Precinct 13

by Tate Hallaway

  Maybe it was all the time I’d recently been spending in much scarier and stranger situations than this that gave me the wherewithal to say, “I need help figuring out what killed this thing. Either assist, or get out of my way.”

  I didn’t really expect an answer, so I turned away to get into my lab coat and splatter apron. I was surprised to hear her deflated, “My cousin is a vet. I’ll call him.”

  Genevieve’s cousin was a guy named Mark, and her exact opposite. He was down-to-earth, friendly, and extraordinarily helpful. He was also schlubby and hopelessly disorganized. Still, he was able to confirm that the claw and teeth markings on the cow’s haunches belonged to average-sized coyotes, and had been inflicted postmortem. We both puzzled over the head wounds, however.

  “The skull is crushed,” he noted. “Totally crushed.”

  Whatever had smashed the cow’s head had exerted enough force to pulverize teeth. “Do you know anything that can hit this hard?” I asked him.

  “No animal,” he said, stepping back and pulling on the short hairs of his soul patch. “If it weren’t a downward blow like that, I’d say a car or a tractor. Something massive.”

  We talked cow physiology for a while, and I took copious notes. I thanked him for his time and offered to buy him lunch at the city hall cafeteria. He blushed, clearly flattered, but declined. “I have to get back to my own practice, I’m afraid.”

  His pager had been going off constantly. He’d apparently left a lot of kittens who needed to be spayed and such. Thanking him again, I told him I owed him one as he rushed out the door.

  That left Genevieve and me staring at the dead cow and each other. She gave me a weak smile. “I found the vet. You find the butcher.”

  I was about to tell her that she was by no means off my shit list when there was a gentle rap on the door. I thought maybe Mark the vet had forgotten something, so I shouted, “Come on in.”

  Valentine stuck his head through the door. He glanced at the cow and then up at me. “I thought I’d invite you out to lunch, but if you’re already eating…”

  “Funny,” I told him. “Just give me a minute.”

  As I passed her on the way to hang up my coat and apron, Genevieve whispered, wide-eyed, “Who’s the hottie?”

  I took a great deal of satisfaction saying, as I tossed my gloves into the biohazard bin, “My boyfriend.”

  Valentine insisted we go home so that I could change out of the awful sweater. I was about to protest that I hadn’t driven my car to work, when he walked us to it. My mouth hung open, stupidly staring at my own Toyota.

  “I borrowed it,” he said. My key ring was on his finger and he jangled it playfully. He’d parked my Toyota in the spot reserved for the mayor.

  I stood beside the passenger door and Valentine casually walked around to the driver’s seat. Planting my hands on my hips, I said, “If I didn’t give you permission, technically, it’s stealing.”

  “All right. I stole it. Get in.”

  I noticed something else as I took my seat. “You washed it.”

  “I like my things shiny. This is why you’re going home to change.”

  Robert was just finishing up breakfast as we walked in the door. He stared grumpily at the milk left in his otherwise empty cereal bowl. The smell of scorched coffee and curry hung in the air.

  As usual, Robert looked like a high-powered executive in his tailored shirt, silk tie, and crisply ironed slacks. His blond hair was parted neatly, and his chin perfectly shaven. No one would guess by looking at him that he was a computer programmer with a penchant for MMOGS. He was a pretty scary orc online. In real life, he was just pretty.

  He brightened at the sight of Valentine. I had to say that my Russian-born lover certainly knew how to dress for the winter. He wore a Soviet-era wool great coat, heavy leather gloves, and matching boots. No fur hat, however. In fact, he went hatless, despite the chill.

  “Oh my God,” Robert said, when his eyes finally left Valentine to glance at me. “What are you wearing, girl? Did you dress in the dark?”

  “I did, actually,” I admitted. My coat’s zipper had snagged on one of the jingle bells of my sweater and I was teasing it out.

  “Let me find something better,” Robert said, which, given the tight glance at Valentine that accompanied it, was clearly code for “we need to talk.”

  So I left Valentine in the kitchen and followed Robert into my bedroom. The bed was exactly as we’d left it, and the room smelled of sex and man. “Uh,” I said, a blush creeping up my neck, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, he’s beautiful. Anyway, we don’t have an overnight-guest notification clause in our roommate agreement.” Robert dug through my closet, clearly searching for something specific. I lingered in the doorway, feeling awkward, like a stranger in my own room. Though his head was deep in the recesses of my wardrobe, Robert continued, “I just had quite the shock this morning: him, sitting there, bare-chested in the kitchen! You have no idea how long I sat and prayed that I’d been much drunker than I thought last night and somehow forgot bringing him home.” He pulled out a lovely, sapphire-blue cashmere sweater I barely remembered owning and threw it at me. “There. That’s your best look. I’ve got to go. I’m late for work.”

  As Robert squeezed past me out the door, I asked, “Is it okay if he stays awhile?”

  That stopped him. “Longer than a few days?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted guiltily.

  “Depends on how crazy you drive me,” Robert said, as he grabbed his briefcase off the dining room table.

  “Fair enough,” I said, as he hurried out the door.

  Valentine and I were sitting in a Chinese restaurant fifteen minutes later. The staff was strangely solicitous to us, showing us to a large, cloth-covered table on a slightly raised dais. Behind us on the wall was a relief image of a classic red and gold Chinese dragon and a lavishly plumed phoenix. A golden spotlight shone on the artwork, giving it a strange dimension in the darkened restaurant.

  The waitress bowed twice before rushing off to fill our water glasses.

  “Uh,” I said, watching as the waitress whispered something into the ear of an older gentleman sitting at a stool. Seeing me, he dipped his head respectfully as well. “Must be a slow day at the buffet.”

  The place was fairly empty, but my theory was ruined when the waitress returned with a plate of freshly cooked appetizers and a heavily accented, “On the house.”

  Valentine took all this attention in stride, like he was used to being the rock star at the local Asian buffet. “We’ll leave a big tip.” He shrugged.

  He deftly used chopsticks in a way I never quite mastered. I tried not to be jealous as a huge chunk of noodle slid back onto my plate before I could catch it in my mouth.

  After I’d finished chewing, I asked him, “Do you remember if stepmonster had wings?”

  “She did not,” he said, sounding vaguely offended by the suggestion. He picked up the teapot and refilled my cup before tending to his own. “Why?”

  We were alone in a corner of the darkened restaurant. A family of four was gathered near the buffet, but they had taken a table closer to the door. Even so, I leaned in under the pool of light shed by the paper lantern over our booth. “Jones is talking about sending a team to check on my dad. He wants me to try to remember everything I can.”

  He sat back against the red vinyl booth. The cup was balanced in his steepled fingers. “A team? Of what?”

  I shrugged. “Highly trained magic users, I suppose.”

  “Humans?”

  It was a strange question coming from Valentine, and my chopsticks hovered halfway to my mouth. “I don’t know. I mean, I suppose they might have someone like Devon or Stone on their team, too.”

  “Mmm,” he said, his eyes shrouded in the dark of the restaurant. “You should tell your friend not to underestimate Gayle. I made that mistake, remember.”

  That wasn’t the way I remembered things. The noodles I’d
swallowed earlier stuck in my throat. “Underestimate?” I repeated. “You nearly killed her.”

  “Nearly,” he said darkly. “Yes, nearly. More than that, I was captured, imprisoned—outmaneuvered, out-tricked. She successfully separated us for eighteen months.”

  I put my chopsticks down. “She?” I might believe in magic nowadays, but I also remembered the arrest and everything that came after. “Gayle didn’t put you in prison, the American justice system did.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “Yes,” he said flatly. “Of course.”

  The doctors had told me, time and again, that Valentine was my real problem. They’d said he never took responsibility for his own actions, and that he used my paranoid psychosis as an excuse for his own homicidal tendencies. I’d denied and denied, but listening to Val now, the old doubts crept back. Did he really believe that my stepmother had that kind of influence? That she could somehow control circumstances like his arrest and trial?

  It worried me, too, the violent arrogance in his voice. The way he seemed offended that she’d somehow avoided being killed by him, like it was an affront to his abilities.

  He set the teacup down and pushed the remains of his lunch around with the tip of his chopstick. Like me, he seemed to have lost his appetite. “I should take you back,” he said quietly.

  “Yes, that would be a good idea.”

  I asked Valentine to drop me off at the precinct headquarters. Though it was only a few blocks, the ride was quiet and tense. I turned on the radio to fill the silence. He pulled up into a space next to the storefront and frowned at the empty shop. “This is it?”

  By chance, Jack opened the door. His back was to us, but I recognized his Yoda hat and the colorful scarf. He held the door open, talking to someone inside. For a moment the illusion was broken, and the flickering image of the busy interior of the precinct was visible through the windows.

  “Interesting.” Valentine turned off the engine. He unbuckled and got out of the car. Leaving the car door open, he leaned on the vehicle’s roof to watch the stuttering spell.

  Finished with whatever conversation had held him up, Jack turned, smiling toward the street. His grin wavered when he noticed us watching him. His eyes seemed locked on Valentine, and color drained from Jack’s face.

  I got out quickly. “Hey, Jack,” I said, smiling warmly.

  Jack blinked, and seemed to see me for the first time. A weaker version of the smile returned to his face. “Oh, hello, Alex.”

  The car door slammed, as Valentine joined us on the sidewalk. “Jack,” he repeated slowly, thoughtfully, as if committing his name to memory. I was sure I wasn’t the only one who found it sort of sinister.

  I tried to make things better with an introduction. “Jack, this is Valentine. Uh, my friend who’s visiting.”

  Neither offered each other a hand to shake. In fact, Jack kept looking at Valentine with wide eyes, not saying anything.

  “Jack,” Valentine said. “You were going somewhere. Run along.”

  Jack blinked. “Oh. Right. Well, nice meeting you.” He hurried off then, but kept sneaking backward glances at the two of us as he did. At the corner he nearly ran into the lamppost. We watched as he shook himself off and then quickly dashed out of sight.

  Okay. That was weird.

  Still focused in the direction of Jack’s hasty retreat, Valentine smiled thinly, with a smug satisfaction. Suddenly, his focus shifted, and he glanced upward sharply. A magpie settled on an overhead wire. It cawed belligerently before dropping into a swoop. I ducked, wary of talon and beak, but Valentine stood, unflinching, as the bird dive-bombed.

  “Sarah Jane!” I shouted; it had to be her. “Stop!”

  He was unfazed as she struck at him, time and time again. Just as I was ready to shout that he should run for cover or something, he raised his hand and gestured slightly, as if brushing dust from his shoulder.

  The magpie, which had been coming around for another attack, rolled tail over beak in the opposite direction, as if blasted by some invisible wind. She disappeared over the roof of the headquarters.

  “Oh no,” I said, standing up and searching the sky frantically. “Sarah Jane? Are you okay?”

  I thought I heard a weak caw in response.

  The door to the precinct flew open with a bang. Jones and several other officers came rushing out, looking ready for trouble. They stopped dead, staring past me to Valentine.

  “Holy shit,” I heard someone say.

  “Get the George! Get Denis. Pronto!” Jones snapped. He pulled his gun from his holster and pointed it at Valentine’s chest. “There’s a goddamn dragon at the door.”

  FOURTEEN

  Dragon. The word jiggered through my mind. Even as clues fell into place, my mind refused to accept them.

  Valentine pulled himself to his full height, which suddenly seemed much larger than his already impressive six foot two. He took in a sharp breath that sounded like a hiss. His eyes narrowed to slits, and focused on the gun.

  There was a commotion at the back of the crowded doorway as Denis began to elbow his way to the front.

  “Run, Valentine!” I shouted. “Denis is their George.”

  My feet, which had felt rooted to the spot earlier, began to move. I was determined to put myself between Valentine and whatever danger Denis represented.

  I only made a few steps before Valentine dropped to a crouch and then sprang up into a powerful jump. His feet leaped from the ground, easily as high as the top of the car. Instead of coming back down, however, he was suddenly airborne. I watched as he snapped out his arms, and gigantic batlike wings unfolded from his back. His body elongated and shifted. Yet somehow he was still recognizable to me with a slender, elegant neck and massively powerful chest. Scales, as white as snow, sparkled like diamonds in the sun. A snakelike tail curled and twisted, whipping back and forth in fury. Coal black reptilian eyes seemed to find me despite the speed of his ascent. What did I see there? Sorrow? Regret? I wasn’t certain, but it was a decidedly human expression despite the proud, cruelly handsome snout.

  He cocked his head, showing spikes of an icy crest, and roared.

  The sound shook the ground.

  Many of the officers crowded on the sidewalk flinched and ducked in the icy blast of air that followed. Like the wind of a blizzard, it sent sharp pricks of sleet into my skin.

  Jones came up from his hunched position faster than the others. I watched in horror as he raised his gun, tracking Valentine’s flight. I could see his intention in his closed, hard expression. I was nearly in front of him so I grabbed for his arm. I pulled it downward with all my strength.

  The shot went wild. A hot casing smacked me in the cheek, but I held on tight. My eyes riveted to the strokes of Valentine’s powerful wings as he continued his upward climb.

  Denis made his way to the sidewalk just in time to watch with the rest of us as Valentine disappeared into the clouds.

  I wasn’t in handcuffs, but I might as well have been for the suspicion with which everyone treated me. I don’t even remember quite how, but I’d been hustled off to the conference room. The door was closed. The window drapes had been pulled. I sat on one side of the table and Denis on the other. Jones paced behind him, wearing thin the linoleum and shooting me dark, angry looks.

  Someone had given me a damp washcloth for my face. The casing had not only bruised my cheekbone, but had given me a nasty burn as well. I leaned against the cool cloth, feeling worn out, even though they hadn’t even asked me more than the obligatory, “Are you okay?”

  I’d murmured, “Yes,” but I was in shock.

  Valentine was a dragon.

  I’d known him for all these years, but I never suspected…No, that wasn’t true. I knew he was something special, magical, even. But I guess I always thought he was human.

  Maybe he still was. After all, I had no idea if he was a human who transformed into a dragon or a dragon that turned
into a man. Or if there was a difference.

  The ice, now, that hadn’t surprised me at all. I’d always sensed that. If Valentine was going to be a dragon, it would be one of snow and cold. That suited him perfectly.

  Denis cleared his throat. His clasped hands rested in front of him on the table. He’d brought in a leather-bound notebook or journal of some kind. It looked old and musty, but he’d put those little colored tape flags on various yellowed pages. He watched me calmly. He was clearly supposed to be the good cop to Jones’s bad.

  “Jack tells us you introduced him as ‘Valentine,’ ” Denis said. “Do you know what he uses as a surname?”

  I did, but I wasn’t feeling particularly cooperative. I may have just discovered that my lover was some kind of dragon, but I wasn’t entirely ready to tell all to the slayers and the cops just yet. Despite this incredible secret Valentine had kept from me, we had a history together. Granted, it wasn’t always a good one; even so, the one thing I knew for certain about Valentine was that he’d never betray me. He’d had plenty of opportunities to throw me under the bus, tell everyone that what happened with my stepmom was all my fault, but he didn’t. He stood by me, even in the craziest times. I would do him the same courtesy. My mouth stayed firm and shut.

  “This is very important,” Denis insisted. “If he is a Russian or Slavic dragon, we need to know if he is an azdaja or a zmaj.”

  My surprise betrayed me. I couldn’t help but start at the last word, since I’d always known him as Valentine Zmajov. “Zmaj? You mean that’s a type of dragon?”

  Denis let out a relieved breath, and turned to Jones. “It’s the better of the two—for us, at any rate. At least he’s not complete evil, or might not be. Some zmaj have even been known to protect cities. Probably for their gold, but…”

  “Still a goddamn dragon,” Jones muttered, his eyes on me. “What were you doing with a dragon?”

  I almost laughed. Like I knew? “Is it some kind of crime?”

  Jones stopped pacing to rest his hands on the tabletop. He leaned in menacingly. “Do you know what dragons are capable of?”