A Study In Shifters

by Majanka Verstraete

  She softly pried open one of the gashes. Next to me, Indra gagged and turned around, but Morant had piqued my interest so much that I could resist the urge to throw up the plastic chicken I’d had for lunch.

  “By looking at the wounds and taking a claw chart, I could determine what kind of claw was used to make this wound. You see, jaguars have a hooked claw. They would make a very specific wound. Their claws are larger and more hooked than say, the leopard or cheetah, or even lions and tigers. Judging by how ragged the wound looks…” Morant paused and looked at me.

  I stared at the spot she indicated, and considered she was right. The claw marks did look hooked.

  “That means…” I started.

  “A jaguar claw made that wound,” Morant said. “How that’s possible, I have no clue, but that wound was made by a jaguar claw, no doubt about it.”

  “So…whoever killed Elise Felton wanted to make it look like a jaguar attack and used actual jaguar claws, but without the necessary strength of a real jaguar, and without the basic knowledge any real jaguar would have—biting rather than clawing.” I leaned closer, investigating the wound in more detail.

  “That’s ludicrous,” Indra said. “How is that even possible?”

  “Possible or not, facts are facts,” Morant said before I could voice a similar statement. “Now, smell it.”

  I was about to do that, but her telling me so confirmed my suspicion. I leaned in and smelled the wound, inhaling the scent deeply.

  “I’m going to be sick,” Indra said from behind us.

  I stepped back and looked up at the spider shifter. “Poison.”

  Morant smirked at me proudly, as if I was a student who had provided the correct answer to a professor’s question. “You’re right. Poison. Those claws were dripping with poison.”

  “See,” I told her and Indra, “it isn’t a jaguar.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Poison?” Indra scratched her head. “So that brings us back to square one. Anyone, human or shifter, any species, can get poison and dip those jaguar claws into them. Heck, even a jaguar could’ve done it.”

  “That makes zero sense,” I said.

  “Raise suspicion by making it look like a jaguar, then deflect suspicion by using poison. It’s far-fetched, but it is possible,” Indra said. “You were the one who kept on telling me we can only rely on facts, and as long as it’s possible, it stays open as an option in my book.”

  “Fine. It’s totally illogical, but fine. So, we haven’t been able to scratch anything off our list yet. Great.” Sarcasm dripped from my tone, and my jaguar growled in frustration.

  I pushed my emotions to the back of my mind and focused on the case again, logic only. “Whatever poison it was, it must’ve been very potent to take down a leopard,” I said. “She didn’t even shift as she went down. If she had, her leopard side would’ve taken over and probably been able to resist the poison.” I shook my head. “The poison must’ve killed her instantly.”

  “I haven’t been able to establish which poison it was yet,” Morant said, “but I can say for sure that you’re right; it killed her almost right away. She was paralyzed. That’s why she couldn’t shift. From the crime scene pictures and the lack of defense wounds, I’d say she was hit and went down just like that, falling down in a heap. Small consolation, but she probably didn’t feel anything.”

  “How long will it take to figure out which poison killed her?” I asked Morant.

  “Two days tops. I’ve told the lab to give this priority, but you know how slow they are. Snails. And I mean actual ones.” Morant waved her hand like swatting flies. “Anyway, the poison also made her blood clot abnormally fast, which explains the lack of blood. Once she died, blood flow slowed down anyway, and with the added poison, it explains why there was barely any blood.”

  “At least one mystery solved.” I smiled sadly at Elise Felton’s body. My mind could picture the wounds sewn shut, vanishing into thin lines, her closed eyelids fluttering open, her being alive and well again, a normal teenage girl with hopes and dreams.

  Even if she had written a vengeful paper about me and my family, she didn’t deserve this. Nobody deserved to die like this.

  “So, for a person whose brain works at regular speed,” Indra said, “someone got some jaguar claws from somewhere, dipped them in poison, and then clawed Elise Felton across the chest, killing her instantly.”

  “Yes, that’s it in a nutshell.” I turned toward her. “Besides figuring out which poison, we should focus on how the killer got the jaguar claws. Are the claws real? Are they fake? If they’re real, the killer must’ve gotten them from an actual jaguar shifter.”

  “The missing shifter,” Indra mused. “What was his name again?”

  “Roan Black. We have to look into that,” I told her. “If he didn’t turn up anywhere, he…” I couldn’t get the words out. If he hadn’t turned up by now, he might be dead. The thought swarmed in my mind, but I couldn’t speak it out loud. The thought of Roan dying was too hard. Even though I’d told myself not to think about, even though I had to focus on the case, that thought alone was nearly enough to burst open the locked doors to the room I’d made for him in my mind palace. He was my friend and although it had been months since I’d heard from—after the whole Mannix case—it didn’t eradicate all the years of friendship we’d shared. I coughed and cleared my throat, willing myself to focus back on Elise before I burst out into tears or did something else that would make Indra suspicious about how close I was to Roan… or at least had been, once. “It’s pretty tough to declaw a jaguar without killing him. And for him… It must’ve hurt like hell.”

  “Could one person really have done all this?” Indra asked, looking from me to Morant and back. “It seems like a pretty elaborate plan just to feed a political agenda.”

  “I don’t think it was just political.” I moved away from Elise Felton—I couldn’t stand looking at her anymore, at the rigor mortis setting in, at the decolorization of her skin. “It’s hard for anyone not affiliated with the school to get on campus. We had to pass four security guards before we could get in, and according to the police officers, security was already that tight prior to the murder. I’m pretty confident someone at school did it.” I paused for a second. “Even worse, I think it was someone she trusted. Someone she knew.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, shooting one last, sad look at the young girl whose life was destroyed so abruptly. “It must have been. To lure her to that abandoned running path, to come so close without Elise having her defenses up. Elise Felton knew the person who murdered her. That’s pretty much the only thing I’m certain of at this point.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Indra and I were quiet for most of our ride back to Waynard Academy. Indra seemed lost in thought, and I appreciated the quiet time so I could run down the facts of the case again. I felt drained, exhausted, and my head throbbed. So many dots to connect, so many facts that seemed to make no sense. This case hit close to home, and not just because I’d known Elise or because she was the same age as I was, but also because of the politics behind it, how it related to my mother and me, to the jaguar clan. And most importantly, since it involved Roan. A missing Roan who was probably hurt, and in the worst case, maybe even…

  No, I told myself. Don’t go there, Marisol. Just don’t. The thought of him being hurt was horrible enough to bear. He’d been my friend when I needed a friend more than anything else. He stood up for me after what happened to Mannix, the only person who did. He was there for me when I needed him the most and now when he needed me, I had the feeling I’d failed him miserably.

  We’d been close for years. We wrote letters to each other, and every week I would rush downstairs on Friday, expecting a new letter from him. Receiving those letters felt like getting gifts for Christmas. I hid his letters in a box underneath my bed, often rereading them, often wondering what he was up to in London while I was stuck in my own home, in Paris.

  After
Mannix had come into the picture, Roan and I had slowly drifted apart.

  I hadn’t told him about Mannix. It hadn’t seemed right, somehow, to tell him I’d fallen in love with someone… Even though Roan and I were just friends, it still didn’t feel right. I spent many nights behind my desk, trying to write to him, trying to explain to him what was going on, but I could never get the words down on paper.

  One day, I’d even called him. I stood there, with the phone in my hand, ready to dial the last number, when I chickened out. The big, bad jaguar chickened out, because I couldn’t tell Roan. I just couldn’t.

  After the Big Betrayal, I had to come clean to him, and I had no choice but to tell him then. The way he looked at me, the last time I saw him, when he told me he couldn’t talk to me anymore…

  He looked broken. Destroyed. The light had disappeared out of his eyes, he looked pale as if he hadn’t slept in days, and my jaguar had cried at seeing him like that.

  Mannix might’ve betrayed me, but I had betrayed Roan, and that was a horrible thought to live with.

  “I need some time to think about things,” Roan had said to me, words that devastated me to the core. “Please don’t write me. I’ll…” He’d paused and had looked at me, but not for more than second. “I’ll write you when I’m ready.”

  No letter had come, although I’d waited patiently for many Fridays, staring at my mailbox, hoping the letter would materialize in front of me. I had figured that he just wasn’t ready yet.

  If only I’d known he was missing…

  “I think the political motive is just a bonus,” Indra said suddenly.

  I just about jumped out of her seat. “Can you NOT just start talking? You scared me half to death.”

  “Half, but not whole, so that’s one thing to be happy about, all things considered.”

  I rolled my eyes at her.

  “It’s a joke. Don’t take everything so seriously,” she said. “Anyway, as I was saying about the whole political motive, I don’t think that’s the reason for the murder at all. I think it’s a nice cover-up for something else, a way to divert from the real reason Elise Felton was killed.”

  “I agree,” I said, secretly thankful she had diverted my attention away from Roan Black’s disappearance, from the memory of how he’d looked the last time I’d seen him, from the hurt written all over his face, and made me focus back on the case. “It was convenient but nothing more than that.”

  “So, what’s the real motive then?” Indra asked. “She has no enemies. About twenty different people have told us that already.”

  “And I don’t buy it. Everyone has enemies,” I said. “Sure, not everyone has enemies willing to kill them, but nobody is that well liked that they have zero enemies. I don’t believe that. This murder was up close and personal. The killer stood right in front of her, probably even looked her in the eyes as he or she stabbed her with those poisonous claws. You don’t just do that because you’ve got a political agenda.”

  Indra crossed her arms. “Fair enough. Either way, we’re right back where we started. Back to finding out whether someone hated Elise enough to kill her.”

  “Well, we’ve made some progress, at least.” I rubbed my eyes. I was tired, and I could use a hot shower to soak the exhaustion of the last few days away. “Are you going to report our discoveries to the Conclave?”

  “I report in every night through my phone. Why?”

  “No reason.” I was glad Rollins and the others of the Conclave would at least get to know soon that the culprit was definitely not a jaguar shifter, then they might stop jumping to conclusions that could potentially endanger my mother.

  We reached Waynard Academy and went inside. The school was still buzzing with activity. My watch read five thirty, so dinner wouldn’t be for another hour. We climbed the stairs to our room in silence.

  When we came to the door, it stood slightly ajar. “Someone was here.”

  “Get behind me,” Indra said, urging me to move behind her. Like most of the senior field agents, except yours truly, Indra had gone through extensive martial arts training, so if an intruder had entered our room, I rather take her advice than get beaten down in no time. As I cowered behind her, I made a mental note that I should really get busting on that martial arts training sooner rather than later. Indra pushed the door open softly. Daylight burst in through the large windows and fell on a stack of papers lying on my bed that I was positive hadn’t been there when I left.

  Indra peeked behind the door and briefly inspected the room. “Coast is clear. Whoever was here, they’re gone.”

  “And they left a present.” I pointed at the pile of papers. Before Indra could move, I grabbed them from the bed. The title read: A Dissertation on Power Struggles and Political Alliances Among the Cat Shifters.

  A sticky note was glued to the front page, saying: Sorry. – Wyatt.

  “False alarm. No one searched the room or anything, Wyatt just came in to leave Elise’s paper,” I said. “You know, the one we talked about at lunch?”

  “So, that’s Elise’s dissertation.” Indra was looking over my shoulder so she could read along. “I’m curious.”

  “I’m not.” The lie rolled off my tongue easily as I tossed the papers onto the bed. “Well, slightly, but I’m not as curious as I’m sleepy. I’m going to grab a shower before dinner, all right?”

  “Sure.” Indra stood there while I grabbed my basic shower stuff—shampoo, conditioner, and the like—as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

  “What is it?” I asked her as I draped a towel over my arm. “Spill it.”

  “I…” She paused and licked her lips, contemplating her words. “Never mind.”

  “All right.” I nudged past her to the quiet of the hallway. I was curious about Elise’s dissertation, but more than that, I was afraid of reading it, afraid of finding out what hazardous position my existence had put my mother in.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Two of the shower stalls were taken, which meant I had seven different ones left to pick from. I picked one in the back. After taking off my clothes and hanging them over the door, I turned the faucet on and let the hot water wash away the exhaustion that had nestled in my bones.

  Murder cases always had this effect on me, especially when the victims were this young. Plus, I’d never been as entangled before as I was now. Elise had posed a direct threat to my own family. She’d written a pamphlet that would probably condemn my mother, and although I knew I had to read it, I really didn’t want to.

  But she was dead, murdered, and the world owed it to her that her killer would be found, and that was exactly what I would do.

  Then, as soon as I’d completed that task, I could fully focus on the one thing nagging at the back of my mind—or rather, the one person.

  Roan.

  The warmth of the water transported my mind back in time, to the case I’d worked on before this one, back when Roan and I were still on speaking terms. A rogue warlock had started killing people because he wanted to perform this crazy ritual that he’d read about in an ancient spell book probably written by a witch high on medieval drugs. The incantation had failed, either due to the fact the whole spell was gibberish, or because we’d managed to save his last victim, but either way, the three bodies he’d left in his wake, all carved up with Satanic markings, had left me rattled to the core.

  After we’d caught him, I’d taken four showers in a row that night, until my skin was raw and red and bloody. Then, I’d slept for twenty hours.

  We. I didn’t want to think about the “we” of my last case. The “we” was where it had all gone wrong. The “we” was the reason why I was now under supervision. The “we” was the explanation as to why my heart still felt raw and red and bloody.

  I should’ve never trusted him. Mannix.

  I remembered the first time I met him. The memory was so strong it made me tremble.

  The Conclave held its annual Winter Bal
l, an event I grudgingly participated in—although you could barely call hiding in the corner of the room with my nose buried in a book about ancient rituals participating. I liked to keep to myself and I’d managed to do for years until last year, when Mannix turned up. Although about half a dozen other agents (mostly female ones) tried to get his attention, he made a beeline right for me. The one moment, I was reading about virgin sacrifices, the next I was looking at the handsomest man I’d ever met. Looking at Mannix was like staring at complete and utter darkness—beautiful and enthralling but painful too.

  He bowed down and kissed my hand, and when I looked up into his eyes, I was swept away. Lost in that endless darkness. “I heard you’re working on a case involving ancient rituals,” he said. “I think I might be able to help you.”

  I just stared at him, dumbfounded, and eventually blurted out: “Why’s that?”

  He chuckled, and the spark in his eyes lit up the entire room. “Because I wrote that book you’re reading right now.” He laughed, a sound as brilliant as one of Mozart’s concertos. “So, you could call me an expert.”

  Two sentences, and I was hooked. Like a fool, I’d fallen for his charm. I’d trusted him, and he’d betrayed me. And then…

  The image of Amaranth’s dead eyes staring at me appeared in front of me, her gaze peering into mine, the guilt over her dead overwhelming me like a tsunami.

  I should never trust anyone but myself. And maybe Mother. But no one else.

  People ended up dead because they trusted others. The same counted for poor Elise Felton. She had trusted the person who’d torn her chest apart with those stolen, dipped-in-poison jaguar claws. Trust destroyed you.

  As I mulled over those thoughts, voices echoed from outside the shower stall as several other girls walked into the bathroom. Counting the echo of their footsteps, I noted three of them.