Smoke & Mirrors

by C. L. Schneider

  I’d never witnessed such an irresponsible, frantic abuse of the supernatural. And it was going to backfire hard in five…four…three…

  I was off by two as something (or perhaps everything) clicked. Eyes wild and glowing, Arno bounded up off the bed. The IV ripped from his body. His sutured casing of skin flagged and waved, as he gripped the source of his pain by the throat. Lifting the larger man with an inhuman strength, Arno slammed his father down on the bed.

  Oliver forced out a strained plea. “Stop... Please…You’re safe, son. You’re home. No one will hurt you here.”

  Struggling to hold his borrowed lips in place, Arno replied, slow and exact. “All this, and you still don’t understand. Here is where I hurt the most.”

  Oliver’s heartbroken cries slapped against me. His terror crept in. A sadistic, consuming vengeance radiated off Arno. I pushed their emotions back with a hearty, empathic shove. I had what I came for. I didn’t need to stick around for what happened next.

  Backing out of the moment, shadows spun with the wind. Arno and his father grayed into nothing, and the morgue floor filled in beneath my feet. As the walls faded in and began to settle, I grabbed onto the drawer. It solidified in my hand and—

  A wave of vertigo tilted the room. I closed my eyes, finding my center.

  The unsteadiness passed, and I retrieved the penlight from my pocket.

  I had an idea.

  What Arno did with Oliver’s heart made sense now. He must have known the legend of the nagual, a creature capable of “walking in the skin” of another. So, when his father’s attempt at the graft failed, Arno employed the rumored secondary method to complete his transformation. But not even the ritual of consuming a loved one did the job. Oliver’s wild combination of remedies had introduced too many variables, and whatever Arno had become, it wasn’t a skinwalker.

  But I might still be able to hurt him like one.

  Re-introducing the blood of the one who was consumed was rumored to neutralize the “magical” enhancements gained from the ritual. Arno was too unique for it to be a guarantee. But having a backup plan to make him vulnerable couldn’t hurt. And I wouldn’t know unless I tried.

  Locating a sample container, a vial, and a syringe, I scaled a hand and placed it on Oliver’s arm. I heated the limb as slowly as possible. It would still screw with Chen’s careful thawing. But if it worked, it was worth listening to him bitch.

  I collected the blood sample and zipped the bag closed. As I slid the drawer away, the wooziness rushed back. I needed sleep. I’d been going nonstop since the banshee on Saturday night. Tomorrow was… Saturday? Again? How the hell did that happen?

  The fumes I was running on were gone. I had to go home and rest while I could. Gant had been clear. I’d have no forewarning and little time to make it to the auction. And without prior intel, I was going in blind with no backup. The least I could do was stay awake.

  Twenty-Six

  Falling down an elevator shaft—while lying in bed—was getting old.

  Either my body had acclimated to the pills and rendered them ineffective against my nighttime visions, or the eye’s influence was getting stronger, and the medication Oren concocted couldn’t keep up. Or it never worked at all.

  If Oren had successfully hid his dealings with Aidric from me for so long, what else had he kept hidden? Were the pills nothing but a way to shift my focus off their true agenda?

  I wasn’t sure which of those shitty ideas put me in the shower with a bottle of tequila in my hand at 10:30 in the morning. Maybe it was all of them. Maybe, it was my lack of having a single idea what to do about it. And how badly I didn’t want Oren to be my enemy.

  Taking a last swig, I turned off the water and got out. I was in no mood for my hair. I wrung the water out, ran my fingers through my curls, and pulled the mass into a high ponytail. I dressed for a date with the heavy bag in running pants, a sports bra, and sneakers.

  Not that days off were part of my vocabulary, but it was Saturday. Unless body parts rained from the sky, I wasn’t going to the station today. The UCU was already working every lead we had to death. There was little for me to do but prepare for what came next—mentally, because I had no idea what I was walking into. The word “auction” conjured a few details, but with Arno Gant at the helm, likely none of them were accurate.

  I pulled on my socks. Reaching for the necklace on my dresser, I stopped myself. I’d taken the piece off to shower. I didn’t need to wear it to the gym. But I wanted to. I wanted to put it back on, to feel its weight.

  When had my attachment to it grown so strong?

  Needing to prove something to myself, I left the necklace where it was. If I couldn’t go a few hours without it, I had another problem to add to my already full plate. I could drop it, I thought. Let the plate shatter. Leave the problems behind as I walked away, off into the sunset, to wait out the coming apocalypse on some tropical beach. Or, more likely, a dive bar. Picturing it, I grinned. Evans would love that movie.

  I threw some clothes in the wash and made a mug of dark roast. As I reached for the cereal, my doorbell rang. Right away, I wondered if it was my invitation. Gant was enigmatic enough for a “slide a slip of paper under the door and walk away” kind of move. But, as I approached, it rang again. Impatience came with the sound, and I knew who it was before I opened the door.

  “Detective.” I glanced from the haggard look on Creed’s face to the file box in his hand. The lid was cockeyed, unable to fit with the folders spilling out. It made a precarious home for the small paper bag balanced on top. “You brought me a present.”

  “Connors said you like the ones with chocolate frosting.”

  “Not that he ever leaves me any.” I grabbed the bag and peeked inside. Retrieving a donut, I ushered him in. “What’s up?”

  “I need your help. Unless you’re busy?”

  “I was headed to the gym, but it can wait.” I closed the door. “Coffee?”

  “No,” he said, with an emphatic shake of his head. “I’ve had three already.”

  “Damn. I need to catch up.”

  He followed me in. I took a detour to the kitchen to retrieve my mug. When I came out, Creed was on my couch and his box on my coffee table. Taking the side chair, I eyed his unusually flat hair and the deep wrinkles in his suit. “Either you’re trying to make sleep deprivation an Olympic sport, or something happened.”

  “Nicholas Dane—the semi driver your ex hired?” he threw in, like I could forget either of those lovely details. “He’s dead. Hung himself in his cell.”

  In mid-lick of the frosting on my finger, I said, “You don’t believe that’s what happened, do you?”

  “There’s little I take at face value, Nite. Less, since I met you.”

  “We’re going to pretend that’s a compliment.”

  His mood breaking with a grin, Creed opened the box. He pulled out a handful of folders and stacked them on the table. “This is everything we have on the Gants. Holdings. Financial records. Taxes. Work Experience. Employees. Acquaintances. You name it. Ronnie was thorough.” His movements and voice slowed a moment, as he shook off the pang. “A black market is a black market. Regardless of what the man’s selling, he’s doing it illegally. We can still arrest him…with a little stretching.” Creed’s sharp blue eyes held mine. “And your help.”

  I swallowed my bite of donut, and my knee-jerk argument. Arresting Arno Gant wasn’t the worst idea. If we could charge him, the UCU would get a gold star. Then the Guild would swoop in and make sure Gant hung himself faster than Nicholas Dane. “What do you need?”

  “The truth. And don’t groan,” he pointed at me. “I have an angle. But I can’t piece it together if I don’t have all the parts.”

  I wrapped both hands around my mug and leaned forward. “Are you talking about fabricating evidence? I thought that was my gig?”

  “I’m talking about catching this guy by any means necessary. Arno Gant’s trafficking ring includes humans. He’
s stealing their organs, selling them, making skin cream, and who the fuck knows what else. He’s been profiting off this sick shit for years. And he wasn’t the first. We have records of his grandfather buying properties all over the Sentinel. Properties that have changed hands a dozen times over the years to be sheltered and run by one dummy corporation after another. A lot of the businesses they established, like the steel plant and the slaughterhouse, closed when the family home burned down. But not all.”

  “Where are you going with this?”

  “The last of Ronnie’s searches came back last night after you left.” Creed opened a folder and handed it to me. “These businesses all trace Arno Gant. We swept them early this morning.”

  “Without me?” I scanned the list. Two addresses stood out: the art gallery above the exit, and the sushi restaurant. Since Creed was here and alive, I assumed no one discovered the hidden door into the tunnels or the secret dojo full of ninja werewolves. But if the raids were uneventful, why is he smiling? “What did you find?”

  “Shapeshifters, I’m guessing.”

  “Umm…What? How do you know they were shapeshifters?”

  “I don’t. But none of his employees exist on paper. They have no social security cards, no driver’s license, bank accounts or credit cards. No address. No personality, either,” he threw in. “Most of them scattered like ants. A few fought back, and they were strong. Strong, like the guy I chased out of the strip club. I’ve got three men in the hospital and seven suspects in lockup. They won’t talk. They barely fucking blink.”

  “Maybe they’re undocumented immigrants and they’re scared?”

  “And maybe you’re full of shit.” At my frown, he offered a rueful shrug. “After the fake closet wall, we knew we had to be thorough. And it paid off. Almost every property had, at least, one hidden room. There were weapons, exam tables, storage, training facilities. No bodies, whole or otherwise. But we did find trace amounts of blood and a couple of laptops.”

  “Any sign of our ringleader?”

  Creed shook his head. “We must have missed something. An address not in the files, a place Gant has access to, or a connection we haven’t made yet. Wherever it is, he’s there, hiding, thinking he’s safe. Thinking we can’t touch him.”

  I was impressed. I was also fearing for Creed’s life more than I ever had before. “You shouldn’t have raided the bad guy’s hideouts alone, Alex. Especially, this bad guy.”

  “I wasn’t alone. We had multiple strike teams—” Abruptly, he frowned. “You mean, I shouldn’t have gone without you? Maybe not,” he conceded. “But the warrants came through late. And you looked exhausted when you left. I thought you needed the rest.”

  “I did. But I still should have been there. You’re lucky no one was killed. You have no idea what…” I left off as Creed sat back, arms and legs crossed, eyeing me with a slow grin. “And I just made your point.”

  His grin morphed into a satisfied smile. “Looks like you have a choice to make. You can come clean about what could have killed me last night, or you can keep quiet and wait until next time to see if it does.”

  I stared at him, knowing he was right. This wasn’t the first time I’d given Creed the tools necessary to solve a case. But, regardless of what my secrets cost Ronnie, I couldn’t help feeling as if every mystery I unraveled for him, every truth I told, inched Creed closer to the crosshairs.

  “Gant’s men are strong,” I said at last, “because they’re not men. Most of them, anyway. He does have human staff, but his security team, the ones in the masks—they’re something else.”

  “Are you going to make me guess or…?”

  I ripped the bandage off with a quick, “Werewolves. Technically they’re ulfar, but werewolves are close enough.”

  Creed hadn’t moved. Slow, as if my words were still working their way into his brain, he said, “Your ex is a werewolf?”

  “No. Gant doesn’t own him.”

  “But he owns werewolves?”

  “A whole, big pack of them. Gant has a way of controlling them. It’s how he trained them to be—” I took a breath at his expectant, raised brows. “I guess you can call them…” The brows went higher. “Ninjas,” I winced, and bandage number two came off. Casey would be so proud.

  Creed shook his head, laughing. “You’re fucking joking.”

  “I never joke about werewolves. Ninjas, maybe. But not these guys. They’re too damn dangerous to be funny.”

  Hand in his hair, he leaned forward, then back again. “This is insane.”

  “This is what you wanted, Alex. The truth.” Glancing away from his stunned gaze, I finished my donut and rolled the bag closed; saving the second one for later. “I know you’ve researched paranormal phenomenon. Do you know the legend of the nagual?”

  Breaking out of his stupor, he nodded. “It’s umm… Native American. Something about a shaman or witch, maybe? They’re like skinwalkers, capable of taking on other forms and controlling animals by wearing the flesh of…” Comprehension crept over his gaze. “That’s what the skin at the riverbank was for? But Chen’s report indicated it was sewn onto something.”

  “Someone,” I corrected him. “Though, he’s more of a something now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Arno survived the fire, but he was in bad shape. His father exhausted an assortment of non-human remedies to save him. In the end, all he did was damage him more.”

  “The guy I interviewed at the station today isn’t human?”

  “Technically? I tilted my head, thinking. “Some mystical connections are temporary. Once they’re broken, the effects are reversed. Others make changes on a permanent, cellular level. I’m not exactly sure where Arno falls on the line.”

  “Because you think he’s a nagual?”

  “A homemade, slapped-together version of one, yes.”

  “If he’s what you say, can we even stop him?”

  “No one’s invincible.”

  Creed’s gaze fell like a stone. As his contemplation of the dust bunnies on my floor approached a full minute, I moved the box aside, took a handful of folders, and spread them out on the coffee table. Opening one at random, I settled into my chair and pulled Creed’s focus back to something familiar. “Let’s get to work. We need to stitch this case together into something that holds up better than Arno Gant’s skin.”

  Four hours later, Creed was pulling over in front of the gym to drop me off. It wasn’t the day I had planned, but we’d come away with a (somewhat flimsy) trail connecting Arno Gant to an illegal transplant operation. Mostly, we had him on years of employing undocumented aliens. It was a start. Though, it would never be anything more if our suspect didn’t surface before the auction. After, there might not be much of Arno Gant left to arrest.

  Putting the car in park, he turned toward me. “The service is set for Tuesday.” Pausing, he threw out the question I didn’t want him to ask. “Are you going?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to intrude on her family.”

  “Ronnie would have gone,” he said, “if it was you.”

  “I know.”

  Creed peered past me at the gym’s tinted, front window. “You sure you have time for this? The car will be by around eight.” He frowned at my blank stare. “Halloween? The gala? Our costumes are being delivered today. You forgot, didn’t you?”

  Son of a bitch, I thought, as I rolled out a lie. “No. I pushed it to the back of my mind, hoping a random asteroid strike would take out the museum, and I wouldn’t have to go.”

  “I tried that, too. Without the asteroids.”

  I laughed. He joined in, but the sound was reserved and distracted.

  He was still thinking about Ronnie.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I said.

  Creed drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “It’s my task force, Dahlia. My officers. My responsibility.”

  “You didn’t make her join. You didn’t put Ronnie on that bridge.”


  “And you didn’t cut her.”

  I glanced at my hands, hating the phantom notion of her blood on my skin. “No, I didn’t. But I did something else.” Worry affected his stare. I said it anyway. “When I took the consulting job for the Chandler case, I went into it prepared to manipulate you. When I discovered your brush with the unexplained, I took advantage of it. I used your drive and curiosity. I exploited your obsession, even knowing it came from a moment that cost you a brother and a fiancée, all to have access to police resources and get ahead of the cover-up.”

  He swallowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because that’s how it started. I didn’t plan on it becoming anything more. But working with you, being on the team, I feel like I’m a part of something. Like I’m not alone. For the first time in a long time, I have something I’m afraid to lose. Maybe my secrets are the wrong way to protect it and you, but it’s all I know. It’s all I have.”

  I hadn’t meant to confess. But as the words poured out, I realized they needed to be said. Even if he was angry. Except… He was staring at me like I was a stranger sitting in his car.

  Creed’s odd scrutiny sent an unwelcome vulnerability creeping over me. Before he could voice the reason behind it, I changed the subject. “I need you to know, the person who killed Ronnie isn’t the one I fell in love with. He was taken by our former employer. She tortured him, brainwashed—whatever you want to call it. I’m not sure he even recognized me.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “They had a falling out. It was a long time ago, but she likes a good grudge.”

  “Does she hold one against you?”

  I couldn’t tell him. It wouldn’t help anything if he knew. “Don’t worry, Alex. The only one I piss off on a regular basis is you.” With a smile, I opened the door.

  “You know, you have no damn business being on this case.”

  “And you know, I’ll work it even if you fire me, hogtie me, and lock me in a cage. So at least we understand each other.”

  “Since day one.”