by Danae Ayusso
When the office door closed, Akia looked to Leclair.
“I apologize for that,” he said, blushing. “He’s not the easiest to work with, and he really liked the previous Inspector that retired before me and Inspector Pierre came here.”
She nodded. “You came together?”
“No, Ma’am. I transferred a few days after the Inspector was reassigned. It wasn’t… Sorry, Ma’am, I’m gossiping when I shouldn’t. I’m going to check out the sixth dumpsite again because I think we missed something.”
“Want company?” Akia asked; she needed to see the sixth dumpsite anyway.
Leclair blushed and looked away from her. “I don’t want to impose,” he said. “I’m sure you have lots to do, as well as go over the report from the sixth body.”
“I’m the one that’d be imposing on you,” she assured him. “If it isn’t too much to ask, can we grab some coffee? There’s an espresso stand not far from here, right?”
He nodded with a face-consuming smile. “Melody at Bean Me Up Espresso makes the best lattes. You’ll have to try a Wake me up Maple Bacon scone with a toasted almond latte. It’s the perfect way to start the day.”
“A quad I could use,” she said. “I’ll meet you in the car. I just have to touch base with my specialist first.” Once the office door closed behind Leclair, she turned to Ulrik. “I want to know what was deleted from the system. I’m assuming you can do that.”
Ulrik chuckled. “Yeah, not a problem. Are you going to be okay with him? I mean, I know you’re a bad ass and all, but Connie thinks that there might be a second person involved, a master and student type thing.”
Akia cocked an eyebrow. “When did you hear that?”
He blushed. “I was eavesdropping again when I shouldn’t have been. The sixth victim, from what the others said, lacked any type of correlation to the others. The heart was removed by something Beowulf called Iron Claw.”
Her eyes widened.
“I’ve never heard of it before, but the gasps from the others hinted that it might be really bad.”
“It is,” she agreed. “It is forbidden, but I didn’t know any Masters existed that could execute, let alone teach, the move.”
Ulrik snorted. “Sounds like a shitty kung fu movie.”
Tenderly she patted his cheek. “Fist,” she said, holding her clenched hand up in front of him, “is nearly the same size as a paw. Correct?”
He nodded.
“Iron claw,” she whispered, opening her hand, “is wolf claw in human hand form.”
His eyes widened.
“Very few can do it, according to the history books, and usually it takes decades or more of practice, of having absolute control over their wolf, otherwise it can leave them disfigured or handicapped, losing the ability to change or lose the use of their hand all together. The Covenant have forbidden it because it is a violation of nature and God; you are either wolf or you are man, but you are not both at once.”
Ulrik nodded his understanding. “So there really is a Master and Apprentice,” he surmised, and her eyes flickered to the closed office door where the two men were loudly arguing inside. “I’ll keep an eye on the moody two while recovering the data. Connie should be back within an hour… Are you going to be okay?” he asked again.
“I need something stronger than black coffee,” Akia said. “I’ll be back, most likely before the other two. I’ll check in with you in twenty minutes to see how it’s going. If Pierre flips you shit, bust out with the techno mumbo jumbo that’s biting at your tongue.”
He smiled wide.
“I’ll be back. If anything of the wolf nature shows up, don’t announce it. Captain Nikas will be able to twist it into something that points towards human in nature. Okay?”
“Understood, Sir,” he said, saluting, getting an eye roll in return.
Once the door closed behind her, Ulrik slipped out of his jacket and took a seat at Leclair’s computer then went to work.
“Help me get his pants off,” Connell said, struggling to free the unconscious man’s snake skin belt that most likely cost more than he made in a month.
Varg gave him a look from the doorway where he stood watching. “Did you mistake me for Ginger Bear?” he asked.
“Shut up and help me,” he groaned. “Akia said that she needs his ass back at the precinct, and I have to agree that this has taken a seriously bad turn for the worse with files disappearing and an apparent leak in the department that’s trying to cover their tracks. Apparently Leclair might have come across something that the Stray wants covered up. I wouldn’t be surprised if Leclair was the next victim; the man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and is so optimistic and keep the peace minded that it’s sickening.”
Varg growled. “And you left Akia and Kid there alone?!” he shouted, storming into the room to throttle his little brother.
“She’s armed and a cop,” Connell reminded him. “She wouldn’t do something stupid like run off with the Stray in order to take care of it on her own… Shit, she isn’t going to do that, is she?” he asked.
A loud whistle pulled their attention to the doorway where Faelan stood with a smile. “You know, this would be so much hotter if I was invited and three of the four weren’t straight,” he said.
Connell shook his head, filling a syringe with Vitamin B-12 mixed with adrenaline. He hoped that Damian wouldn’t attack them after being rudely woken up, but the man was completely useless at the moment, and Akia needed him.
“I think his pants need to come off even more,” Faelan said before biting his little finger.
Varg growled at him.
“Fine, but that is an impressive cock that I wouldn’t mind impaling myself on,” he teasingly sang before heading down the hall.
Connell ignored his singing at the top of his lungs brother in the bathroom down the hall. “I mean, Leclair isn’t a bad guy, and a decent cop. She’s thinking the same, I could tell, about him being the next on the victim list in order to tie up all loose ends.”
When he finally got Damian’s pants down far enough that he could inject the wakeup cocktail into his thigh, he paused and looked at the man’s muscular thigh curiously.
“What are you waiting for?” Varg complained. “Do I need to get Fae because you’ve decided to help him rape your sister’s boyfriend?”
“Shut up,” Connell absently said as he caressed over the white scars littering Damian’s thigh. “Little Sister has really done a number on him over the years,” he whispered, in shock and awe that Damian would put up with such physical abuse, and yet he did without complaint. “Huh, he really does love her,” he said with a soft chuckle. He hadn’t questioned it, but the others had, a few times.
Varg scoffed. “She gets physical when in the sack. It isn’t worthy of idol worship of a man simply because he can take it. Hurry it up and get your ass back to the precinct so you can keep an eye on her.”
“You really need to get over this jealousy thing,” Connell scolded, jamming the syringe into Damian’s thigh and massaged the site with his free hand as he pushed on the plunger with his thumb, not rushing the process in order to get proper delivery. “Never did you look at Akia as a sister, which I guess is a good thing since you have this phantom hard on for her, and Adam has for Eve, but she just isn’t that into you. You need to accept it. Sis didn’t abandon us. She simply left for a little while. She has a job, life, career, and a healthy relationship with a werewolf. That is more than any of us have ever been able to boast, so cut her and him some slack.”
Again, Varg growled but bit his tongue.
“Time for a second one,” Connell said but a hand snapped out and grabbed his wrist before the needle could pierce his skin for a second time.
“Ow,” Damian said, his eyes rolling around. “What happened…why are my pants off? Oh man, did Fae try to cuddle?” he groaned then sniffed to determine who was in the room with him and his eyes snapped open and a deep, menacing growl rolled from his chest
.
“It’s just B-12,” Connell assured him, confused by his reaction.
“Where is he?” Damian demanded, getting off of the bed, fastening his pants as he went, following the smell down the hall and stairs to the laundry room.
Connell and Varg followed, not sure what he was talking about.
“What are you doing?” Connell asked when Damian started rummaging through the hamper, sniffing wildly, following a scent to the washing machine. He pulled wet articles of clothing out, one by one, sniffing each before dropping it to the floor before finding the shirt that Connell had worn when called to the sixth body.
“Whose shirt is this?” Damian demanded, holding it up.
“Mine,” Connell said. “I wore it when I collected the latest body, but the stench of the Stray was too much for me to handle, so I cleaned up in here. Apparently Fae started the laundry. Why, what’s wrong?”
“This isn’t the Stray!” Damian snarled. “Where is Akia?”
“At the precinct,” he guardedly admitted. “Whose stench is that?”
Damian pushed past them and hurried for the door. The other two followed and were barely able to get in his rental car before he took off, racing down the driveway. Never did he think he’d smell it again, the embodiment of pure evil and all that was wrong with werewolf kind, but his scent was unmistakable. Damian was kicking himself in the ass for not picking it up last night, but he was consumed with Akia and her infliction and wolf. He punched the steering wheel in frustration, fighting the urge to yell.
Why was He in Haven of all places? Was he trying to acquire again? Better yet, how did he survive the last time they met?
“What’s going on?” Varg demanded, tired of the silence.
Damian pushed his hand through his hair, struggling to keep from lashing out. “There is a werewolf, one that is evil on levels that you have never seen before, that you never knew existed, and that has been blackening the history of our kind for centuries. According to historians, he had no origins, no pack, no blood ties to our species, and yet he infiltrated packs with bloodlines hundreds of generations strong and single handedly decimated them. He has no face, no prints, no voice, and yet his scent carries with it a signature you cannot deny exists.”
Connell pulled his hands over his face. “Who is he?” he asked. “Is he the Master, and the Stray is simply his Apprentice?”
Damian shook his head; Akia was right, the fourth was different. It was when He took the Stray under his guidance that the killings were refined and progressed so drastically. “He has no Apprentices; there is no one that can match his level of darkness. He only has toys, puppets if you will, that he manipulates, plays with, and then when they no longer serve his purpose they are disposed of. Everything is expendable to him, everything. He has been referred to by many names throughout history. To most he is simply called the Puppet Master, but to those that survived and severed the strings, he is Moriarty.”
“And you know this how?” Connell whispered, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat.
“Because I was one of the few that survived,” Damian said in a tone so level that it caused chills to creep across Varg and Connell’s skin.
****
Pierre paced in front of the desk the blue-haired young man was working at, his long, pale fingers moving over the keyboard faster than the Inspector had ever seen someone’s fingers move before. Ulrik was able to easily retrieve the files, and while he read through the reports that were compromised, trying to figure out why they were worth deleting, he dove deeper into the system and tried to connect the dots that Akia had the faith that he’d connect for her. As it was, at the moment, he had more data then he knew what to make sense of, but he was confident that Damian and Akia would be able to figure it out, so he kept pulling and compiling it.
When the door opened, everyone but Ulrik turned to regard the three that hurried in.
“What do you have?” Damian demanded, shrugging out of his suit jacket.
“Printer,” Ulrik said; the printed reports from the bodyguards of the fourth were waiting for him.
“Where’s de Wolfe and Paquette?” he demanded, quickly reading over the report.
“He’s in a holding cell under suspicion of evidence tampering and possibly these murders, and your shadow went to get coffee with Leclair,” Pierre said. He asked that same question once Paquette was in a holding cell. “It’s nice of you to-”
“Shut up,” Damian snapped at him. “According to both of Winterfeld’s guards, the Cadillac Escalade hybrid they were driving was filled with gas on the mainland before heading to the Island for sightseeing at the victim’s request. Twenty-five gallon capacity at twenty-three miles per gallon, they traveled only a hundred miles on their adventure, using approximately six gallons of the twenty-five, and yet they had to fill up again on the Island and that is when Miss Winterfeld was taken.”
“And that means what?” Varg asked.
“Someone made sure that they would have to stop for gas,” Damian said. “The gas was siphoned somewhere along their trip when the vehicle was unattended. That forced them to stop to refuel. One of the guards called it in to their security detail back at the hotel, requesting that they schedule the Escalade for maintenance because of a possible faulty fuel sensor. Both guards confirmed that they were not the ones that fueled the vehicle prior to the trip, that was an assistant in their motor pool, but the receipt in their records would have confirmed that it was filled… The receipt book was unaccounted for when the responding Officers did a sweep of the vehicle.”
Why her? Damian wondered. Arianna Winterfeld was weak. She couldn’t have fought him off; Moriarty would have known that from the smell of her. The medications were very noticeable. Was that why the Stray, his child of the moment, took his frustration out on the young woman’s body, or was that just adding to the severity of the situation and crime? Going after someone that was known in the human world like that was extremely risky, but it was suicidal to go after the sole heir of a werewolf and mogul like William Winterfeld the Third. Arianna was the very last person any werewolf would go after. That alone would…
“Oh fuck,” he choked, understanding washing over him.
“What is it?” Connell asked.
“Ha!” Ulrik shouted, throwing his arms in the air in triumph. “You thought you could hide from me, but I’m better.”
“What’d you find, Kid?” Varg asked, very concerned about Damian’s response to whatever he just figured out and Akia’s absence.
Ulrik hit print then hurried over to the map. “That black push pin I couldn’t figure out. It was the weight station, but I couldn’t connect the dots. According to the reports on the server, the ridiculously detailed report, the truck driver had no connection to the Island. But that isn’t true. Four months ago that driver crossed paths with an officer from the mainland.”
“What does that have to do with the Island?” Connell asked the obvious.
Ulrik pulled the pile of papers off of the printer. “Weight stations record the load and hours logged for a driver, but they also log how many passengers. That truck driver had multiple passengers over the course of his career; men, women, it didn’t matter. I don’t think he was trafficking, I think he was simply picking up hitchhikers!” he said excitably, feeling like a detective all of a sudden.
“So it was one of those hitchhikers that killed him?” Pierre asked, skeptically.
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But that isn’t what I’m getting at. That truck driver was pulled over and given a warning ticket for a plate that was unreadable due to grime from the road. The Officer documented that the truck had a male passenger with identification. That I.D. was for a Simone Matisse of British Columbia.”
“Matisse is our guy?” Pierre surmised, not entirely sure where the young man’s train of thought was going.
“No, not unless he’s a pissed off ghost,” Ulrik said with a chuckle. “Matisse’s body was found three months ago
in Lac La Plonge, Saskatchewan. According to the M.E. he had been dead for six months or more. There was no way that Matisse was the guy in the truck with the first victim.” He hurried over to the white board that was covered with the pictures of the victims and stuck the photo of Simone Matisse from the system on the board.
They looked at the picture curiously; the man looked familiar but they couldn’t say why.
“What connects the two?” Varg asked.
“That is what I’m getting to!” Ulrik beamed and flipped through the papers he had printed out. “The Officer that wrote the first victim the warning for the plate was none other than RCMP: East Prince Detachment, Officer… Oh fuck,” he gasped, looking up from the photo and report to Damian.
****
Akia looked at her nearly empty coffee. “Are you sure this isn’t decaf?” she asked through a yawn, her eyes getting ridiculously heavy. Obviously she was more exhausted than she realized because she simply sat in the vehicle at the sixth’s dumpsite and sucked down two quad lattes while Leclair walked the area. Now she was on her third latte, but it wasn’t helping to wake her up in the least. “I don’t remember Canadian espresso being so weak,” she mumbled, shaking her head to clear it.
Leclair chuckled, flexing his fingers on his right hand, trying to work the stiffness out of them. “It isn’t decaf, but you’re most likely feeling the effects of the Rohypnol by now,” he said with a smile.
She went for her sidearm but he was quicker and his fist slammed into Akia’s face, smashing her head into the side windows, shattering the glass, and she slumped over unconscious.
“That took longer than I thought it would,” he said in a singsong tone, searching her pockets for her phone and gun. He tossed both out the window as he sped down the highway. “This will be fun! Master will be very pleased that I have found a replacement, one that will give a superior species and gender, that she feels she’s above, the respect and praise they deserve. She’ll be begging for me to kill her before I’m done with her,” he said, pulling off of the highway and onto an overgrown trail that was barely visible from the road.
