On the Prowl

by Patricia Briggs, Eileen Wilks, Karen Chance

  This was one of the peculiarities others noticed about him—his penchant for walking whenever possible. Pedestrians were regarded with some suspicion in Midland, but walking was a habit he'd been unwilling to give up. He couldn't see the point in shutting himself up in a vehicle any more often than he had to, doing damage to the earth and the air in order to avoid using his body.

  People did just that all the time, though. Most claimed they needed to save time. It was true they had little enough of that—their lives were so soon ended. But Nathan didn't see them treating time as precious otherwise. They'd sit in their cars at a fast-food place for fifteen minutes when it would be quicker to park and go inside.

  No, he blamed the modern culture of urgency. Only the most urgent sensations, emotions, and situations were considered important. They called it living life to the fullest. Not surprisingly, many sought numbness in alcohol or the pervasive voyeurism of reality TV, while others tried to live a perpetual peak experience through drugs, sex, or celebrity. Ordinary lives, ordinary living, had little value.

  Nathan thought people needed to wash dishes by hand sometimes. Prepare their own meals more often. And take walks.

  THE Bar was a flat, fading structure with little to recommend it from the outside. Inside it was dim and smelled of grilled hamburgers and beer. The five-o'clockers hadn't hit yet, so there weren't many customers. It still took the manager several minutes to find time for him.

  The woman was over fifty and over six feet, with poufy hair and lips greased to an immaculate shine. "Jackie Montoya," she said, holding out a hand. "I'm night manager. Is there a problem?"

  "No, ma'am." She had a good handshake, firm without trying to prove anything, and she didn't hold on too long. "I'm Sergeant Hunter. I've got some questions about one of your customers last night. Jimmie Shaw."

  Her glossy lips tightened. "Look, I want to help and all that, but I already told that other officer all I knew."

  Nathan let that sink in a beat. "Other officer?"

  "The detective. Cox, Fox—something like that. Little guy with a shiny face."

  "Eldon Knox."

  "That's him. He's already got his witness, so I don't see what more I can do for you."

  The flush of anger took a second to dissipate enough for Nathan to speak calmly. "I apologize for the inconvenience, ma'am. I know you're busy, but I do have to ask some questions. Is there someplace quiet we could talk?"

  She heaved a sigh, looked around, and grimaced. "Might as well make it my office. Your uniform puts some of my customers off. Come on."

  She set a quick pace in spite of the heels that must kill her feet by the end of the night. Nathan followed.

  Her office was a tiny, cluttered cubby just past the rest-rooms. It stank of ashes and cigarette smoke. She shifted a pile of computer printouts off the wooden chair and told him to have a seat. He did.

  Immediately she lit a cigarette. "Okay. Like I told the other guy, Jimmy's a regular. He doesn't—didn't—come in every day, like some. Doesn't work downtown, does he? But he has—had—a taste for the panty hose crowd, if you get what I mean. Women in heels with office jobs. Did pretty well with them, too."

  "How did he do last night?"

  Her smile was quick and cocky. "Just fine." The smile died. "Or not so fine, maybe, if she's the one who killed him. He left with her about midnight."

  "Who?"

  "Well, I didn't know her—don't think I've ever seen her in here before. But Ed Bates did. He's a real regular, in here every night, and he knew her, see? That's why that detective took Ed with him, so he could make a statement. Lord, but Ed'll be full of himself." She inhaled hard enough to sink her cheeks in, then blew the smoke out her nose. "If she turns out to be your killer, he's going to be dining out on his story for months."

  "Did you learn the name of this woman?"

  "I heard Ed telling the detective about her. We all did. She's the one who did his therapy after he totaled his pickup a few months ago." She paused, puffing. "Some kind of weird-ass name. I can't quite call it to mind, but it sounded foreign."

  "Kai?" he asked, his hear pounding. "Was the name Kai Michalski?"

  "That's her." Satisfied, she mashed out the stub of her cigarette. "That's the name of the bitch who did that poor boy in."

  BETWEEN patients, Kai surfed the Internet.

  Hellhounds, it turned out, did not have a great rep. Not here, anyway. Maybe in other realms they were considered upright or cuddly or commonplace. Here they showed up in role-playing games as monsters. They were popular in comic books, too, generally as minions of the devil. Of course, those weren't reliable sources—a search on her own name would suggest she was Japanese, Hawaiian, or a character in a violent video game. But they indicated the general outlook.

  Her dictionary, consulted on the run, hadn't been much help. It described a hellhound as "a mythical watchdog of hell." Obviously Nathan was no myth, but she couldn't hold it against the dictionary for getting that part wrong. When it was printed, lots of things were considered myth that turned out to be true, like dragons. But they were just as wrong with the "of hell" part.

  At least, she hoped they were. Hell. Hellhound. The connection was obvious, but had to be a mistake, a misnaming. Nothing good came from hell.

  Hell itself was misnamed, of course, if by that you meant the demon realm, not a final resting place for sinners. Anglos had long since muddied the two, but Dine tradition held that demons came from another world. Nor was it the same realm elves lived in. Kai was sure of that.

  Almost sure. It had been years since Grandfather taught her the stories, and few of them involved the far people, the Navajo term for elves.

  She liked Wikipedia's entry better. It mentioned the mythical guardian of the gates of hell, too, but it also spoke of spectral hounds who haunted spots in Great Britain. That didn't seem to apply to Nathan, who was hardly spectral. But it went on to say that hellhounds were part of the Wild Hunt.

  The Hunt was connected to Faerie, not hell. She was seriously fuzzy on what the connection was, but she knew that much. And Nathan's surname was Hunter.

  Clue, Kai.

  But she wasn't going to know, dammit. Not until she saw him again and could ask. At the time, she'd barely been able to stammer, "What? You're what?"

  Nathan had just looked at her with that sad smile and said they would talk later, when she'd had a chance to think things over. He had duties he needed to tend to. And he'd gotten in his car and driven off.

  What was she supposed to think over? She wasn't even sure what a hellhound was! Some sort of supernatural dog, yes, and she had to admit that was a breath stealer, but he wasn't a dog now.

  Or maybe he was a part-time dog. Did he Change when he wanted to, like lupi? Or according to some involuntary, arcane schedule? Full moons, eclipses, leap years, alternate Wednesdays…

  Part of the sidhe, he'd said. The wild sidhe.

  Kai was in her cubby at the clinic looking up "sidhe" on her laptop when Ginger stuck her head in the door. "Good grief, are you still working? It's nearly five. Shake a leg or we'll be late."

  Late? Oh, yeah. "The rally. I'd forgotten. I'm not sure—"

  "You're going," her friend told her sternly. "Come on."

  Chapter 8

  THE rally was being held downtown in Centennial Plaza. It was a pretty spot for much of the year, with a fountain perched in tiered stone basins and several oaks slowly growing their way toward stature. In the warmer seasons the trees stood ready to flutter their leaves and freckle the ground with shade.

  Not today, though. Today the trees were bare, the fountain dry. But everything else was full.

  "There's a lot more here than I'd expected." Ginger sounded torn between anxiety and delight. "I expected to see mostly students. And the coven—several of them promised to come. But this…"

  "You did a good job of getting the word out. There must be a couple hundred people here. Maybe more." All of them talking at the same time, all of them rev
ved—uneasy, angry, excited. To Kai, the air was a colorful din. "The TV people showed up, too."

  "Are you doing okay?"

  "I'm fine." Aside from the guilt. Had Kai been a true empath, such a large crowd would have been uncomfortable at best. Kai hated the deceit, hated worrying Ginger for no reason. But not enough to tell her the truth. Ginger would feel sorry for her.

  Kai could handle the sting of rejection—and had, plenty of times. She understood why people feared the loss of privacy. But pity labeled her pathetic, and she couldn't tolerate that.

  In the eleven years since the accident, Kai had moved seven times. In each new place she'd hoped to find friends. And she had, until she tried trusting them with the truth about herself. Whenever she told someone she saw thoughts, they changed. Most withdrew, fearing judgment or invasion. Those who didn't withdraw physically did so in other ways, watching for signs of insanity… because everyone knew telepaths went crazy sooner or later.

  Everyone but Nathan. She didn't know how she'd found the courage to tell him, but she knew why. He didn't lie to her, not even a rosy little social lie. How could she keep lying to him? So six months ago she'd told him. He'd nodded, asked a few questions, and said he'd never heard of a telepathic Gift like hers, but it sounded easier to live with than the usual sort. And that was it.

  "You sure you're okay?" Ginger put a hand on Kai's shoulder. "I need to make my way to the front. I'm supposed to speak after Charley."

  "You didn't tell me you were one of the speakers!" Kai patted her hand. "Go on. I'm going to hang here at the back." She might not have the problems a real empath would, but the excited crowd made her nervous. "You might see if you can calm folks down a bit. They're wired."

  Ginger grinned. "Charley will help with that. He can put a class to sleep in under ten minutes."

  "Hey, I'll bet his students stay awake. They'd want to see if he does." Charley, like Ginger, taught at the local community college. He was actually a wonderful speaker, but so laid-back he looked like he might doze off mid-word.

  Ginger started threading herself through knots of people. The moment she left, Kai dug her nails into her palms.

  She might not feel the emotions swirling around her, but if she weren't careful they'd still suck her in. Kai called it fuguing, the way she could slip away, entranced by the colors and shapes of the minds around her. As a baby she'd apparently been lost in fugue so often that she'd been diagnosed as autistic.

  Grandfather had known better. When she was three he'd taken her to another shaman, and together they'd performed a rare ritual that suppressed Kai's Gift. For eleven years she'd been normal—until the day she woke, weeping, from a week-long coma. She'd had no memory of the accident, but from the instant she awoke she'd known her parents were dead.

  Therapy had saved her in more ways than one. Therapy and Grandfather. She'd needed the intense physical focus to learn how to mute the Gift that had woken, full-force, while she was in a coma. She'd needed Grandfather to teach her how to go on.

  Fugue had never captured her completely, the way she was told it had when she was a baby, but it brought other dangers. When in fugue, she could play with the patterns, change them, intrude her patterns into others. When in fugue, she wanted to. She'd see something in the patterns that needed fixing, and—

  "Kai. Kai!"

  Startled, Kai swung around to see Jackie a few feet away, trouble writ as large on her face as it was in her colors. "What is it?"

  "Damned ghosts." She scowled. "I'm supposed to get you out of here. Or Ginger. Or both."

  "AFTERNOON, Doug. This is Sergeant Hunter," Sheriff Browning said. "He has some information you need to listen to."

  Midland's chief of police made Nathan think of a whip—quick, taut, and snappish. He even looked the part, being over six feet and under one-sixty. His hair and eyes were dark, his forehead high and getting higher. His mustache might have been laid out with a ruler.

  "Randy." Chief Roberts nodded at the sheriff. He had a nod for Nathan, too, but no word of greeting. Nor did he offer either of them a handshake, remaining behind his wide desk, its shine interrupted by very few objects—reading glasses, a file folder, a pen, a phone, a wire basket holding papers. "I imagine you're here to complain that I'm intruding into your territory. I'm behind, so I hope you can make this quick."

  "Quick enough." Browning took the seat he hadn't been offered, so Nathan sat, too. "Knox hauled off a possible witness to my case. You want to explain that?"

  "If you're talking about the Shaw murder—"

  "You know I am."

  "There's no evidence he was killed outside city limits, and every reason to think his death is connected to the two Knox is already handling. He found a witness. He brought the man in to make a statement. That's his job. However"—he spared Browning a thin smile—"I'm not trying to keep evidence from you. Here's a copy of that statement." He handed Browning the file folder.

  The sheriff took the folder but didn't open it. "Doug, in your rush to make this your collar instead of mine, you've screwed up. I know the gist of mis. Knox found a witness who identified the woman Shaw left The Bar with last night."

  Though the smile remained thin, the dark eyes were smug. "That's right."

  "Kai Michalski."

  Nathan's heartbeat didn't speed up this time. He knew Knox had Kai in his sights and assumed the chief was backing him, so he had his body under rigid control. But deep inside, in a part of him that had never been and would never be human, he was howling.

  Beings in thirteen realms would have known that howl, in their blood and bones if not their conscious minds. And feared.

  "That's right," Roberts said again. "I assume someone in the judge's office tipped you. I wonder who that was?"

  Browning continued as if the other man hadn't spoken. "You persuaded Judge Walker to issue a warrant for her arrest based on that witness's testimony. But you screwed up. Aside from the sheer lack of evidence—"

  "I've got plenty to link her." Roberts leaned forward now, his eyes glowing with suppressed excitement. "Delia Rodriguez—the first victim—lived just two doors down from one of Michalski's patients. The second victim used to date another of her patients."

  "Good God, Doug, this is Midland. Half the people here have some second- or third-hand connection to one or more of the victims."

  "But half the people here aren't witches. She is."

  "No," Nathan said, his voice steady. "She isn't. Not that it would be an indictment if she was, but you've got your facts wrong."

  Roberts's gaze flickered to Nathan—then darted away. Probably hadn't liked what he saw in Nathan's eyes. "She sure as hell is. Michalski is friends with that witch out at the college. And don't tell me Ginger Hemmings isn't a witch. She's open enough about her perversions."

  Nathan kept his voice from descending to a growl. "Wicca is a recognized religion. Ginger is Wiccan. Kai isn't."

  Roberts had decided to pretend Nathan didn't exist. He laced his fingers together on top of his desk and spoke to Browning. "We've learned that they had one of their coven meetings last night. Held it at Michalski's apartment just a few hours before she picked Shaw up at the Bar. That's when they prepared for their black rites, when they drained Shaw of blood."

  Browning shook his head. "That's all assumptions based on prejudice."

  "Don't you accuse me of prejudice. No one has a better record of hiring and promoting—"

  "Prejudice against the magical part of the population! Dammit, Doug, you and I have had our differences, but you've always been a good cop. You're so far off base this time you can't even see the base!"

  "It isn't prejudice when it's based on facts. I know they met at Michalski's place last night. I know Shaw was later drained of blood. I know Michalski left The Bar with Shaw shortly before he died."

  "No," Nathan said. "You don't."

  Roberts still wouldn't look at him. "I've got a witness who ID'ed her and three more who gave a good description."


  "Mistaken identity."

  "What the hell is your man talking about?" Roberts demanded of Browning.

  Nathan had had enough. He didn't change position or offer threat openly—but he used a voice the other man would not be able to ignore. "Kai Tallman Michalski was with me at the time your witness claims to have seen her at The Bar."

  Roberts jerked. He narrowed his eyes and for the first time looked directly at Nathan. "You're lying."

  He was, actually, but the chief had no way of knowing that. "She was with me the rest of the night, too. You think you can get a conviction with an officer of the law swearing he was with her all night?"

  The man's lip lifted in a sneer, but underneath it Nathan saw the fear. Smelled it. "You think a jury's going to care what you say? I don't know what you are, but you aren't human." Relief shaded his voice when he turned back to Browning. "That's going to cost you in the next election, Randy. Keeping this—this man, for want of a better word—on as a sergeant even though you have to know that…"

  Nathan didn't hear the rest. He was already out the door and closing it softly behind him.

  He stopped at the desk where Roberts's secretary sat and forced ease on his voice and body. He gave himself a moment to appreciate the soft floral scent of her perfume so he'd have a reason to smile at her. Humans smiled when they didn't feel it, but, that trick was beyond him. "While my boss dukes it out with yours, I thought I'd see if I could catch up with Knox. Maybe if I'm in on the arrest, the sheriff won't take it so hard. Do you know if Knox has served his warrant yet?"

  She tapped her pen against the desk, then said, "Guess it won't hurt to tell you. I haven't heard from him, so he probably hasn't."

  He thanked her and left, taking the stairs, urgency riding him and instinct guiding him. Thoughts floated on that sea of need and knowing, crisp and useful.