by Unknown
“Oh. Right. Do you know what’s going on there?”
Carl glanced around the corner of the building and shrugged.
“What have you gotten into now?” he asked, condescension dripping from his tone.
Sam tensed. “Nothing. It just seems odd to see so many feds at the construction sight.”
Carl rolled his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, steeling herself for another round of verbal abuse.
“Nothing. Just think you need to learn to keep your nose out of other people’s affairs.”
He stopped talking suddenly and they stared at each other.
“Well, I’m going in,” he said before taking off toward the entrance to his apartment building.
Sam stopped to watch him for a second.
“Hey, Carl,” she called before she could stop herself.
He turned to glare at her.
“Where were you just now?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s seven-thirty in the morning. You typically don’t work till afternoon. Where were you coming from?”
Carl rolled his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve started seeing someone.”
Sam stared at him in shock, giving him a chance to turn and stomp into his apartment complex. With him gone, she turned her attention back on the mass of feds. She slipped out from behind her hiding place and neared the construction site.
“The body was actually hidden when they poured the old concrete?” asked one of the inspectors. “When was this building built?”
She ducked behind a stack of the new plastic-made “I” beams and strained to hear their words.
“This was the last building added to the port, so about a year and a half ago,” explained a voice Sam recognized—Steve Branson, the port’s harbormaster and liaison between Michigan Plastics and the construction crews doing the remodel on the port.
“Well, get the damn body out,” ordered the inspector, who had clearly taken charge.
Sam was about to slip away—whatever body they had found buried in the concrete walls was too old to be related to her case—when the feds began to grumble to each other.
“Where’s the rest of it?” one of them asked over the general hub-bub.
Sam peeked back around the pile of “I” beams, hoping to catch a preview of the corpse, or rather what was left of it after so many years inside its concrete casket. The bodies of the feds were too closely packed for her to see even the smallest glimpse of the body.
There was the sound of more scraping as they dug deeper, slowly taking apart the portion of the wall they had been demolishing.
“Nope. That’s all of it,” the foreman suddenly declared.
“But… where’s the head?” the lead inspector asked.
“Is it a mystic?” asked one of the other feds.
“Yeah?”
“What if it’s one of us?”
“We gotta know!” called various voices from the crowd of humans.
Demands for answers rang out as the small group of FMB officers called out their own questions. Evidently finding a mostly decomposed body inside the walls of a building had thrown them for a spin. Sam stifled a giggle. What would the scene at the slaughter house do to them?
She slipped back into her hiding place just as the rookie fed raced up to the crowd.
“’Nother… murder… scene…” he stammered between large gasping breaths.
The heads of the other humans slowly turned to take in their younger counterpart, their eyes narrowed as though it was his fault their safe little world was falling apart.
Sam watched them from a gap in the piles. The feds shifted as they turned to address the rookie, giving her a peek at the corpse. Sure enough, it was missing a head. The rest of the body looked more like the mummies she had seen in what few horror films had been shown in the Res courtyard. The flesh on the body look juicy and yet well preserved from where Sam hid. Sam was happy to remain well away from the gooey corpse and hidden.
The power still coursing through her veins was too unstable to allow her to sneak any closer. Besides, she had had her fill of gore for the day. Either way, the head was removed and it was too long dead for her to tell what sort of mystic it might have been through its power, even if she hadn’t already been juiced.
Sam slid to the ground, ready to wait for the feds to leave so that she could sneak away unnoticed.
“What do you mean another murder scene?” asked the lead inspector.
The rookie inhaled again. “Three, maybe four bodies. Bad, guys. Real bad. Blood everywhere.”
Sam could practically hear the veterans roll their eyes at the younger man. They were in for a surprise. She closed her eyes, willing herself not envision the scene awaiting them. The more she enjoyed their discomfort, the darker she felt. She didn’t want to enjoy discomfort. She didn’t want to be the type of person who enjoyed anyone, even a human’s, pain. She didn’t want to be dark.
Over the past couple months, as she served under Heywood and worked against her own people, her heart had been growing hard and cold.
Sam squeezed her eyes tighter, willing herself not to see the faces of her lost family and friends. She pressed the palm of her hands against her eyes until it hurt.
Slowly, as the cold of the pavement seeped into her backside, she wondered if her heart would be capable of thawing once she found a way to free herself from Heywood’s blackmail. Sam stopped to consider. Freedom from Heywood was only a matter of time in her mind. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when. She would find a way to be free of his sticky fingers one way or another, but would she be free of the changes taking place within herself? That she wasn’t so sure.
Eventually, the feds got themselves organized. The majority of them going off with the rookie to see the murder scene at the slaughter house while a few remained to bag the body and take it to the main gate. Once the crowd thinned, Sam climbed out of her hiding place, wincing as her stiff joints complained, and slipped free.
She walked northward, taking her time. For the first time since losing her job, she realized she had nothing but time. She had nowhere to clock in at, and, thus far, Heywood had not informed her of another drop needing her attention. Until another break-through or another fresh murder scene, she had nothing but time and questions.
If only she could find a few answers.
Sam stared at her feet as she walked, her hands stuffed deep inside her jacket pockets as her mind skittered from one topic to another.
Amber was jealous of Jason’s interest in her powers.
Why would someone be murdering the fae and framing the vampires? The mages? The werewolves? … The humans?
Carl hated her.
Her parents wouldn’t look at her? And her father might not even be her father.
Sam glanced up at the sky. It was maybe eight a.m., but no later. How had so much happened so early in the morning, and what in the world was she going to do for the rest of the day?
She didn’t much want to be around Heywood, but she didn’t have anyone else to go to.
Sam came to stop, her feet refusing to continue moving. The woman behind her cursed as she stumbled around her. Sam ignored her glare as she scanned the crowds moving here and there, scurrying on to their destinations, either home after a long night shift or work after a quick breakfast. She, though, had nowhere to go.
She could return to Heywood’s and sit in her purple room until the sun set and Heywood put her to work, either collecting a package or, heaven forbid, going to talk to Reynolds. Sam swallowed the bile that rose to her mouth and forced those thoughts to the back of her mind.
In her former days she would go to Amber or Carl during her free time. Now though, Carl hated her and Amber, while on peaceful terms, was jealous of her.
Sam considered seeking out Roman. They still hadn’t talked since her fight with the vampires, but she suspected he would be working, assuming he was even inside the
walls of the Reservation.
She was just about to start searching when a voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Sam?” asked a tentative voice.
“Ryan,” she replied, sounding just as embarrassed.
They stood there, staring at each other’s shoes, as the crowd flowed around them, listening to the pedestrians’ mumblings. The travelers didn’t appreciate finding their path blocked by two people not even talking to each other. Sam swayed on her feet, trying her best to hide the last effects of her stolen magic while Ryan scratched the back of his neck.
“You’re looking a lot better,” he finally said.
Sam laughed, her lips sparking.
Ryan’s expression darkened as he stared at her. “Whose power did you steal?”
“No one’s. I mean. Well, someone’s. It’s a long story. We’re all cool now. It’s fine.”
Sam bit down on her lips, forcing herself to stop mumbling. She focused on her tattoo as her gift awoke, aware of the crowd around them, pressing in on her. It wanted to taste again, to create itself in someone else. After taking so much, from so many, her gift had laid dormant, too sated to do more than slumber. Now, though, as the last of the power faded, it wanted more. She struggled to control the need forming in the pit of her stomach.
Ryan took a deep breath, forcing is own anger and distrust down.
“Fine. We’ll talk about that later. Did you, um… did you hear what I said, before, when…”
Sam nodded vigorously. She wanted to spare her brother the awkwardness of repeating his apology.
“We’re good, Ryan. We’re good.”
He nodded as he rubbed his neck again. They both returned to silence.
“How’s Mom?” she finally asked.
“She’s okay. She misses you.”
“I miss her, too.”
They lapsed back into silence for a moment before Ryan thought up another topic of conversation, sadly choosing the one thing Sam wanted least to talk about.
“How are things with you and Chad?”
Sam groaned, despite her best efforts to keep her poker face in place.
“That good?” Ryan asked.
“There is nothing between us,” replied Sam.
“Really? I talked to Chad last night. He seemed to think you two were on the verge of getting back together.”
“Did he tell you he was just using me to form an alliance between the clans at his father’s orders?”
Ryan cringed. “Why do you think I haven’t married yet? Show me a girl who hasn’t been flung at me by her parents.”
Sam presented her brother with her closed fist. “Gollet siblings unite.”
Her brother bumped his fist to hers, politely ignoring the fact the gesture burned the hair off his knuckles. Sam cringed and mouthed an apology.
“I hope you really do have it under control.”
“I do. Believe it or not, Chad’s dad can vouch for the fact all this stolen power was taken for valid reasons.”
Ryan grunt and they fell back into silence.
“Well, I should get going,” Ryan said suddenly.
Sam felt a wave of guilt descend on the heels of her relief. She shouldn’t be relieved to leave her brother’s presence. She paused.
“Ryan,” she called before he could take more than a step. “Watch your back. This isn’t over.”
“You mean the vamps?”
“It’s not the vamps killing the fae.”
His brows pulled down in a dark frown. “What is it?”
“I don’t know, but it’s hella powerful. No offense, but it could take you guys out without breaking a sweat. Watch out.”
Ryan nodded. He wasn’t a fool. He knew a healer, an invisible man, and rune crafter—their mother—would be no match against whoever had killed at least eight fae without getting caught. Her brother gave her one last serious look, as though he wanted to give her the same advice before sauntering off. He was smart enough to know she didn’t need the advice. There were offensive fae and defensive—those good in a battle and those needed for before and after the battle. Her father, or whatever he was, could be good in a battle as an invisible assassin, assuming he took orders. But Ryan and her mother were good for before and after the battle. In the moment, they were just shy of useless. And Sam wasn’t around to protect them.
She would just have to solve the murders.
Sam continued to weave through the crowds until she reached street that would have led her to the slaughterhouse. She glanced down to see a large mass of bodies blocking the way. A large number wore navy blue of FMB uniforms. She had no doubt half the department had been called in to handle the gruesome scene.
Rather than watch with the other mystics, Sam turned away. She had seen enough of the carnage for a lifetime.
“Sam,” called Chad before she could get away.
Sam smiled, her mood crotchety enough to welcome the upcoming confrontation.
“What’s up, Chad?” she asked as she turned back, her glare already in place.
Chad skidded to a stop as he took in her expression.
“I-I was hoping we could talk. I know things have been pretty messed up with all this stuff going down, and what happened this morning, but I thought maybe you’d like to come to dinner tonight,” he said, trailing off as he got to his point.
“No thanks,” Sam replied succinctly as she turned back to continue on to Heywood’s house.
Chad jogged to catch up with her quick pace.
“What’s happened, Sam? When we talked yesterday I got the impression you had warmed up to the idea of us getting back together, or at least spending some time together.”
Sam shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to be needy.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a hastily covered stutter in Chad’s swift stride.
“After all, you just want to elope and put a baby in me. You can do that with any woman… so long as she’s from the Harcos Clan, right?”
Sam came to a sudden stop and turned on Chad.
“Oh wait, that’s right. She’s got to be a Gollet to please your dad. I almost forget. Well, best of luck with Ryan. His favorite flowers are roses,” she added over her shoulder as she took off again.
Chad ran to catch up with her. “Sam, wait! I think we’ve had a misunderstanding.”
“Nope. No misunderstanding. I heard everything you said to your father, and everything he said to you this morning. I’m not interested in being your meal ticket into the Harcos Clan. There are plenty of women who would love to marry you, with or without love. Try one of them.”
“Sam, stop!” he demanded, grabbing her arm and dragging her to a stop.
Sam spun with the sudden movement and grabbed his neck, no longer enjoying their confrontation.
“No, you stop, Chad. I’m done. This game is over. You tell your father. You make him understand. You try to play me again, and I’ll drain you until I’m reading Sumerian into my eighties. Do you understand me?”
Chad paled under her grip, his eyes growing wide with fear.
“Do you understand?”
Slowly, he nodded once.
“Good.”
She gave him a little shove, her power under her control by the barest thread, and stormed away. To her disgust, it took her a number of minutes before her gift was ready to play nice with others. She reached Heywood’s house long before she could face the other members of the gang, and walked on, ready to go around the block. Sam opted to walk in circles rather than try and explain herself.
To distract herself, she slowed her steps and focused on the last five murders with the new idea that someone was staging them. She threw out all their powers and artifacts, assuming that they had been chosen randomly. Likewise, she ignored their locations, assuming they were chosen based on nothing more than convenience. If it wasn’t the fae and it wasn’t the vampire, than that only left the werewolves, the mages, and the humans.
The werewolves seemed unlikely. General
ly speaking, they weren’t that powerful. In a pack, fully organized and with a strong Alpha, they could be truly deadly, but within the Reservation and continually surrounded by the more empowered mystics, they were the weaklings. Sam couldn’t see them organizing themselves enough to pull off such a scheme. All the same, she didn’t disregard them entirely. It would be foolish to disregard any group locked up in a cage like the Reservation.
Everyone inside these walls was angry, hurt, and starving.
The mages were powerful in their own way. Like the fae, they relied on magic, but unlike the fae, they had not been weakened by the iron of the Reservation. And unlike the werewolves, they were few. Fewer and fewer mages were being born to both mage and human families. Few mage couples were reproducing within the Reservation. It seemed cruel to bring a child into this world. And fewer human families were finding their pubescent children developing unusual powers only to have them snatched up by the government and toted off to the Reservation orphanage where people like Amber cared for them.
The humans.
Sam stopped her slow tread, causing another pedestrian to curse at her.
The humans were another story entirely. Why would they want everyone to mistrust the vampires? The mystics already did that. It was subtle, but before all this the mages, werewolves, and fae were already united against the vampires. Sam would know. She had felt their ire when she crossed the invisible line to join the vampires, and she had seen their union clear as day from the other side. She hadn’t realized how unified the other mystics were until they were unified against her alongside the vampires. Was this what the humans meant when they talked about racism?
The humans didn’t make sense, and yet they seemed the most likely to work up some sort of scheme in an effort to unite the mystics against one of their own. Ultimately, while the others might be against the vampires, they were all untied against the humans. If the humans wanted to divide them, this would be the way to do it. Was that their scheme? Were the humans hoping to weaken the mystics by breaking up their slight alliance against the humans who held them captive?
Even that theory felt weak to Sam.
The FMB held them under the government’s thumb. They were herds of cattle in the pen. What did the FMB or the humans in general gain by the mystics hating each other? Besides, the mystics already hated the vampires. If they wanted to break up any sort of allegiances among the mystics, wouldn’t they work to get the other groups to hate each other instead of making them hate the vampires more than they already did?
