Standard Deviation of Death (The Outlier Prophecies Book 4)

by Tina Gower

We find a round table away from the noise of whatever sports game is playing overhead at the bar. Yang orders us a round of ciders. Miles changes his order to an ale. Something dark that has a high IPA. I smell the hops from across the table every time he laughs.

  I pick apart peanut shell castings, eyeing the windows and doors. Becker must be going crazy knowing we veered from the original plan. But if I don’t talk to Michelle tonight, I don’t know if I’ll get another chance.

  Ali sits to my left, her eyelids floating down until she snaps them back up again. Whatever’s in the cookies is affecting her hard on the second dose. Lipski at least seems to be doing better. Then again it could just be Ali’s baker hours, which are harsh. This is well past her usual bedtime. And no nap in-between because she’s been guarding me.

  Lipski paces at the door, probably working out the same struggle in his head I’ve been debating. To text Becker or to not text Becker what’s happening. We told him we were going to another location to meet with Michelle, but that’s it. I begged for twenty minutes and at the end of that twenty I’d get carted out of here by both my protectors and possibly a third if he got wind of my plan. To Becker, it didn’t matter we were at the safest possible location for a meet and greet.

  Yang laces her fingers together and sets her arms onto the table. “So, I have to know. You and Ian Becker?”

  Nyla perks up at the mention of the latest gossip. “Holy hells, he must be phenomenal in bed.” Everyone looks at her with a gasp. She shrugs saying, “werewolf,” with an eye roll as if that explains it all.

  My gaze darts from each person’s gaze. I’m not ready to be out to the office and I still don’t know what the consequences will be. “Well, actually—”

  Miles waves his hands, elbow on the table and twisting to meet Nyla head-on. “Now, wait a minute. Wait a minute. What do you mean by that statement?”

  In the middle of taking a sip, Nyla chokes on it. “Oh come on. Really? Werewolves are famous for their orgies. They’re sex maniacs.”

  “It’s not an orgy. It’s pack,” I lamely attempt to correct. “And it’s not sexual.”

  Yang sets her drink down with a thunk, ignoring my comment like everyone else at the table. “Have you met Officer Becker?”

  Nyla snorts. “Yes. He’s adorable and sweet, but—ya know, a werewolf.” She smirks and leans back in her seat.

  I raise my voice over the conversation. “It’s still very new. We’re just taking time to get to know each other.”

  Nobody seems to buy that pitiful generic relationship explanation.

  “And please, don’t mention the relationship outside of this circle.” I lean in and look each of them in the eye. That’s right, if someone tattles I’ll hunt them down. Just for good measure I add an extra layer of guilt. “I don’t want it to jeopardize my death notice case.”

  That does it. They all have the decency to look forlorn. Hopefully it will keep them from gossiping outside of the department for a while longer, so Gretchen can plea for Becker and me to stay in the same department.

  Michelle enters, hand over her eyes, searching. My hand goes automatically to flag her down before my brain catches up to my action. What am I doing? She doesn’t know me. And as expected, she doesn’t give my flailing, eager jumping any notice. Yang, however, catches on and twists around to see who I’m making myself a fool over. She hops from her stool and brings Michelle to us.

  Miles goes in for a hug and she crosses her arms in front of her. “Oh no. No, no, no. I won’t let you catch this cold.”

  “Bah.” He pushes her hands away like he’s dismissed her warning. “I’m not afraid of a little germ. Who knows when I’ll see you again?”

  “Don’t you worry, my friend,” Michelle quips. “I won’t stay a stranger this time.” She sets her purse on the table and eases onto a stool.

  I’m struck dumb.

  “Fantastic job on the lecture tonight.” Nyla holds her glass in the air as if to salute. The others follow. “Especially the bit about conditional probability and the effects of following confounding variables and mistaking them as data.”

  Damn. I should have said that. All of that. If I’d been paying attention I could have had a smart reply ready.

  Maya clinks her wineglass with the others and shifts it between her fingers, holding it out as though it’s a dainty champagne flute. Her expression thoughtful and muted as if we’re all at a country club rather than a dressed up downtown shifter bar with ruffle curtains. “An interesting take on quick elimination of static. I’d never have thought of non-event-changing variables quite that way.”

  Shit. That was also very smart sounding. My brain runs through all the smart words I know, hoping to form them into some coherent sentence to catch Michelle’s attention.

  Ali glances at her watch and then makes a say-something-you-idiot face. It adds a perceived time limit, a reminder I’ve got to hurry. Any minute we’re in danger of an overprotective werewolf barging through those doors. Please be stuck on a call, Becker, please. Or Michelle will excuse herself and leave without me ever uttering a word, not even a great-to-meet-you. I’ve had this fake-dream conversation with my hero hundreds of times. Funny, Michelle was always more engaging and somehow heard of me and she started all those conversations.

  “I, uh, h-had, have questions. Question. I have a question.” I stutter through, possibly interrupting a conversation. Everyone does that weird conversation pause where their mouths open, mid-speaking, and their eyes seem to say “Really. We were having a nice talk until you butted in.”

  I might be exaggerating. Or not. Definitely not.

  Yang nods in encouragement. “Michelle, this is Kate Hale. She’s the new investigative actuary I was telling you about. Actually she’s in your old office.”

  “Oh!” Michelle looks pleased, sticking out her hand.

  “I’d love it if you could explain static to me.” My brain sees the hand and doesn’t catch up to the offer, but has already worked out the questions and figures we must get on with it. Stupid brain. “It’s an unfamiliar term.”

  As an afterthought, I reach for her still-outstretched hand. She pulls away just as I reach, probably assuming I missed my cue, but she catches my gesture in time to dart it back out. I shrink, not reacting to her offer and jam my arm into my torso T. rex style. Oh wait. I notice her hand reach out farther like a prairie dog poking from his hole and getting a better look at the plain. This time we connect.

  This is so horrible.

  “Well, that was awkward!” Michelle laughs it off, diffusing the humiliation on the surface, but it continues to burn through my chest and cheeks. She blinks. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

  “It was static. Kate doesn’t know that term.” Maya jumps in helpfully. “I don’t mind going over it again. Static is probability noise. The events surrounding an event that are able to flex as the prediction changes. It’s a word Ms. Kitman invented—”

  “Oh please, Maya, call me Michelle!”

  She blanches. “No. I couldn’t possibly. Remember our conversation after lunch today.”

  “After lunch?” I ask.

  Miles leans over and quickly explains. “Michelle came in just before lunch to see us all while she was in town. It was a wonderful surprise.”

  My jaw tightens. I’d been standing in line and tossed to my ex as a consolation case. Meanwhile my office mates were chumming it up with my hero. Of course.

  “You don’t have a drink, Michelle.” Nyla stands rummages through her purse. “Let me buy you a drink.”

  Michelle follows after her, smiling, laughing, and telling her she is such a thoughtful person.

  Fuck. I should have bought her a drink. Instead I chose the idiot route.

  Maya sips her wine and addresses me. “Anyway, static, where was I…”

  Oh great. Now the one-step-up-from-intern, the junior actuary, who took over my position, and got a one-on-one with Kitman I’d kill for, is explaining my profession to me. I
bite the insides of my cheeks.

  “It’s fine. I think I got it,” I blurt. “Thank you.” I add with a lame smile.

  I get a text from Hank. I saw you speak to her. Did she give you any info on the cases in question?

  I could have asked her about a past case. Yes, add that to the Possible Things I Could Have Said.

  Give me more time, I reply.

  We’re short of that at the moment, cupcake.

  I shoot him a glare. I’m not your dancing monkey, damn it, Lipski.

  Nyla returns with Michelle as they hang off of each other, both in hysterical laughter as though we just missed the punchline.

  Nyla waves off our questioning looks. “You had to be there.” She collects herself.

  “No, but really.” Michelle continues whatever conversation they were having at the bar waiting for drinks. “I get stopped all the time to offer comments on past cases. As you saw.” She gestures behind her as she sips her drink. “It’s either that or wanting my consultation on a case. For free usually.”

  I slink in my seat. It doesn’t have a backrest, so I slump instead. As if I could become any more unappealing with my conversation starters and my body language. Well, that nixes that plan. I discreetly gather my purse from under the table and rehearse my getaway excuses. Might as well leave on a good note, so best to plan out my every word. I hold out a sticky note pad away from view and jot down my phrasing. I can’t afford to fuck this up. Maybe with the proper good-bye when I can arrange another meeting she’ll remember my brilliant exit.

  “…But there’s one I might take,” Michelle explains. “An offer to handle a case on a private basis. It’s not important enough for any of the departments or private companies to take, but it’s concerning. A predicted flux of blood fever at the local witch training facility. They’re willing to pay a decent fee for my help to prevent it. It sounds like they’d like to take care of the matter quietly, too, so it’s a win-win. I collect a little cash while in town and if I like it, I can set up a permanent office locally.”

  What? No. She can’t. She’d be moving herself right into Wyrd’s sites. She’d make herself a target.

  “How intriguing.” Miles downs the last of his ale. “Youth these days. So troubling.”

  “Blood fever?” Ali asks, perking up a little. “At West?”

  “West Coven. Yes.” Michelle sips her wine. “You’ve heard of it?”

  “I was trained there.” Ali pinches me under the table. “Blood fever is serious business. But doesn’t that mean someone is using fate-changing blood magic on school grounds? If they’ve been doing it for some time, you can’t prevent it.”

  Shit. This could be a lead to the seer we’re looking for. The one who’s teasing apart separate strands of fate to bend destiny to Wyrd’s will.

  “Maybe. That’s only one possibility on the spread of blood fever. Could be as simple as a spell that will go wrong.”

  “It’s a big job. You’ll need an assistant. Someone who knows magic and math.” Ali manages to say math without making it sound like a dirty word. Her eyes light up as though she’s just thought of something, but I know my cousin. She thought of it the minute Kitman mentioned her old alma mater. “Kate. This is perfect for Kate. She’s on sabbatical right now and she knows enough about magic. Well, anything she doesn’t know I can fill her in on.”

  Michelle shakes her head, not sparing me a look, maybe to keep my pride intact. “I usually work alone.”

  “But you’re out of touch with the area.” Ali lays the reasons out, pointing her fingers, counting them off. “You won’t be able to sneak into the school as well as someone who knows their way around. I heard you say that you owed a lot of your success to blending in when you needed to.” Dang. Ali must have been paying some attention during the lecture. She caught more asleep than I did awake and willing. “Kate spent a lot of time at the dorms with me. She grew up with witches. She knows their slang. They won’t open up to just anybody.”

  “But you’re on sabbatical. I’m sure you want that time to yourself—”

  “I don’t,” I interrupt, maybe too quickly. “It’s not voluntary…I mean. Shit.”

  “You’re on probation?” Michelle straightens. It might have been a slight recoil.

  Yang, thank you, saves me. “It’s just a pesky death notice. Remember toward the end, before your retired, you’d get those once a month.”

  “I hate those things.” Michelle leans forward with a scowl. “Nuances is what they are. How can anybody get anything done with the new policies they put in place those last few years?” Michelle’s fingers tighten on her glass. “You know what? You can absolutely join me, Karen.”

  “It’s Kate.”

  I grin. We shake on it. This time without the awkwardness.

  Chapter 9

  Ian stumbles into the master bedroom at the safe house a little after six in the morning. He takes off his coat, his shirt, whips his belt out of the loops, and looses his balance.

  He kicks the bed frame hard, muttering a slurred curse and proceeds to shimmy out of his pants.

  I rub my palms over my eyes. “Becker?”

  He holds up his hands. “I’m all right.” Except he’s clearly not. His skin has a light sheen of sweat that reflects off the moonlight streaming in through the cream wispy curtains. It’s too dark to see his pallor, but he’s hunched, ragged around the edges. Exhausted.

  He crawls across the bed, clad only in his boxers. He has a don’t-give-a-fuck air to his posture and his focus is one hundred percent on getting into bed as quickly as possible, yet with a gingerness that leads me to believe he’s not feeling well. He jerks the cuffs dangling from the metal bar at the bottom of the headboard, missing a few times before getting his wrist inside, but can’t seem to clamp it. His forehead wrinkles. “A little help?”

  “Uh…are you okay?”

  He huffs out a frustrated breath. “Do I look okay? Wolves and magic are a bad combination.” I help him into the cuff and lock it. He groans and slides under the covers, lying on his stomach, head facing me. “I feel like shit.”

  I place a hand over his forehead. He normally runs hot, but he’s burning up. “I’m not going to let you guys do this again. Ali couldn’t keep awake, you’re sick.” I squint in the darkness. The moon provides enough light to see some of his features. “Your eyes are pale. And Lipski…well, actually he seemed fine after the second cookie.”

  “Gremlins have a natural resistance to magical side effects. Ali said she hoped the troll side of him would allow the cookies to do their spell, but he wouldn’t experience much. But to be careful we can’t give him too much information in case he’s completely immune.”

  “No more cookies for you either, Becker.” I shrug out of my shirt, but keep my shorts and bra on, and hug him, covering as much of his skin with mine as I can. “If I’d known—”

  “If you’d known you wouldn’t let us do it and we’d be sitting around trying to figure out how to get information from Kitman that we might not have access to when she leaves town again. We can’t log this as an official case outside of your death threat investigation because we have too many damn holes in every department. Fucking retired accounts?” He covers his face with one large calloused hand. “It’s a mess.”

  I’d texted him all the info we’d gathered both from Michelle and Kyle.

  “And with you off chasing some blood fever case during the day? I have night shifts all week. When are we going to sleep?” His face scrunches up and he whimpers.

  He’s whining. I shouldn’t find this cute, but I’ve hit the point where my own death notice isn’t a big deal in my mind anymore. Especially after Michelle listed off all her death threats after we agreed to work together. Miles said he gets the occasional one, too, but not since he’s started avoiding the more intense cases.

  Although, to Becker this threat remains real, no matter what we say or do. Wyrd still wants me dead. We’re searching for a witch, using the case at the
coven as an excuse to get closer to the key players in the witch community, but also pumping Michelle for past knowledge on affected past cases without putting her in harm’s way. It’s not really going to be an ideal setup. He’s right about that. And he’s not going to like what Ali and I worked out.

  “We should talk about that.”

  As if he senses something, which as a wolf he probably does, he peeks a suspicious eye through his fingers.

  “Ali should be my point person for the coven. You should hang back. Ali thinks that a lot of the witches won’t open up if there’s a wolf following us around everywhere.”

  He shakes his head. “No.” He pulls me closer and hides his face into the pillow as though the decision is final. No more discussion.

  “Just think about it for a second.” I rub small circles between his shoulder blades. He’s sweating, shivering. “You know this is the better way to attack this.”

  “We work together. I have the access.”

  “So does Lipski.” He has more because he’s a detective. “And Lipski approved this plan. You gave him autonomy. We need to be smart about this.”

  “So smart is cutting out the big dumb wolf?” His shoulders sag. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m wired from working the beat. I’m sick. And I just—Hank probably told you.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “The detective exam?” He clarifies when he realizes I’m clueless. “I’m scheduled to take it again in three weeks. We usually have to wait six months, but the captain pulled some strings. He thinks now that I’ve got Dalia I’ll magically grow a few IQ points.”

  Dalia, Becker’s maybe-sister. Ian’s bosses sprang that surprise a few days ago, bringing a wolf from a nearby pack in hopes of centering him. Due to my pulling away after resisting being Becker’s permanent pack, it made Becker look unstable. So his bosses decided to do a little pack matchmaking. But this pack from Turmoil was the same pack that tried to recruit Becker months ago to breed him with a nearly pure female werewolf. Nearly pure wolves are rare, very rare.