Ruth Huckleton stood there, cradling a baby in her arms. Her dark red hair hadn’t lost any color over the years, nor had she lost the sparkle in her eyes that made all children love her. “I heard they had called, but…” She gestured toward the living room with a nod. “I didn’t expect you to answer, never mind come all the way out here. Not after…” A squalling cry came from behind her, invoking a deep sigh and a knowing grin. “And, as usual, David can’t keep himself dry for a minute.” She turned around and walked briskly into the living room, bouncing the yellow-haired baby on her hip. He responded by grabbing one of the loose tails of her apron, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing on it with the enthusiasm I would have reserved for the pie.
I followed, taking another sip of my drink.
The cribs were set up just as I remembered, the clawed and scarred wood bearing the marks of children either trying to break out or in. Wooden blocks, trains and planes spread out over the floor created an obstacle course Ruth navigated with ease, pushing the old-fashioned toys to one side or the other with her feet. Plastic might have been lighter and easier but wooden toys tended to last longer with Felis babies.
“Got quite a few visitors this week so I’m running the daycare again.” Ruth put the baby she had been holding down into one empty crib, covering him with a blanket as the child rolled over and began to fall asleep. Right next to him, David, a rotund bundle of dark hair and attitude, gathered another lungful of air to scream again. Ruth picked him up, cooing in an attempt to divert the tantrum.
“Healthy little bugger.” I glanced at the other cribs. A small calico kitten romped around in one, pouncing on a small stuffed tiger he had tossed into the corner. Another held a pair of tortoiseshell kits, snuggled against each other while they slept.
“Those are Art and Edith Brill’s,” Ruth offered by way of explanation as she put the fussy baby down on the changing table. Neatly folded fabric squares were stacked next to the mandatory wet wipes, diaper rash cream and a plastic box holding safety pins. Expertly she whipped off the cloth diaper and dropped it into the nearby disposal bucket, talking all the while. Her hands showed the results of years of caring for kits, covered with hundreds of small scars and scratches, including more than a few from yours truly. But they were still steady and for a second I envied the children around me receiving the undoubting love of a woman who had been unable to have her own. “The calico’s Dennis Bucknell’s son. Married Jem Luchness a few years ago.” She paused, holding a safety pin in her mouth. “You remember her, I think.”
“Maybe.” I watched as the calico kitten rolled onto his back into the center of the crib, stretching his paws out in all four directions. Slowly he began to Change, the fur shrinking and receding into his skin as his body remolded itself. The claws retracted, disappearing between his knuckles while his green eyes flashed from the familiar feline slit to a more acceptable human circle. Within a minute there was no kitten, just another baby who stared up at me with wide curious eyes and a small pink tongue sticking out.
“He’s got pretty good control.” Ruth placed David back in his crib, shushing the child as he rolled into a corner, cradling a stuffed lion. Putting her hands on her hips she looked directly at me. “I’m serious. I didn’t expect you to come.”
“Jess called.” I shrugged, taking another deep swig of my drink. “Board calls, you answer.” Even with every effort to make it sound casual, I knew she could see through the façade.
The older woman shook her head. “You always were too forgiving, Rebecca.” A tear broke free, rolling down her cheek. She stepped forward and took me in her arms, forcing me to put the glass down on the changing table. “Damn it, girl—I missed you.”
Closing my eyes, I relaxed into the embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of an old friend and den mother. After a few minutes she released me, stepping back as she wiped her face with both hands.
“You better get upstairs before they come down here and start making a fuss. Don’t need them to wake the kids.” Ruth smiled. “I’ll see you later.”
“Probably.” I walked into the kitchen, refilling my drink before heading toward the staircase. “Just don’t let the kits claw you too much.”
“Won’t be the first or the last.” Her words drifted up behind me as I climbed. “And you were the worst, I recall.”
“I only bit you once.” I grumbled, walking onto the second floor where the walls had long since been knocked down and cleared out to form only one room. The varnished hardwood floors were immaculately clean. A large round table took up the majority of the floor, a series of chairs scattered around the outside. A few beer bottles and glasses sat on the table, adding more rings to the numerous stains dotting the surface. Stacked against the far wall were cheap steel folding chairs for when larger meetings were called.
“Welcome.” Jess Hammersmythe’s voice boomed out of the shadows at the far end of the room where she sat behind the table. She lifted a bottle, waving me closer. “Glad you could make it.”
“You called.” A lump formed in my stomach, threatening to kick back the mouthful of booze. The last time we spoke she hissed curses into my ear, pushing me down the lane outside with a few dollars in my pocket and the clothes on my back. “You called so I came.” I took another step into the Hall, my knuckles white from gripping the glass. Keeping my knees locked, I nodded to the two men sitting on each side of Hammersmythe.
“You’re looking good, Reb.” Dennis Sommalier nodded, the cigar hanging from his lips. I couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t have one in his mouth. Freud would have a grand old time with my family.
“She always did.” Old enough to be my grandfather, Davis Konnerburg smiled as he lifted his own glass toward me with a sly wink that made my skin crawl. “We appreciate the prompt response.”
“I’m sure.” I walked up, grabbed one of the chairs and flipped it around, sitting down and resting my arms on the wooden back. “So, what’s the crisis that you gotta call in the misfit?”
This was not how you were supposed to address the Board. Protocol was that you stood at attention until invited to sit. Then you placed yourself at a discreet and proper distance in the chair with your hands in your lap while keeping your back ramrod-straight and not speaking until spoken to.
Jess leaned forward, out of the darkness. An ugly scarlet scar dragged down across her face, starting just above her left eye and ending down at the left edge of her mouth. The dead eye glared, catching me in its glass reflection. “As I said—glad you could make it.” She pulled the label off her beer bottle and tore it into little pieces, pushing them around the tabletop. “We have a problem and want your opinion on it.”
“Bullshit. You don’t do democracies.” I took another mouthful of rum and cola. “If I recall correctly you don’t usually ask anyone’s opinion on anything. Now you’re asking me?” I stared at each of the Board members until they looked away. “What’s the big secret?”
“You understand, of course, that this is not to be repeated outside of this room,” Davis droned in his authoritative voice. “Your oaths are still valid.”
“You kick my ass out into the street and then ask me to play your game?” I snorted. “I don’t think so.” It was a weak attempt at a bluff but I had to let them know I wasn’t going to be bullied into anything. “I go by my own oaths these days. I don’t owe the Pride anything.”
The group hiss crackled in my ears with the sudden shift in their bodies—the scent of fear. This wasn’t a game. Something big was going down and they needed me more than I needed them, and we both knew it.
“You called, I came. Now state your reasons or I’ll be on my way.”
I was halfway up from the chair when Dennis spoke. “We want to hire you.” The cigar bounced up and down while he spoke. “Janey is dead.”
The rum burned my throat as I sat down and chugged the last of the drink. “Really. Old age?”
“Don’t be a smartass,” Jess snarled, pushing the label flak
es into a small pile. “She was murdered.”
“Then the police should handle it.” I got to my feet and put the empty glass on the table. “I’m not a cop.”
“No. But you’re one of us.” Dennis unfolded a rolled-up paper resting in front of him and slid it across the table to me. “And you understand what this means to us.”
It was a two-page spread in the center of a tabloid, the picture taking up the majority of the space with weird trivia and a few ill-placed advertisements for weight-loss products and cheap herbal drugs surrounding it. There was a short article next to it but my attention went first to the photo.
The black-and-white photograph depicted a dead woman, sprawled on her back with her arms and legs at odd angles, as if she’d suddenly fallen to the ground. The tufts of fur around her face and on her hands suggested she had died in mid-Change. My eyebrows rose, prompting a comment from Dennis.
“She was killed two weeks ago. Her neck was broken.” Dennis replied in a flat tone. His thick, meaty fingers pressed down on the table.
“That takes a lot of strength.” I frowned, scanning their faces. “Up close and personal.” I glanced at the article before flipping the paper over to see the headline.
“The Toronto Inquisitor? No one takes them seriously.” My fingers rapped on the postage stamp-sized black-and-white image advertising the centerfold. “This reporter, for lack of a better word, has us digging through trash cans in High Park, ready to pounce on unleashed dogs. It’s nothing but rumors and lies, and badly-written ones at that.” I looked at the tabloid headline. “Although ‘Dead Cat Woman Found!’ does seem a bit tackier than their usual stupid quips.”
“Extremely,” Dennis replied. “Regardless, Janey is dead. And whoever took this picture set her up to be exposed.” He stabbed the tabletop with a finger. “Set us up to be exposed.”
“In a media rag. With pictures that could have been manipulated and changed by any kid with a computer.” I looked up from the page. “Why didn’t they post it online if they were serious about exposing us?” My mind kept bouncing between using “us” and “you/them” as I navigated my feelings about being back.
“Ever look online for reliable information about the Felis?” Dennis chuckled. “Or any?”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “You keep that offline?”
“As much as we can. Right now, according to the search engines, we’re running far behind the reptilian overlords.” He exchanged glances with Davis. I wouldn’t put it past them to hire hackers to crash any sites coming close to the truth. “And if he or she had posted it we’d be able to track it back without any trouble.”
“So he gives it to a real person, an investigative reporter in the lowest sense of the word, and hopes he takes the bait.” I traced the blurry image with my index finger. “And he produces nothing but crap.”
“Picture, thousand words,” Jess said. “The article isn’t what’s important. The picture is what we’re worried about.”
“What did the police say?”
“Aside from investigating the murder they’re trying to find out who took the picture. The question of the extra fur was simple to take care of. Just a medical ailment. Not pertinent to the investigation.” Dennis shrugged. “We had one of our own who works on the inside make sure the emphasis was placed more on the murder than the condition of the victim.”
“As it should be. Murder is murder.” The Pride had friends in high and low places, ready to tweak things to keep us safe. I flipped through the cheap newsprint. “And she’s competing with ‘Bigfoot going on dancing show.’” My left eyebrow rose. “Going to have to set the tape machine for that one.”
Jess shuffled the shredded pieces back and forth. “The problem is that she was murdered and left in an alleyway.” Her dark eyes caught mine. “This is a danger to the Pride. In more ways than one.”
“On the first front, her death. Yes. On the second, the matter of the photograph—maybe. But no one’s going to take this seriously. I mean, the Inquisitor? We’re not talking a major newspaper or a television investigative report. I wouldn’t put money on the hack pursuing the story past what you have here.” I shook my head and pushed the tabloid back into the middle of the table. “I agree that it’s a problem. But I don’t see why you called me.”
“Jess has argued that Janey’s murder warrants a professional independent investigation.” Davis picked up his own glass. It was filled with a clear liquid, probably vodka.
“The police are already looking into this. I can’t just walk in and take over the case.” I spun my empty glass around. “That’s not how things work.”
“We want to know who killed her and why they felt the need to show the world who she was.” She pushed the pieces into one hand and curled her fist up, crushing them together. “They only have part of the puzzle, a dead woman. You have a different perspective.”
“Amazing how now I’m now able to relate to Pride matters. How the times have changed.” I let the sarcasm seep through with a touch of anger.
“Your point is acknowledged.” Dennis glanced at Jess, a stern look on his face. “We have two problems. First, the photographer must be found and all copies of that image destroyed or discredited.”
“A good smack about the ears, in other words.”
“Give us the name and we’ll take care of it. The second and more important is that Janey Winters is dead. Killed by either another Felis or a human strong enough and fast enough to match our skills. He must be found and brought to justice.”
“Pride justice?” I shook my head and got up from the table. “I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime.” Unbidden I rubbed the small of my back with one hand, trying to banish the phantom pains.
“Reb…” Jess opened her hand, letting the small paper ball fall onto the tabletop. “We can’t change the past.” She took a deep breath, the scar flexing across her skin. “Janey had two children and a husband. They deserve the truth. The cops won’t be able to catch this guy.” Her cheek twitched. “You know they’re overworked and likely to just write this off. She deserves better than that. She’s family.”
I closed my eyes for a long while, then opened them. “Five hundred dollars up front for a retainer, fifty bucks an hour plus expenses.” It was double my usual rate.
“Done,” Dennis replied.
“And I get full access to Pride records.” I put my hand up as I saw Davis’s mouth open, ready to object. “I’m not stupid. You’re calling me in ’cause you want someone to chase down this jerk and you don’t want to do it yourself because you might make a mistake and make an even bigger mess.” I glanced around the table. “I’m assuming that while we’ve got ‘friends’ in the cop shop, no one’s willing or able to run this solo. But that’s going to handicap me from the start. If you’re going to get me to do this, you have to give me full access to find out what happened.” I gave the glass one more spin and put it down on the table. “If it’s a Felis I’ll need that access. That’s not negotiable.”
“Agreed,” Jess growled, flicking the paper ball across the table toward me, “but you answer to us, and us only.”
I picked up the tabloid paper, folding it and placing it under my arm. “I’ll be in touch. Send one-week advance payment. Let’s call it for forty hours for a grand total of twenty-five hundred dollars in my account by the time I get back to my office. I’ll provide receipts for the expenses later. Email me the files if you don’t have them here.” I raised my right brow in a hopeful manner. I had rent due and a car payment this week—and I might even be able to buy food for Jazz and me. And I knew they could afford what I was asking.
“We’ll get the information to you later on today. And we’ll be waiting for your updates.” Jess nodded, dismissing me as if I were a child waiting for the principal to let me out of detention. The three of them got up from the table and walked past me in silence. I remained seated, waiting until they had gone downstairs, staring at the ball on the table.
I
reached over and tossed the paper into the far corner of the Hall, watching it disappear from sight. “Bastards,” I whispered to the empty room.
Ruth met me in the kitchen while I filled my glass with water. She wiped her hands on her apron, shaking her head. “Those kids. You’d think they were the first ones to ever discover their toes.”
I smiled back. “Wait until they start chewing on them. As I recall it took me until I was five to let those nails grow to anything respectable.”
“And you claimed they tasted like sugar.” Ruth laughed, a low rumble that settled in my heart. “You look good. Keeping the weight on, finally. I thought you’d be one of those anorexics by now.” She touched my arm, a wistful look on her face. “You have your mother’s eyes.”
“And my father’s temper.” I drained the glass, putting it in the sink. “Tell them to remember that.” I kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you again. Right now I’ve got to get to work.”
“I’d like that. Seeing you again, I mean.” She squeezed my arm. “Janey was a good woman. She didn’t deserve this.”
“No one ever does.” I moved to the door. “But that’s the way it happens sometimes, eh?”
I walked out onto the porch. Karen wasn’t there. She had probably wandered off to avoid another awkward moment. Better for both of us.
I trotted down the steps and took a deep breath, drawing in the scents and sounds from my past again. In my mind’s eye I sorted and catalogued each, identifying three Felis in the woods just to the north, most likely hunting some wild rabbits. Two more worked one of the fields that provided the farm with an income. With the rise of organic products, the local farmers’ market had become a popular and profitable place for the breads, pies and vegetables the family churned out—with Ruth’s help, of course. Not that the farm needed the money to survive. The tithing of all Pride members made sure those who lived on the farm had a comfortable life.
A fat lazy barn cat sprawled across the hood of my jeep. I opened the driver’s door.
Blood of the Pride Page 2
