by Gina LaManna
“Don’t be ridiculous.” A shudder racked my body—delayed, I figured, from my reminiscing. “What are the chances Joey’s inside?”
Matthew shrugged. “If he’s anything like Lucas, he’ll be home and scouring his list of friends for a manufactured alibi.”
“Speaking of alibis,” I said, “we’ll need to find two of them. One for the actual time of the murder, which I would guess to be around six this evening, and one for the time of movement—around nine tonight.”
Matthew nodded thoughtfully. “We need the connection between the mayor and the Goblin Girl.”
“You don’t think it was sexual in nature?”
“We’ll have to wait for the reports. I’ve seen plenty of sex crimes, and usually the victims are in some stage of undress,” he said. “Both of them were fully clothed. From the way they were found on the ground, the bodies look dumped together, not as if they’d been intimate just prior.”
“It was a staged scene. Why there?” I pictured the room in my head—the nondescript space, upset only by the presence of one public figure and a woman on the other end of the social ladder. “They would obviously be found there at one point or another no matter what. The maids would’ve stumbled on them in the morning, so why there? If trying to dump the bodies, why not go to the river? The Depth? There are so many places that lend to concealing bodies much easier than a hotel room.”
Matthew gave a faux-shudder. “It’s so romantic to hear you talk about disposing of bodies.”
I broke into a dark grin. “Come on, let’s go find Joey and let it percolate. I think the location is some sort of clue or message, though I can’t say what. It could be nothing more than convenience, but even that is something.”
Matthew nodded toward the bar. “Shall we?”
I tilted a head. “I can’t imagine you’re a well-loved figure in there. You can wait outside, if you’d prefer.”
He gave a rare bark of laughter. “I’m in a mood to stir things up.”
“A VAMPIRE AND A WITCH walk into a werewolf bar,” I told him. “This can’t end well.”
“A vampire with a badge and an honorary detective walk into a bar...” Matthew corrected. “We’ll be okay.”
The bouncer was a large man whose hands, even in human form, resembled massive paws. Perhaps it was the tattoos running the length of his arms, or the sheer bulk of him, but he was one man I didn’t want to annoy this evening. Even the animal-type grunts he made as he allowed us inside with a flash of our IDs were gruff and intimidating.
Matthew and I decided to forego our badges and attempt to fit in as casual patrons... but ‘fitting in’ was a lost cause the moment we stepped through the door. Between Matthew in his expensive suit, and my all black ensemble, we stuck out with or without our shields.
Every shaggy head in the place turned to face us the second I took a breath. I calculated quickly and realized the full moon was only days away. Tensions would likely be rising. Nobody wanted to be on duty anywhere the night of a full moon—sometimes the precinct paid time and a half just to prevent max amounts of sick calls flooding in during the hours before sunset.
One cursory glance around the place told me that anyone here might be Joey Jones. Without an obvious target to approach, I nudged Matthew in the direction of the bar so at the very least we could sit and try to blend in somewhat.
There were one or two non-shifters sipping ales and chatting with bowed heads, though the vast majority of bar patrons could easily be linked to the Sixth Pack—an alliance between shifters and their families. While intelligent on the shifters’ parts to band together, the laws of the Sixth Pack often made things difficult for law enforcement trying to work in shifter territory. The main rules of the pack weren’t much different than those of mobsters: hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil. Nobody ever saw nothin’ in the pack, which didn’t leave me with a lot of hope for our evening’s agenda.
We sat on barstools. Matthew automatically ordered a red wine for himself and a sparkling water for me. He wouldn’t touch his wine, as usual, and I’d inhale the bubbly. It was our old song and dance from the days we’d worked homicide cases together and sat through many a stakeout.
The drinks arrived, and Matthew left a generous tip.
“Any chance Joey’s here tonight?” Matthew asked in his silky, seductive tone.
The female bartender, whose nametag read Lorraine, leaned over the counter. She wore a low-cut white tank top, thin enough to expose every detail of the red bra she wore underneath. Plenty of bust spilled over the edges, and a large paw print sat atop of each breast. To Matthew’s credit, if he noticed the cleavage, he didn’t show it.
She continued to size him up. “Who wants to know?”
“A friend,” Matthew said. “We met earlier tonight at Alvin’s table.”
Lorraine frowned. “You hang at the casino?”
“Joey and I go way back,” Matthew lied easily. “I borrowed some money from him earlier tonight. Won a helluva lot more than he gave me, and I figured I owed him a round of drinks.”
It was to Matthew’s advantage, physically and mentally, to keep her engaged in a conversation as long as possible—his voice had its own magnetic pull to it. I knew this from experience. He could sweet talk the pants off the police chief if he wanted, and the man was a happily married orc.
“I can vouch for the vamp,” I said, trying to join in the banter. Apparently, I was all awkward turtle in this situation, and my ploy didn’t work. Both Matthew and Lorraine turned to me with a frown. Matthew’s work on her unraveled before my eyes. “I’ll shut up,” I offered.
“Lorraine.” When Matthew used names, it added intensity to his persuasive magic. “We don’t have any business with him except to deliver some winnings. But if he’s not here, I’ll see him tomorrow.” Matthew gave a light laugh, almost dainty. “If there’s anything left to give him by then.”
Lorraine weighed the pros and cons of giving up information on Joey, with Joey’s probable desire to get his hands on potential prize money. With a sigh, she wiped her hands on her apron, her eyes darting up and down the counter, checking to see if anyone was listening.
When all customers appeared to be enticed by their own beverages and discussions, she focused on Matthew. “He’s over in the corner. Look, you’re not gonna arrest him, are you? I think he’s a little...dazzled.”
Matthew’s grin widened. “We’re not here to arrest anyone.”
That was the end of the conversation. Lorraine swept away from us. Talking too long with strangers in a bar was cause for alarm. Plus, Lorraine had gotten her generous tip. She’d snitched on her pal. All three of us had known we weren’t here to toss winnings in Joey’s lap. I assumed it was only because Joey wasn’t part of the Sixth Pack that Lorraine had spoken to us at all.
Matthew left his wine on the counter, I grabbed my sparkling water, and together we made our way across the room. We kept to the dark outer edges and gave wide berths to the shadowy tables lining the walls with even more shadowy figures whispering beneath cloaks.
“Joey?” Matthew continued with the lead as he eased into the booth that Lorraine had pointed out. “It is Joey, isn’t it?”
I sat next to Matthew, watching with concern as the man across from us swayed in his seat. This particular booth was wedged in a corner. Joey appeared to have been sitting here alone in a sweatshirt, the hood pulled up so the edges covered his eyes.
His hands, however, rested on the table, and I spotted a dark pawprint tattooed on the back of his left hand. A symbol of the pack, though not the markings of an official member. I remembered the elf-girl telling us that she suspected his dad was a shifter, though Joey wasn’t. I wondered briefly why he hadn’t joined. It might have saved him from getting snitched on tonight at the very least.
I pointed it out to Matthew, but he barely acknowledged me save for a flutter of his eyelashes. He’d already seen it.
“Well, this is fun and all, but the Residuals clo
ck is still ticking, and I don’t think our friend is waking up.” I murmured a brief Wind Whisper incantation, and the small breeze that emanated from my fingers lifted Joey’s hood from over his face and flung it back against the wall. One or two shifters looked my way, then quickly turned back to the beverages.
Matthew and I studied the man before us. He was handsome, and I could see why the elfin girl had turned all giggly and red when discussing Joey with us. If there had been life in his features, I could’ve seen his smile being charismatic, his eyes being lively in their light blue shade.
As it was, he stared ahead at us—his eyes dead, his breath coming in robotic, even gusts. It was eerie the way he looked straight at me, but through me. It was as if he couldn’t actually see a thing.
“What do you think he took?” Matthew leaned forward. “I’d say SpellHash, but this has got to be ten times stronger.”
“Anything new in The Void lately?” I asked. I shifted my weight around to the other side of the table and slid into the booth next to Joey. “Oh, shit. Matthew, come look at this.”
I moved again, making way for him to take my place next to Joey. I pointed out his eyes—and what I’d found in them. With his face impassive, Matthew studied Joey’s face with keen interest.
There, in his bright blue irises, danced a golden light. A small sort of beam with a shimmering tail that played like a game of pong across his eyes—bouncing off one side, pivoting to the next, rebounding and rebounding in an infinite loop. Both eyes had the same golden comet shooting through them, though they appeared to move freely from one another.
“What in Hades’ name is that?” Matthew whispered. “I’ve never seen it before in my life. Any Residuals on him?”
I’d quickly scanned him for Residuals when we’d first sat in the booth, as had become habit ever since I was a little girl. When I was young, I hadn’t realized it was strange for me to see Residual magic. I had used it in my own way—for simple things, and as a safety measure. It had come naturally, and I had assumed everyone else did the same.
By the time I was seven, I’d realized that I was indeed a strange duck, and that not everyone had the same abilities. That was when I learned to keep my mouth shut. It wasn’t until the Sixth Precinct discovered my talents and recruited me that I began studying my skills and capitalizing on them in earnest.
My initial scan of Joey hadn’t turned up anything alarming. There was the usual mess of magical Residuals around him as with most supernaturals—even those who didn’t use spells. Magic clung to us, to everyone, and seeing that Joey spent a lot of time in the casino, he had a boatload of washed off spells lingering on him. I wrinkled my nose as I deciphered a few of them, and eventually shook my head.
“He’s not our guy,” I said. “No evidence of Moving Magic on him anywhere.”
“And Lucas?”
“He had some around his hands, but I’m not convinced it was enough to move two bodies. He could’ve used it to call his keys or something.”
“Why didn’t you question Lucas about it?” Matthew turned from Joey to look at me. “It might have shaken him.”
“It might also have tipped our hand, and we can’t have that with a case this size,” I said. “Also, you know as well as I do that it’s completely unreliable to use Residuals on a person’s body as evidence. There are too many ways to wash off or dilute residue, or for someone else to force them—even unknowingly—onto another person’s body. Watch.”
I raised my hands, muttered universal words to invoke Moving Magic, and watched as ribbons of light invisible to everyone else shot from my fingers and wound themselves around Matthew’s hands. His sleeves flew up his arms exactly as I’d intended.
Satisfied, I sat back in my seat. “Hate to say it, Captain, but you’re swimming with Moving Magic residuals. You’re glowing as pink as a teenage witch’s bedroom.”
Matthew noted my explanation, nodded, and turned back to Joey. “Then what the hell is wrong with him?”
“He’s laced,” I said. “If I were you, I’d have Lieutenant Abbott from Narcotics take a look into The Void if he can. Something new is bound to be hitting the black market if it’s not already there.”
“This is nothing like SpellHash,” Matthew mused. “If it is a drug, it’s dangerous. Are you positive it’s not a curse?”
I gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Not all curses leave Residuals on the outside—and if he’s been cursed for more than a few hours, they’ll be fading anyway. I seriously doubt it, but I can’t say for certain.”
Matthew nodded. “Let’s bring him in for Detox.”
“You’re making an arrest in a shifter bar?” I winced. “Maybe I will head home a little early.”
“Coward,” Matthew said with a thin smile. “No arrest. I say we march him out the front doors—the Sixth Pack won’t want someone dazzled in their bar for too long. If the wrong cop turns up and tries to arrest him, it’ll be a showdown.”
I rolled my eyes, stood, and held out my arms. “Which side of him are you taking?”
Matthew heaved Joey to his feet, took one arm and offered me the other. We marched out of the bar, silence following us as heads turned. The only person who didn’t watch us go was Lorraine. I had a feeling she didn’t want to be involved in the slightest.
We only made it a few steps outside of the bar before a swift figure cut in and blocked our forward progression. We didn’t want to start trouble, so I kept my magic under wraps and Matthew kept his fangs tucked away, but I could feel the discomfort radiating from him. Neither of us wanted to be standing outside a shifter bar in the middle of the night, hauling in someone close to the Sixth Pack for illegal drug use.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” A tall, unfamiliar man stood before us, a slight smile crooked on his face. “Detective DeMarco, Captain King—” he nodded to each of us. “Do you need some help with Jones?”
“Who are you?” Matthew purred his answer, just on the edge of a growl.
I glanced at Matthew in surprise. I hoped my glare told him to back off—the way he was talking would pick us a fight, and I wasn’t looking to roll up my sleeves and tussle with a werewolf. Judging by the looks of our new friend, that’s exactly what we were dealing with.
The man introduced himself simply as Grey—and I had no idea if that was a first name, last name, or nickname. He had a shaggy mop of brown hair that lightly curled at the edges, and two paws tattooed on the backs of his hand.
Definitely a member of some pack, even if not the local Sixth Pack, I realized with a quick glance. More tattoos—solid bars—climbed up his arm signaling his rank. I swallowed—he had to be close to the Alpha, if not the next in line. Even so, I suspected he wasn’t from around here—or else I would have recognized him.
Even with my Stunner and Matthew’s fangs, we’d be in for one helluva fight if things went south with this strong of a shifter. In his human form, the man looked like he belonged among statues of Greek gods; I imagined his shifter form was even more incredible in size and strength.
Grey wore a black t-shirt despite the chill in the night air and jeans that molded over long legs bulging with muscles underneath. He was oddly handsome in a purely raw, male sort of way, and I found myself tiptoeing the edge of fear and admiration.
“We don’t want any trouble, Grey,” I said gently. “We’re helping your friend Jones out. Looks like someone laced his Hash with a little something extra, and we need to get it out of his system.”
“They don’t bring out the vampire for a SpellHash overdose,” Grey said smoothly, his sharp, moon-drenched eyes landing on me with something that felt like curiosity. “What’s Jones suspected of?”
“Get the hell out of our way,” Matthew said, a hint of a hiss in his voice. “We’re on official business, wolf.”
“Matthew,” I snapped at him, watching in awe as his lips curled back and he bared his fangs. “Captain King, get a damn hold on yourself!”
Grey landed a plea
sant smile on me. “It’s fine, Detective. Nothing I can’t handle. I just figured I should warn you that the full moon is days away, and I’d keep some distance between yourselves and the Howler. We don’t get many vamps around these parts, and the wolves hanker for a fight when the clouds roll behind the moon...”
I finally took a step back and watched the two men face off. Something was happening here that was distinctly male, and I wanted no part of their pissing contest. I was already annoyed at having to hold up Joey Jones’s heavy ass without the help of magic, and Matthew’s little showdown with the werewolf wasn’t helping.
“Captain, I’m going,” I grunted, rolling up my sleeves in frustration. I shot a jolt of Moving Magic underneath Joey’s armpits. It made him about half the weight as before, and I sighed and stretched in relief. “Are you coming with me or not?”
My indifference finally drew Matthew’s attention, and he fell in line beside me, his fangs gradually retracting with each step we took toward the station and away from Grey.
As we neared the end of the block, Matthew let out a low, snappish growl for seemingly no reason, and I chanced a look over my shoulder in surprise. Grey stood there, his eyes following our every move, his ginormous figure outlined by the moon as he waited and watched.
“What was that all about?” I demanded when we finally turned the corner. Matthew distinctly relaxed. “It is extremely unprofessional to call someone a wolf on the clock. And what happened with the fangs? Come on, Matthew—this isn’t a game.”
“He looked at you,” Matthew snarled. “And I didn’t like it.”
“Oh, gee whiz.” I exhaled a huge, exaggerated breath. “Let’s arrest him. He looked at me. Guess what? He looked at you, too, and you looked at him. So did I. We all looked at one another.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Well? Get ahold of yourself.”
“He showed an interest in you.”
“You’re full of it. There was no interest anywhere; he was just protecting the pack. It’s their natural instinct—and you, my friend, know all about natural instincts.”