“Mhmm.” Hunt cast his gaze behind Kat, toward the front yard. “I’m sure he’ll be amenable to use his influence in Mr. Crown’s favor, seeing as Mr. Crown saved his life.”
Kat glanced over her shoulder. The growing fire in the mansion was casting long shadows across the yard, and one of those shadows was shaped like a woman, a woman approaching the side of the house.
“I tried not to critically injure Linda Cunningham,” she said, “but her body still took bad hits. If you manage to exorcise the demon, she’s going to need immediate medical attention.”
“It’s not a matter of if.” Hunt cracked his knuckles. “I’ve defeated Glasya-Labolas before. I can do it again. And I will do my best to ensure Mrs. Cunningham survives her unfortunate experience. Once the demon is gone, I’ll drop her off on the sidewalk out front, in plain view of the paramedics.”
“You want some backup?” Kat asked.
He shook his head and offered Kat what looked like a regular quarter imbued with a spell. The veil spell. “Glasya-Labolas and I have a score to settle. You and bear boy go meet up with Ms. Xing and the senator. They took an ATV out of a side exit to the property, connected to that area inside the hedgerow there.”
He pointed to an opening in a tall wall of manicured bushes, behind which lay a row of large sheds. “They’re supposed to have met up with Sergeant Baker. Make sure the senator doesn’t try to do anything—else—stupid. And make sure that no one wrests him from our clutches until we’ve had a chance to thoroughly explain just how badly his wife fucked up, and what he can do to remedy the consequences of her actions.”
“All right.” Kat took the quarter. “We can manage that.”
“I trust you can, Ms. King. You strike me as a very capable young lady.”
“Kat,” she said. “You can call me Kat.”
“Kat,” Hunt repeated, throwing on a small smile. “Well, Kat, best of luck with your tasks.”
Glasya-Labolas staggered around the side of the house, and despite the veil, locked onto Hunt immediately.
“And best of luck with yours,” Kat murmured, gesturing for Casey to head through the hedgerow. “Boot that goddamn demon back to the Inferno.”
Hunt’s smile turned wry. “It will be my pleasure.”
Kat and Casey took off into the shed area, leaving Hunt to fight his old nemesis alone. By the time they found the aforementioned side exit, a great battle was underway. Magic flared brightly. Tremors shook the ground. The hedgerow caught fire with a whoosh of whipping flame.
As Kat paused briefly to let Casey use his bear bulk to ram straight through a narrow gate that led out onto a service road, she looked back toward the house—and witnessed what she could only describe as the true visage of a demon. The silhouette of a horrifically ugly face cast in shadow and soot against the side of the mansion, its mouth set in a silent scream, its empty eyes shooting black flames.
Hoping it was a sign that Hunt was winning, Kat followed Casey onto the service road, and they took a roundabout path to Hargrove in order to avoid the mass of police cruisers, ambulances, and fire trucks that had clogged the street in front of the mansion. News vans had also arrived on scene, the small army of cops struggling to stem the tide of reporters who were vying to get good shots of the burning mansion.
As Kat and Casey crossed the back yard of a neighboring property, Kat caught a glimpse of Gabby and Sally Radigan.
Gabby, back in human form, was in handcuffs, a blanket draped over her shoulders to give her some sense of modesty. She was sitting on her knees next to the listless wolf that was Daphne Radigan, speaking to the poor young shifter in a calming manner.
To Kat’s surprise, Sally Radigan was also cuffed, but she was cuffed to a gurney, an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. Her face was white as a sheet beneath the smears of soot, and she was coughing up a storm. The effects of smoke inhalation.
Well, Kat thought, at least she’s not getting off scot-free.
Franc’s car was parked where it was supposed to be, and when Kat and Casey popped out from between two houses, they found Yun, Franc, and Senator Radigan arguing on the sidewalk.
At the sight of the huge grizzly bear, Radigan yelped in terror and made to flee. Franc gripped his wrist and slammed him against the side of her car, threatening to cuff him and stuff him in the back like a common criminal if he so much as took another step.
Radigan started hyperventilating, the stress of the situation breaking him down.
Since they needed him to be coherent, Kat leaned toward Casey and whispered, “Think this might go better if you don’t look like you’re about to eat him.”
Casey snorted in annoyance but complied. He shifted back into human form via a fascinating and somewhat painful-looking process, in which his bones cracked and popped, and his fur receded into his skin, until a nude, youthful man stood in the bear’s place.
He stood there unabashedly—shifters were used to being naked around each other, Kat supposed—but Yun colored slightly, and Franc struggled not to glance down. The latter opened the trunk of her car and scrounged up a blanket, similar to the one that Gabby was wrapped in. She tossed it to Casey, who tied it around his waist like a towel.
Senator Radigan slid down to the sidewalk and planted his face in his hands. In between his panting breaths, he moaned out, “Oh lord, I can’t handle this. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” Kat said, storming around the side of the car. “And you will.”
He peeked at her between his fingers. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”
“I’m a friend of Liam, the man who just got arrested after saving your ass. A problem that you are going to rectify, whether you like it or not.”
Radigan swallowed. “The thing with the demon, that wasn’t me. That was Sally…”
“I know who it was,” Kat snapped, her green aura flaring with her anger. “But don’t pretend you’re not complicit. You and your wife jointly decided not to go to the shifters to get help for Daphne, because doing so would’ve damaged your goddamn political career. You let your own daughter waste away in a fucking cage for weeks, and that is absolutely your fault, just as much as it is your wife’s. And you will do penance for that wrong, if I have to wring your neck to squeeze out what little humility you possess.”
Cowed, Radigan lowered his head. “You’re right. What we did to Daphne, that wasn’t acceptable. She deserved better.”
“And she’ll get better. From the shifters, not from you.” Kat bent down, hands on her knees, and stared at the man until he fearfully met her gaze. “You will get Liam out of jail. You will get any charges against him dismissed. You will then use your money, even if it takes every cent, to make sure that all evidence of our entire group’s involvement in this fiasco is completely destroyed. Because so help me god, if Advent 9 comes after any of us as a result of your family’s bullshit, neither you nor your wife will live to regret it.”
Radigan’s lip wobbled. “You’re threatening the life of a state senator.”
“I spent two years as a plaything to those monsters, driven almost to the point of madness by their torture, watching their other victims die horrible deaths.” Kat punched the sidewalk in front of Radigan, cracking the concrete. “Your wife paid them an untold sum of your money, money that will help them continue performing heinous experiments on innocent people they snatched off the street.
“I don’t care if you’re the fucking president. If you help them in any way, you will become my enemy for life, and I will fight you to my dying breath, or yours. You understand me?”
Radigan went white as a sheet. “Experiments? Torture? Who the hell did Sally hire?”
“You really want to know?” Kat asked, leaning so close their noses almost touched.
“I…I…” A hint of resolve flickered through his eyes, an echo of the confident politician. “Yes, I do.”
“Then I’ll tell you.” Kat sat cros
s-legged in front of him.
She was aware that Franc, Yun, and Casey were listening in, but she couldn’t find it in her fiery heart to care at the moment. Right now, she needed this man who’d dedicated his life to hurting shifters because of a tragic accident to understand just what horrors his policies, and the policies of those like him, had allowed to fester in their country.
“I’ll tell you everything that happened to me, Senator Radigan. And when you finish vomiting after my story concludes, you will do everything I say.”
22
Liam
“You’re a fucking idiot!” was the first thing Liam heard when he stepped into Captain Warhol’s office. That proclamation was immediately followed by the dull thwap of a rolled-up magazine whacking Liam upside the head.
Liam flinched back, expecting more blows, but they didn’t come. When he cautiously turned his head, he found Warhol standing before him, magazine tucked in the crook of his elbow. The scowl beneath the man’s bushy mustache could’ve melted a block of ice, and heat crept up Liam’s neck at the reproving glint in his old boss’s eyes.
The officer who’d escorted Liam to the office quickly shut the door, trapping Liam inside with the captain.
Liam let out a nervous chuckle. “It’s been a while, sir. Should we, uh, sit down and catch up?”
Warhol’s scowl deepened. “This is not a laughing matter, Crown. You should be in serious trouble for that stunt you pulled at the Radigan place.”
Liam’s eyebrows inched up. “Should be?”
“Looks like people in high places are watching out for you.” Warhol huffed. “For some unfathomable reason, the DA is declining to press charges against you, Ms. Cortez, and the other shifters who were arrested at the scene. All the shifters have already been released. I decided to hold you for a couple extra hours to rub in just how pissed I am at you for being such a massive bonehead.”
Relief blossomed in Liam’s chest, and he slumped back against the door. After the hospital released him late yesterday evening, bandaged like a mummy and doped up on Oxy, he’d spent the night in the precinct lockup. He’d endlessly paced around the cell as he pondered how long he was going to spend in prison for the litany of crimes he’d committed during the attempt to pin the murder spree on Radigan.
He’d only been allowed to call a lawyer, and therefore, he had no clue what had become of Kat, Yun, and Hunt after the fight with Theodore Pearson, the rogue magician. Gabby, he knew, had been arrested alongside him, but she’d been put in the women’s section of the lockup, so he hadn’t seen her either.
The only person involved in the fiasco that he had interacted with was, ironically, Pearson. The man had been placed in the cell across from Liam’s, and he’d spent the whole night angrily staring Liam down and muttering homicidal threats.
Thanks to the magic-suppressing cuffs, he hadn’t been able to make good on any of those threats. But Liam was certain that if the man ever saw the light of day again, his first act would be to track Liam down and finish their conflict in a deadly fashion.
“And what about Theodore Pearson?” Liam asked.
Warhol’s mustache twitched. “I’ve got it on good authority that that guy’s largely responsible for the shifter murders, so he’s not going anywhere. His arraignment’s on Monday, and I expect he’ll be denied bail and sent straight to Oxfam Jail, pending a trial for a heap of felony charges, including murder one.”
Liam wrung his hands behind his back, considering how the trial of an A9 magician would shake out, if it shook out at all. The organization’s reach was so extensive that there was every possibility Pearson would mysteriously break out of prison, the news of the breakout would be suppressed, and the trial would never proceed.
If that happened, then Liam would be in extreme danger, and by extension, Kat would be as well. The only reason Liam had escaped from A9’s radar last time they clashed was because everyone A9 sent to Salem’s Gate had wound up dead.
It’s possible that the high-profile nature of the case will cause A9 to abandon their magician, but I can’t bank on that. Somehow, I have to make sure that guy doesn’t tell anyone at A9 about—
“Christ, Crown,” said Warhol, “what’s going on here? I told you that you’re getting off without a single charge, and you look like I said we’re going to stick you on death row.”
Liam wet his dry lips. “I can’t tell you, sir.”
Warhol’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“Because it’s too dangerous.”
Warhol stomped his shoe against the tile floor. “Crown, I’ve been a cop for almost thirty years. I’ve dealt with my fair share of danger, and I think I can handle—”
“This is not like anything you’ve dealt with before. This goes far beyond Salem’s Gate.”
Warhol’s hard demeanor cracked, ever so slightly. “This goes back to what happened last month, doesn’t it? With that rogue female magician who burned up that poor family in their car. With that street fight that involved a sniper. With that mysterious explosion that happened just outside of town.”
Liam nodded, almost imperceptibly.
Warhol tossed the magazine onto his desk. “This is some serious anti-sup shit then?”
“Yes, sir. I’m afraid it is.”
“Should’ve known something like this was coming, what with the recent uptick in anti-sup hate crime.” He leaned against the edge of his desk. “But to think those people would come into a city with such a high sup population and start making serious trouble…That’s like asking for war.”
“To be quite frank,” Liam said darkly, “I think that might be the end goal.”
“Fucking hell.” Warhol ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Who are these people?”
“If I tell you, sir, you’ll never be safe again. And your family won’t either.”
Warhol pressed his lips together. “But you put Franc in the line of fire?”
Liam started. “You know…?”
“I’m not blind, son,” Warhol snapped. “She’s been acting cagey for two days, and another cop stationed at the Avery house saw you and her talking on the street.”
“I tried warding her off.” Liam rubbed his temples. “She wouldn’t have it.”
“That’s Franc for you.” He sighed. “But seriously, Liam, she’s a damn fine cop. Don’t drag her into this shit any more than necessary.”
“I won’t. I promise. I’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything that can blow back on her, no matter how much she wants to.”
Warhol wasn’t entirely satisfied with that, but they both knew Franc was too strong-willed to sit on the sidelines during a game this important.
“Okay,” Warhol muttered, “so you can’t tell me squat about that magician we got locked up. Can you at least tell me what went down with the Radigans? The wife has ambiguously admitted to some sort of criminal activity, but she’s been practically incoherent since we brought her in, and she went quiet after her lawyer told her to shut her trap.
“Ms. Cortez, being a cop’s ex-wife, knows her rights, same as you. She wouldn’t say a word to us yesterday, and the other shifters we booked followed her example. So really, we have no clue what actually happened over the past couple days.”
Liam scratched at his stubble. “Well, it pretty much went down like this…”
He recounted the whole story, from the disappearance of Luther Cunningham to the showdown with Pearson and Glasya-Labolas at the Radigan estate. Though he selectively edited out any details that could land Warhol in hot water with A9, or implicate anyone but Liam and Gabby in criminal activity.
Warhol asked questions here and there, and pushed for Liam to identify who else had helped him. But all Liam gave him was a vague clue that Yun had been involved. And once Warhol processed that, he stopped pressuring Liam for more information.
The last thing the captain wanted to do was piss off a deity.
“Good lord,” he muttered once the story wrapped. “I knew the Radigans had a lot of hate for shifters, but hiring a magician to murder a bunch of people in the vain hope that doing so would turn their daughter human again? That’s screwed up ten ways to Sunday.”
“I trust Sally Radigan will go down for it?”
“If she pleads guilty, then she absolutely will,” Warhol said. “Even a senator’s wife can’t get off on multiple counts of conspiracy to commit murder. If she doesn’t plead guilty, then we’ll have to go off the evidence. But if what you say is true, there’s plenty of evidence in the basement of the house that she was up to no good.
“The basement’s inaccessible at the moment, due to the fire damage, but the fire crews put the blaze out before the building’s structural integrity was critically compromised. As soon as they give us the green light, we’ll scour the place top to bottom for every scrap of evidence.”
Liam nodded. “My only recommendation is that you hurry. The people behind the magician don’t like publicity.”
Warhol’s bushy brows drew together. “Oh, don’t worry too much about that. We’ve got every available crime scene tech lined up outside that scene like an army ready to march, and almost forty uniforms patrolling the grounds. Plus, the whole property’s been heavily warded against intrusion. No one is getting that evidence before us.”
“Smart moves, sir.”
Warhol’s lips quirked up at one end. “I’ve been around the block a few times.”
Their conversation dwindled, and after Warhol gave Liam a few more stern warnings about acting outside the law in order to expose the criminal behavior of others, he finally allowed Liam to leave.
Liam didn’t hesitate to exit the captain’s office, but he did hesitate before he turned around to face the building’s main workspace. Because half the cops in the precinct were loitering in that space, staring at him with a mix of confusion and concern that left Liam feeling like a sideshow attraction.
Blessedly, Franc came to his rescue before he stammered out something that made his former colleagues think he’d lost his mind. She emerged from the break room down the hall, waved at him in a friendly manner, and held up a cup of the precinct’s terrible coffee.
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