose. "I'd bet my back acres that he had medical tape on him like that secretary."
My eyes met Glenn's, and he set the Were's foot down. Without finding the tape, this speculation didn't mean squat. From the blood on his teeth, it looked likely that the leg wound he'd bled himself out from was self-inflicted, but now I wondered if "looked" was the key word. It had been given more succinctly than in Mrs. Sarong's secretary's case, as if someone were gaining experience. Blood matted his hindquarters and soaked the ground. It was probably Were blood, but I doubted the blood on his fur and the blood on the ground was from the same person.
"Jenks, any needle marks?" I questioned, and his wings hummed to life. He hovered over the ruined leg for a moment, then landed on Glenn's offered hand.
"I can't say. There's too much hair. I can go with
you to the morgue if you want," he offered to Glenn, and the man grunted an affirmative.
Okay, it's only a matter of time before the two crimes are linked. "Think it's worth flossing his teeth?" I asked, remembering the medical tape in the woman's teeth.
It was Glenn's turn to shake his head. "No, I'm guessing the body was cleaned before it was dumped." A heavy sigh came from him, and he stood. Jenks took flight to land on the tombstone behind the Were. I tried to memorize the name on it, wondering if it might be important. Crap, I wasn't a detective. How would I know what was important or not?
"Proving he's been moved isn't a problem," Glenn said from above me. "It's tying this one to Mr. Ray's secretary that's the problem. Maybe after we get him turned back, he might have pressure or needle marks."
I rose as well, noticing that whoever had dumped the body had taken the time to press the Were's paws into the grass to get them dirty, but it was obviously surface dirt. His nails were as clean as if he'd been working at a desk the last twelve hours. Or strapped to a medical gurney.
"At the very least, you can get a proper necropsy," I offered. "The body has been moved. The I.S. has to admit that murder is a possibility. You'll find a link to Mr. Ray's secretary."
"And it might give the I.S. time to fabricate whatever evidence they want," Glenn said bitterly, pulling a pack of wipes out from a breast pocket and handing me one.
I hadn't touched the body, but I took it since Glenn obviously felt I should. "He'll have needle marks. Someone killed him. I mean, how do you tear yourself up enough to kill yourself but leave your feet clean and smelling of alcohol? "
Glenn's eyes were on the Were. "I have to prove it, Rachel."
I shrugged, wanting to get home and shower before my meeting with Mr. Ray. Prove it, shmove it. That wasn't my job. Just point me at someone to bring in and I'm there. "If we can find out who is doing it, we'll have a better idea how to find the proof," I said, but I wouldn't meet his eyes. I had a bad feeling the why they'd been killed was sitting in my freezer, and the who was a short list of Cincy's finest: Piscary, Trent, Mr. Ray, and Mrs. Sarong. I think I could cross Newt off the list. She wouldn't bother to cover anything up.
