by Gaja J. Kos
She couldn’t be the killer. Not the Ice Queen of Fang. Isa might have been scary as shit and had no qualms strong-arming people into investigations, but for all her crappy tactics, she had only ever employed them to capture killers.
“Isa isn’t a witch,” I snapped into the unnerving silence. “And she isn’t some godsdamned frenzied vamp, either!”
Roth glanced at the sansevieria occupying the edge of his desk before meeting my gaze. “This isn’t easy for any of us.”
Oddly enough, I believed him.
But that did little to curb the anger burning within me as brightly as the demon fire wanting to be unleashed.
“As you’re well aware, five months ago, Isa Vogt had been sent to work undercover. It’s a…demanding task, even for the best of agents.” This time, his gaze fell on the tall parlor palm positioned just beyond the bright rays of late morning light. “It appears Isa Vogt, after initially performing her duties, went rogue.”
“Bullshit,” I growled before I could stop myself and yanked the folder off the desk.
Roth raked a large hand through his short brown hair. Reddish undertones shone as the strands bent. “I wish it were, Agent Freundenberger. But Isa Vogt didn’t always tread on the right side of the law. She has murdered before.”
Who hasn’t? I wanted to say, but I had a suspicion the kind of murder Roth was talking about wasn’t the kind most of us supes had partaken in. Not self-defense. Not justice delivered within our community, as had been the standard before we came out to the human population.
I smoothed the bent folder, then traced my finger along one of the marks that spread across the front like lightning.
“Such darkness,” Roth went on, “can’t be snuffed out entirely. Read the file, Agent Freundenberger, and come back in tomorrow to discuss matters further.”
Somehow, I rose at his gentle dismissal, the folder in one hand, my torn bag in the other. Roth was right—regardless of what my instincts were telling me, exchanging words with him now before I had the full picture would be nothing but a waste of time.
I took a step towards the door, then turned. “Why me?”
Roth dragged his gaze from the window. There was something akin to resignation in his eyes—something that spoke he’d known Isa personally. Not an intimate connection, but still the kind of link that made all of this hard to swallow.
A mirthless smile touched his lips. “Because you’re the only person Vogt might allow to come close.”
As I strode down the broad sidewalk, the sun coming down hard on the nape of my neck and sweat running in what felt like a neat little current down my spine, my mind felt just a bit more like my own again. Roth’s revelation had put me in a daze where overthinking and spacing out formed a symbiosis I hadn’t been able to escape. I hardly even remembered where I’d headed once I left HQ, the folder a nauseating weight in my hand, but I did recall the urge to walk.
Away from my problems would have been nice, but that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon.
A part of me was tempted to reach out to Stein for another dose of his soothing aura just to reclaim the confidence I’d felt walking into Roth’s office.
I stopped in the flimsy shade pooling behind a kiosk, transferred the folder under my armpit, and opened my bag. A quick look at my banged-up phone revealed it was almost noon, which meant I’d been meandering around Berlin for a good few hours.
Something my parched throat confirmed.
I veered into the nearest shady cafe that had an air of privacy about it and plopped my butt down on the sun-faded padded chair. While the patio gave off a calm air, up ahead, the street embodied Berlin’s thrumming heartbeat—a vivid combination of pedestrians, cyclists, drivers, and bikers. The latter made me yearn for my Vulcan.
A ride around town would certainly go a long way towards straightening my knotted bundle of thoughts. But shit was what shit was.
I ordered a large glass of water and a coffee when the human waiter wove between the tables towards me, then set the folder and my bag on the chair to my right since it seemed the most protected of the three I had at my disposal. While I was doubtful anyone would try snatching the file, working for ICRA had turned me into a protective beast when it came to intel. And the contents of this particular folder…
Well, maybe I was a touch more invested than usual to not let any of it fall into the wrong hands.
The waiter delivered my water and coffee, and I spent long, long minutes enjoying the aroma while drinking in the perfectly mundane life rolling by on the street. While the latter didn’t make up for my lack of a bike, it certainly offered the proper ambiance to clear my head. Dropped the tension, the anger, and every other shitty impulse edging to lower my efficiency.
Once a moderate sense of calm settled within me, I pulled my phone from my bag. Several emails clogged my inbox, and there was a text from Alec, checking if everything was okay. Right, I’d forgotten our abruptly ended call when I’d picked up on the demon’s presence. I sipped my now tepid coffee and sent a quick text back, not wanting to bother him with a call since he was probably swamped in the office. The Zentrum was hosting a charity tournament next month with Richard and several other big names competing to fund the Supernaturals for Environmental Sustainability movement, which meant he was neck-deep in paperwork.
I strummed my fingers on the table as an idea wormed into my head. Yes, ICRA’s resources were vast, but Isa’s selling point when she’d wanted me to join the Agency hadn’t been without weight. I did have resources of my own. And sometimes, it was a common person with a strong link to their ancestors who could provide far better answers than any scholar could.
Tossing back the remnants of my coffee, I tapped open the phonebook and scrolled until I stumbled upon Tilda’s name. A couple of years had passed since we last spoke, but as the tuut-tuut bounced against my ears, it gave me hope the witch hadn’t changed her number.
“Yes?”
I sat up straighter. “Tilda? This is Lotte Freunden—”
“LOTTE!” Her voice boomed into my ears, but even as I winced, a smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “My girl, I haven’t heard from you in ages!”
“Sorry about that, Tilda. Things have been… Well, I’ll tell you everything in person if you’re up for a match tomorrow.”
Though the bliss that was tennis would be a welcome reprieve after tackling Isa’s file, I realized I didn’t want to tarnish the game or my reunion with Tilda. Even if, in the end, I wouldn’t be able to avoid the subject entirely.
But until then, I was determined to enjoy the normalcy sparring with an old acquaintance offered.
“You’re in Berlin?” Surprise colored Tilda’s voice, but before I could confirm, a series of clicks against the keyboard ricocheted down the line. “We have a free slot at seven and one at ten; what suits you better?”
I ran my gaze across the street, mulling over whether I wanted to play a match before or after my follow-up meeting with Roth. A familiar figure caught my eye.
Not letting the man out of my sight, I said to Tilda, “I know the temps will probably be murderous, but let’s say ten.”
“Perfect.” I could practically hear her smile. “Still know the way to our club?”
I snorted. “I’ve been out of touch, but I’m not that rusty.”
After Tilda and I said our goodbyes, I placed my phone on the table and waited until the man neared the cafe. I had no desire to screech like one of those damn magpies that liked to take up residence in my parents’ yard. And, fine, the seconds that skidded by maybe provided me with the bonus of observing the assertive, smooth way he carried himself.
I might have become a bloody spinster in the past five months, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate eye candy when I saw it.
Once he was close enough that a regular shout could snag his attention, I called out, “Finn!”
The warlock whipped his head around, his strawberry blond hair performing a flip worthy of a comm
ercial. A frown etched between his brows—then smoothened when he spotted me waving like an ass.
A smile broke across his lips as he returned the wave and strode over.
Though he was no Stein, there was something utterly comforting in Finn’s aura that blanketed me as he eased himself into the offered chair. A side effect, I suspected, of the strong Kolduny blood flowing through his veins and mixing with the rest of his inherited magic.
“I take it it wasn’t Roth you brawled with?” He motioned to my less than presentable state I, admittedly, might have forgotten about.
“It was a tough morning in more ways than one.”
He lifted his arm to get the waiter’s attention, then said to me, “So much for a nice Berlin welcome.”
“I’ve actually had worse.”
Finn ordered a coffee for himself and asked if I wanted anything else. I opted for a glass of pineapple juice—maybe not the best fit after the dark roast I’d drunk, but I had a feeling I’d end up drinking a shitload of caffeine in the hours to come. Best to lay off it until the inevitable craving kicked in.
“How about I make it up to you in the name of our lovely city?” Finn proposed once the waiter left us. The gleam in his green eyes suggested he enjoyed the prospect even more than his pleasant tone already led on.
But while that should have been enough for me to turn down the invitation, I simply said, “Oh?”
“A few other agents and myself are headed out to a concert tonight, followed by a couple of drinks. Interested?”
Again, that instinct to turn him down nagged, but what was I going to do? Huddle in my hotel room with Isa’s crimes for company?
I waited until the waiter delivered our drinks, then met Finn’s gaze. “I’d love to.”
Though Finn and I chatted for a while longer, the time to return to my hotel came all too soon. He walked me halfway, then, after we exchanged numbers, strode in the direction of ICRA HQ. Whatever lightness being in his company infused me with faded by the time I trudged up to my room.
Given the late hour, I ordered up a Coke and a pizza from the hotel kitchen that I really didn’t have any high hopes for, then slipped into some clean clothes. The shower, I suspected, would serve me better after I dug through Isa’s history. I waited for the food to arrive, then set the Coke and the large plate with pre-cut slices on one end of the king-sized bed before climbing onto the mattress myself, folder in hand.
“Right.” I blew out a breath and curled my legs beneath me. “No time like the present, Lotte.”
Isa’s face stared at me from the first page, and I quickly flipped it over. Not that what greeted me next was any better.
Isa had led a long life.
Not quite as ancient as a particular demon I did not want clogging my thoughts right now, but she was definitely no fresh vamp.
I grabbed a slice of pizza and all but stuffed the entire damn thing in my mouth as I read on. The first three paragraphs seemed like a direct copy from Isa’s employment record—her own recollection of the early years. Bare facts that my gaze skimmed over until I hit the part Roth had mentioned.
The 1800s killings.
I made a mental note to check the copies of the handwritten documents added at the back, then read through the transcription. The slice of pizza I’d eaten formed a lump in my stomach.
All the bodies were drained of blood and—
My fingers stuck to the page as I flipped it, perspiration coating my skin.
Shit.
The corpses all bore dark magic symbols, the scanned sketch of the vics a dead ringer for the bodies in the morgue.
Pulse thumping in my ears, I tackled the text once more. The lines became a blur as I tried to absorb too much too fast, but an unyielding force drove me forward. Pushed me through the two centuries spanning between then and now—past Isa’s change of heart, her following cooperation with the law. First as a contact to the sensitives in the force, then ICRA. I breezed across her stellar record, skimming the part outlining how she’d championed me then, much to her superiors’ annoyance, protected me when it became clear my future was to become irrevocably tied with ICRA thanks to the demon side popping up like a damn unwanted jack-in-a-box.
I picked up the final page of the report with a trembling hand.
Her undercover mission entailed infiltrating an underground net of vampires dealing in human trafficking. I grabbed my can of Coke and swallowed several mouthfuls, though the fizzy drink did little to curb the nausea ratcheting up inside me.
For the first two and a half months, Isa had dutifully reported her findings. Stuck to her pre-scheduled meetings with her supervisor and liaisons.
Then she missed one. Another. Showed up, then vanished again. Her inconsistency carried on right up to the point until she went off the grid altogether.
On paper, it looked as if she’d lost interest in the case, maybe even in this entire existence, and decided to flip ICRA the big ol’ middle finger. Gave herself a fresh start. Not an unheard-of occurrence among immortals.
There had certainly been no hints that Isa’s life had been in danger due to the nature of her mission, however much I searched for them in the report.
But while that should come as a relief, I couldn’t imagine Isa just…running off. She took her responsibilities too seriously to bail like that. But the alternative…
My teeth sank into my bottom lip as I read the last paragraph of the report.
I muttered and closed my eyes, those final findings imprinted on the back of my eyelids. “Shit, Isa, what have you done?”
9
My stomach twisted at the oppressive smell of pizza that had taken over my suddenly too-small room.
Every drained and mutilated body ICRA had found—they all coincided precisely with Isa’s whereabouts before she’d gone off the grid.
Only that wasn’t even the worst of it.
Isa’s disappearance… It happened immediately after her supervisor revealed ICRA had launched a new investigation—into the serial murders Isa herself had apparently committed.
Fuck.
All evidence might be circumstantial, but shit, did it make a solid case. Coincidences could only be interpreted as such up to a point. And this file…
Well, it fucking surpassed said point.
I grimaced and marched over to the windows. They only opened a crack, so I pressed my nose straight into the current of fresh air, hoping it would counter the nausea.
Of course, with my mind tearing itself apart, the endeavor was more or less a fruitless one.
I braced one hand against the wall and closed my eyes. Try harder, Lotte.
The tapestry of scents that were Berlin opened up a space that went beyond the confines of my room’s off-white walls. An illusion, but one that made breathing somewhat easier. Made hearing myself easier, too.
Though what I heard of my mental tones was far from encouraging.
ICRA might not have had any concrete evidence that linked Isa to the serial killings strewn across Germany, but the longer I thought about it, the less confidence I had in the possibility that things could be interpreted in another way. Even the magic lingering on the bodies was easily explained if Isa had an accomplice—or maybe it was the symbols themselves that invoked power. My mind flashed to the 1800s murder sketches, and I slammed my fist against the wall. There was no denying Isa was no stranger to the sigils. Add to that the even more damning fact that no one else seemed to know what the fuck they were, and Isa went from possible suspect to a pretty damn solid one.
Sirens wailed in the distance before they dissolved in the pulsating hum of traffic. I sucked in another lungful of air, then exhaled slowly, uncurling my fingers from my too-tight fist.
One thing didn’t make sense, though.
Why the fuck would Isa flip?
That was the single bit that I couldn’t back up, no matter how far I reached to find a motive. Everything pointed to her undercover job. Even Roth himself had hinted it’s the
kind of work that gets to a person. But why the fuck would human trafficking derail Isa in such a manner? I really didn’t think the Ice Queen of Fang could be easily influenced even if she had been forcefully hanging out with the most elusive criminal minds of the vamp world.
My phone pinged and jolted me out of the mental spiral.
Regretfully, I parted with my stream of fresh air and, ignoring the folder still spread across the bed, grabbed my phone from the bag.
Finn.
I swiped open the message, the churning thoughts quieting, but not dying down entirely. Amusement and warmth I hadn’t thought myself capable of experiencing right now swirled through me as I read through the text.
There was no way Finn could have known about my aversion for wandering into a place without knowing where, specifically, the person I was meeting was situated, but the fact that he offered to meet up outside spoke plenty about his considerate nature.
I copied the club’s address and put it into my GPS app since I wasn’t familiar with the area, but when I wanted to type back that I’d see him there, my fingers froze above the crack.
Talk about reading too much into random shit, but wasn’t I precisely like that damn crack?
Groaning, I parked my butt on the edge of the bed. A strong whiff of pizza blew my way, and my nausea stirred anew—though this time, it had little to do with Isa and everything with the downward curve my personal life had been on since my fallout with Afanasiy.
I dialed Melina before I could change my mind.
“Lotte!” Her gentle contralto caressed my ears.
Despite the sour turn my mood had taken, a smile pulled at my lips. “Hi, Melina. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Busy with the summer camp for the kids, but all’s good.” She paused for a second. “I’m guessing the same doesn’t go for you?”
My back hit the mattress—a touch too close to the pizza and files for comfort, but as the words spilled from me, the proximity hardly mattered. “An agent invited me to a concert and drinks tonight.”
