Shifter, P.I. (werewolf detective)

by Bonnie Dee

  Chapter Eight

  Amy

  “...a pleasant surprise. I decided bringing her here would be better than killing her. Quite a pretty little thing, isn’t she?”

  “She should fetch a good price, but are you sure her partner won’t come looking for her?”

  “If he becomes a problem, I’ll take care of him.”

  I heard the voices before I opened my eyes, floating into my consciousness as if from far away. My cheek was pressed against smooth, cool cement and my body ached from lying on the hard surface for so long. How long, I had no idea. My arm throbbed with each heartbeat reminding me of the last thing that had happened before I’d passed out; the fuckers had scorched the flesh of my inner arm with a red-hot branding iron.

  “Has Moltada arrived yet?” I recognized DuShayne’s voice.

  “I’m sending a driver to pick him up at the airport.”

  DuShayne gave an annoyed click of his tongue. “Some of our guests are more trouble than they’re worth. If they can’t teleport from their dimension or line up their own transportation in this world, they should be excluded from the event.”

  “Sheik Moltada is an obscenely wealthy, powerful man. We’ve never refused membership to anyone who can pay the fee and pass the test.”

  “There are entirely too many humans for my taste these days.”

  “You’re sounding your age, DuShayne. To be immortal is to be young at heart. Stop fussing like an old man, relax and enjoy the festivities.”

  I waited until the voices moved away before I dared to open my eyes. I found myself in a small cell with other people incarcerated in other cages all around me. Looking up at the retreating backs of the men who’d been talking outside my cell, I recognized DuShayne’s tall frame. The other person was clearly non-human. He had stubby horns sprouting from either side of his head. The hands below the sleeves of his Armani jacket were red and scaly.

  The pair exited the room. I searched the walls for surveillance cameras. If there were any, they were well-hidden or paranormal in nature—nothing supernatural could surprise me at this point. I decided I couldn’t lie there playing possum forever so I sat up to take stock of my surroundings.

  I checked out the lovely new brand decorating my arm, marking me as property of the Invictus Malus. The burn mark in the shape of a mandella was red and smeared with shiny antibiotic ointment. If by some miracle I got out of this alive, I was going to be scarred forever. I grimaced as I touched my finger lightly to the burn, which didn’t hurt as much as I would expect it to. Maybe it was magicked up somehow.

  I looked around me to find out more about my prison. In the cell on my right a woman sat on the floor with her forehead pressed to her knees, her arms locked around them. She was rocking back and forth and crying steadily. A curtain of brown hair hid her face from view. On my left was a young man in his late teens or early twenties. He stared at me with interest.

  “What day is it?”

  “Saturday, I think.” It occurred to me I could have been unconscious for more time than I knew.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out how long I’ve been here, but with no day or night it’s impossible to tell.”

  “So, how long have you been here?” I asked, moving closer to the bars.

  He pushed back a lock of sandy-blond hair. “Four days. I missed my ballgame on Thursday. We were doing so good too. Second in the league going into that game.” He sounded dazed. If it helped him to focus on a missed baseball game rather than come to grips with the situation he was in, I couldn’t blame him.

  “I’m Amy. What’s your name, and where are you from?”

  “Chris Czopek. Martindale, California.”

  “They brought you all the way from California?” I wondered how they picked their victims.

  “I met this woman named Sylvia at a bar, went home with her and woke up here. Where the hell are we anyway? Do you know?”

  “New Orleans.” I jerked my thumb at the woman on the other side of me. “What about her? What’s her story?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. She only speaks Russian or one of those Slavic languages. She’s been crying pretty much since she got here.”

  “Have you learned anything that might help us get away?” I looked at the cage across from mine and exchanged nods with a dark-skinned woman.

  “No. They feed us, empty our waste. Mark us with these.” He held up his arm to show a half-healed brand. “But I have no idea why we’re even here or what they plan to do with us.”

  “I believe it’s a slave auction for rich people who want exotic entertainment.”

  “Like a sex slave ring?”

  “Something like that.” There was no reason to frighten him with the idea that the buyers might have more interesting plans for their new acquisitions including torture, dismemberment, death and maybe dinner. We were toys in a play room waiting to be broken.

  He frowned. “How do you know?”

  “I’m a private investigator.” No point in explaining I was actually a receptionist of a private investigator. “My partner and I were trying to find out about this group and I got too close.” I wondered how DuShayne had known where to find me. “So, Chris, you’ve been here a few days. You must have talked to some of these people. Who’s strong, smart and capable of making a move if the opportunity arises?”

  “Over there is Guadalupe Gutierrez.” He pointed to the woman who had nodded at me. “She’s a housekeeper. She started a new job, her employers drugged her and she woke up here.”

  Guadalupe called across the room, “Hi. You doing okay?”

  “Crappy,” I replied. “You?”

  “Terrified. Ready to break out.”

  “I’m Owen,” a middle-aged man in a business suit a couple of cages down from Guadalupe said. “Owen Mills. Yeah, like the photography studio. Who are you?”

  “Amy Chang. I live here in New Orleans. That’s where we are,” I announced loudly for those who didn’t know. “I’m not sure how I got here. That DuShayne guy did a number on me. I lost consciousness and woke up here.”

  A chorus of “Why me?” and “What are they going to do to us?” rose from the prisoners. A dozen caged people offered their names and stories. Even the non-English speaking ones offered their names and stories. A few, like my weeping neighbor, had withdrawn, unable to cope with the situation.

  I raised my voice. “Listen, everybody. If you haven’t figured it out, some of our captors are more than human. You might as well wrap your head around it right now and don’t waste time doubting what your eyes tell you. They are paranormal creatures with powers that will make escaping all the more difficult. But we can’t count on anyone rescuing us. There will be an auction soon and we’re on the block. We have to find a way to escape.”

  “What’s your plan?” Chris asked.

  “Good question. Anybody have any ideas?”

  “They’re probably listening to everything we say.” Owen grasped the bars of his cage, peering around the room as if he could find the hidden bugs.

  “Then we should stop talking.” Guadalupe began to sign. “Anybody?”

  No one appeared to know sign language. Her hands dropped to her lap. “Not like anyone has a big plan anyway.”

  I felt guilty, as if I was the person who should’ve come in and saved them all. I had the scoop on Invictus Malus but the information served no purpose except to scare the hell out of me. “If an opportunity comes, it will be when they take us from the holding cells to the auction block. We’ll make a move then.”

  “This is so bizarre. I can’t believe any of it,” Chris said. “It’s a nightmare I can’t wake up from.”

  As if illustrating his words, the door opened and a group of people dressed in suits and dresses entered the room. Some looked like people. Others appeared to be wearing rubber Halloween masks, except the bumpy flesh moved realistically when they talked. I had a moment of complete disorientation as I tried to follow my own advice and adjust to the sigh
t of live demons in formal wear chatting casually as they pre-shopped for the auction.

  The creature leading them was the horned demon in the Armani suit. “We have an interesting cross-section this year. I think you’ll enjoy the selections. All sexes and ages are represented. We keep the little ones in another room we call the nursery. There should be something for every taste.” The group laughed at the pun.

  “Any samples, Gastón?” A woman in a beaded jacket and skirt, paused in front of Guadalupe’s cage. “I like to know what I’m bidding on.”

  “Of course, Madame, but only a taste. Don’t get carried away. We’ve already had one casualty this year.” Gaston beckoned Guadalupe to come forward.

  She stayed stubbornly near the back of her enclosure.

  “Come. It will do you no good to resist.”

  Guadalupe lifted her chin and glared defiantly.

  “Ooh, feisty. I like that,” the woman said. “Makes the conquest sweeter.” Suddenly her arm snaked out from her body. Literally. It elongated like a rubber band and stretched between the bars of the cage. She grabbed Guadalupe by the throat and dragged her across the floor.

  Guadalupe tried to dig in her heels, but the demon’s tentacle arm pulled her up against the bars and held her tight. The creature stepped near the cage and a long lizard-tongue darted out of her mouth. She licked Guadalupe’s cheek. “Mm. Delicious. Salty yet sweet.”

  The other members of the group watched keenly, practically holding their collective breath at her rapturous tone.

  I wondered how many of them were actually human and what powers they possessed. I never would have imagined DuShayne could stop the engine of my car with a raised hand or knock me unconscious without physically touching me. How could we possibly defeat such enemies, especially given that we were caged and weaponless? The futility of the situation overwhelmed me.

  The demon woman pulled Guadalupe’s wrist between the bars and bent her head to press her mouth against the woman’s flesh. I could hear her slurping clear across the room.

  Guadalupe whimpered, her chin trembling as she tried not to cry and her eyes wide with terror. The demon’s tentacle hand caressed her cheek as she fed, pleasured moans mingling with the sucking sounds.

  The moment seemed to stretch out forever then Gaston cleared his throat and tapped the creature’s shoulder. “Madame Rinsky, enough.”

  The woman lifted her bloody mouth and growled like a lion interrupted in the middle of devouring a kill. She snapped at Gastón’s hand. Then, abruptly, Madame Rinsky regained control of herself. She wiped her lips clean with a handkerchief. “Pardon me.” She sounded embarrassed, as if she’d farted aloud at a party.

  The other members of the group laughed politely, easing the tension of her faux pas. They moved on to the next cage and the next, making a slow circuit of the room. Discussions of international business affairs mingled with exchanges of recipes and favorite torture or sexual devices.

  Chris reached through the bars between us and held my hand. He was bone-white and trembling by the time the party stopped in front of us.

  “Pretty boy,” one of the men commented. The man appeared to be human, but who could tell? “Nice muscles. Can I see his cock?”

  “Stand up and drop your pants.” Gastón ordered.

  Chris hesitated.

  I squeezed his fingers encouragingly, thinking he’d be lucky to end up as some guy’s sex toy rather than a demon’s dinner. “Go on,” I said, drawing the attention of the group to me. A man with shiny, lifeless eyes like two polished black stones pressed into his sockets smiled at me.

  Chris slowly stood. I stared hard at the floor as I heard the tiny sound of his zipper going down. We were facing a lot worse than a little sexual humiliation, but I felt for the guy.

  “Stroke it. Show me how big it gets.”

  I winced. How could Chris be expected to get an erection under these circumstances? The room was so silent I could hear Chris’s hand moving against his flesh for several long painful moments. “I can’t,” he finally whispered, his voice breaking.

  “Poor boy. Let me help.”

  I glanced up. The potential buyer raised his hand as DuShayne had done to my car. Chris gasped then let out a low groan. His eyes closed and his mouth opened in an ‘O’ of surprise and pleasure. My gaze dropped to his instantly hard cock jutting out from his body. Whatever sex-mojo was working on him was extremely powerful. Poor Chris wrapped his hand around his cock and pumped it, overcome with lust and oblivious to anyone watching. Once more I stared at the floor, willing the excruciating moment to be over.

  “Charming,” the wizard, or whatever he was, said and laughed.

  Chris moaned. I sneaked a sideways peek in time to see his flag go half-staff then lower completely. The warlock had given then taken away his erection. These people were full of fun surprises.

  Now it was my turn. The window shoppers stared at me as I watched a bug crawl across the floor.

  “What’s her story?” asked the doll-eyed man who had smiled at me.

  “She’s local and wasn’t chosen but stumbled across our path, but she’s quite attractive isn’t she?”

  “Very. I would like to see—”

  Please don’t make me take my clothes off!

  “—her pedigree. I like her look and she might fit into my breeding program, but I’d need a health history and family background.”

  “We can probably get that,” Gastón said.

  “Look up, girl. I want to see your eyes.”

  You sick fuck! I gave Mr. Doll Eyes my glare of death, the same one my mom used to use on me when I really screwed up.

  His smile broadened. “Oh, yes. I think she’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

  The group moved on and I let out a shaky breath. They lingered over the last few cages. The poor girl on my right cried louder and began rocking again. Finally the group left the room.

  I turned to Chris. He stared back at me, lips trembling.

  “We are so fucked,” he whimpered.

  Chapter Nine

  Rick

  When I walked out of Racette’s gore-smeared shack, I was shaking with a rush of adrenaline and feeling more strongly than ever the need to shed my skin and race through the bayou. The smell of blood made my pulse pound and I was shocked to find myself salivating.

  I shook off the encroaching wildness and pulled out my cell phone. If the Invictus knew my mother had been asking Racette questions about them, they might be visiting her next. When I got a busy signal at her house and her cell phone went to voice mail, it scared me. My mom was always reachable, especially this late in the evening.

  Images of Racette’s destroyed body played in my mind as I jumped in my car and raced back toward the city. I pressed re-dial repeatedly and got her voice mail over and over.

  I reached my mother’s house to find it dark except for the faint glow of a nightlight burning in the hallway. I knocked on the door and got no response so I took the key from the fake stone under a bush and let myself in.

  The foyer and dining room appeared normal. There were no signs of a struggle. I breathed easier, but my hackles lifted when I heard the noise of a struggle coming from down the hall. As I ran toward the closed bedroom door, my mom suddenly screamed--a loud wail that froze my blood. I burst through the door, ready to rip apart her attacker.

  A horrible sight stopped me dead in my tracks. In the glow of several candles I saw naked white limbs and two torsos flailing around amidst a tangle of blankets. Loud grunts and soft whimpers assailed my ears. My mother and her new boyfriend were screwing like teenagers.

  “Aw, Jesus!” I averted my eyes and backed out of the room, slamming the door closed. “Sorry!”

  “Mérde! Rick?” Mom’s voice was high and breathless.

  I retreated down the hall calling out, “Never mind. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Wait!” The bedroom door opened and she stumbled out wrapped in a blanket, her shoulders bare.


  “Oh jeez, Ma,” I groaned.

  “What is it? What’s happened?”

  I pulled myself together, trying to be at least a little adult. “Gerald Racette’s been murdered. I thought the Invictus might know he was your source and come after you, too.”

  She put her hand to her mouth. “Amy! Have you checked on Amy? Did she make it home safe?”

  “Safe from where? What about Amy?” My stomach felt like I’d swallowed an anvil.

  “She went there earlier today to question him about the Invictus. She called me when she left Racette’s house to let me know she was all right like I’d asked her to, but I haven’t talked to her since then.”

  I was dialing Amy’s number before she finished speaking. “How long ago was that?”

  “Mid-afternoon. About four, I guess.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “That Racette had given her more information about the purpose of their meeting—something about an auction, and that she was on her way home. That’s all.”

  The phone rang and rang until at last her voice mail kicked in. “I’m not here. Leave a message.” Succinct and brusque, that was my Amy.

  “Amy, call me back right away. Probably you’re at home, sleeping, but when you get this, call me.” I hung up.

  My nerves hummed like violin strings. The sense of danger I’d been trying to ignore was back, full force. It seemed like this evil band could strike whenever and wherever they wanted. I was powerless to stop them.

  “Stay with Don. If they come after you, I doubt he can protect you, but I’ll feel better if you’re with him. Why don’t you two go to his place, or even leave the city for a while until I get this figured out. You can at least make it harder for them to find you. I’m going to check on Amy.” I gave my mom a small smile. “With any luck, I’ll find her safe at home in bed with someone, too.”

  “Be careful, garcon.” She gave me a hard hug. I tried to ignore the scent of sex that clung to her. A lycan’s keen sense of smell could be hell sometimes.