Shift Work (Carus #4)

by J. C. McKenzie

  Stan’s shoulders drooped.

  “But I know someone who can.”

  ****

  Ben straightened up from his crouch near the corner. He’d been resting his face in his hands with his elbows braced on his knees. His skin had paled at least three shades and dark bags under his eyes had appeared.

  “Lover give you anything?” he asked as we walked into the bedroom.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Stan. He shook his head.

  “I can’t give you the details of an ongoing investigation, but yeah. He gave us a little.” The lover had taken one look at my animal shifted eyes after he told his first lie and decided “honesty was the best policy.” We had confirmation the drug in the vial was King’s Krank, not that we needed it, and the name of a street level dealer.

  “That’s fine. I don’t need to know any details,” Ben said. “Glad you got something out of him. Can you tell me if he did it?”

  “He may be scum, but he’s not a drug addict, dealer or a killer,” I said.

  Ben nodded. His gaze slid to the bed before he quickly looked away. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him to help. He may be my best guy friend, but he wasn’t a crime scene investigator, and the only harm he’d ever caused anyone, to my knowledge, was an earache from his midnight karaoke crooning.

  Well, not entirely true. He had blasted me with a wicked spell once to stop me from gutting his denmate.

  “Thanks again for coming,” I said. “I know this isn’t your thing.”

  He nodded, then gulped.

  “Did you find anything?” I asked.

  Ben wiped his hands on his jeans. “Nope. She wasn’t a Witch and the nearest charm is three houses over on the left-hand side to mask a marijuana grow-op.”

  Stan’s eyes narrowed. He pulled his phone out, punched some numbers in, and when someone picked up, he prattled off a series of number codes. Crap. The VPD probably expected me to learn those.

  “Any idea what she is?” I asked Ben, nodding my head toward the bed.

  He shook his head. “My magic reacted to her as if she was a norm.”

  “A norm with horns,” I said. What the heck is going on? “Can I call you for future crime scenes? If we get another like this one? You don’t have to come into the actual room next time. I didn’t know you could detect things that far away.”

  Ben’s lips pursed and his gaze cut away, not in a way that made any sense for this situation. “I need to go. My shift at the SRD starts soon.”

  “Ben?”

  He dropped his head.

  “Ben, what’s going on?”

  “I’ve been summoned to the Elders. Me and my den. We have until midnight tomorrow to present ourselves, or they’ll…”

  “Retrieve you?” Despite my calm tone, my brain fired millions of signals to comprehend Ben’s words, and my heart went into full panic-attack mode.

  Ben nodded.

  “Because of Bola?” I whispered. Ben had said there’d be backlash for his den’s actions. I should’ve known this was coming. Over a month ago, Ben’s mentorees—Christopher, Patty and Matt—summoned the sadistic Demon without Ben’s knowledge or consent, in a desperate attempt to get Christopher’s voice back. He’d lost it from a spell gone wrong and figured Bola could help with his science background and Demon skills.

  Christopher did get his voice back, but the Witches forgot to specify the length of time Bola could possess Christopher’s body, and Bola used the opportunity to wreak slaughter and mayhem across the Lower Mainland.

  Now, the Witch Elders wanted to speak to Ben and his den, most likely to exact punishment.

  “Yeah,” Ben said, interrupting my thoughts. “Because of Bola.”

  “No!” I snarled, in a voice more animal than my own. The beast roared inside my core. My feras growled in agreement.

  Ben snapped straight and took a step back.

  I cleared my throat. “Sorry. My feras really like you. They don’t want anything bad to happen to you any more than I do.”

  Ben frowned. “Define ‘really like.’ You’re not exactly my type.”

  I groaned and punched him in the arm. “Not like that.”

  Ben’s sad face brightened as his lips twisted up. “I know.”

  “Don’t try to distract me with your lame jokes. If anything happens, Ben, I’ll come for you.” I meant every word. In this life, I was short on friends. Living as a mountain lion for over three decades to emotionally heal from an abusive relationship tended to put a kink in the social life. As one of my close friends, one of my only friends, I’d defend Ben any way possible. Even if it meant going against the all-mighty Witch Elders.

  He reached out and squeezed my hand. His tone dropped into a more somber one. “I know.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.”

  ~Philip K. Dick

  The old man dodged my calls. Without any leads on the street-level dealer named “Patty Cake,” I used my precious spare time after helping Stan with the crime scene to drop by the SRD Vancouver headquarters and track down Agent Donny O’Donnell, fellow Shifter, former handler, and wily old coyote.

  Ben and Matt winked at me as I skipped the sign-in desk and headed straight to the elevators. They’d cut the security tape feed with a little magical interference on my behalf. Not that I couldn’t enter the building, I’d just prefer not to deal with ATF unless necessary. Sadness punched my heart at seeing Ben and Matt on their last shift before facing the Elders. They’d be okay, though. They had to be. Ben promised.

  Maybe I should take Tucker out as a going away present for my Witch bros.

  My finger hovered over the button for the tenth floor where Tucker’s office sat.

  No. Too obvious.

  Besides, it would be a total abuse of the trust the Witches gave me. Not that they didn’t owe me, because they totally did. I’d spared their insufferable buddy from being put down as a rampaging Demon host, but they had enough on their plate. I hit the button for the fifth floor instead.

  I found the old man exactly where I expected. Stooped over an old book in the resource library on the fifth floor.

  The double swinging doors opened to a large room. It always surprised me the SRD valued the reference books enough to house them in their downtown headquarters in a space the size of ten offices. Real estate didn’t come cheap in this area, and the media preference these days skewed toward the digital format.

  Regardless, someone in the SRD knew these books couldn’t be scanned and retain their value. Amazingly insightful for the SRD.

  Two long tables with plastic chairs were placed in an open area and on the far side ten tall, solid wood bookshelves stood floor to ceiling. Books of all shapes and sizes adorned the units, giving the room that studious, dusty smell I loved. It reminded me of school.

  Donny sat at the end of the far table, hunched over a large odorous book. His coyote familiar, Ma’ii, curled up on his feet, legs straight out and eyes closed. A soft snoring sound vibrated from his chest.

  When the doors swung shut behind me, the air blew forward, announcing my entrance. The old man ignored me, but Ma’ii stopped snoring and popped one eye open.

  Don’t stress him out, Ma’ii warned.

  I ignored the ankle-biting familiar and took in Donny’s appearance as I walked toward him. Slight and wiry, his white hair hung long and curled around his ears. The wrinkles on his face spoke of a long life lived well, full of humor and sunshine.

  “Carus.” The old man’s voice travelled softly through the air.

  “Is the SRD investigating King’s Krank?” I asked. No need for preamble. This guy could evade answering me like a pro-boxer dodged and weaved. I needed to pin him down with straight to-the-point questions.

  “That’s an odd question to ask right away. Normally, ‘hello’ and ‘how are you?’ are more typical conversation starters. It’s good to see you, Carus. How are you?”

  “Annoyed. Is t
he SRD doing anything about KK?”

  “Like what? Enforcement?” A small smile danced on the old man’s face as he turned to me.

  I nodded.

  “It’s a street drug, not a supe-on-supe crime. Not necessarily, at least.”

  “What exactly does the SRD do, then? Aside from ordering hits on supes?” I closed the distance between us and took the seat opposite Donny.

  He opened his mouth, but I talked over his response.

  “I mean, I get that King’s Krank might not be on their radar because it lacks a supe connection, but it just highlights their lack of initiative. They were completely useless in the Kappa and the Demon incidences. They’d labelled me rogue, but couldn’t track me down in their own backyard. Didn’t appear like they even tried. It’s like they’ve completely given up on having an enforcement or investigatory presence for current crimes.”

  Donny’s eyes darted left and right before settling on the book in front of him. “I cannot speak on that. But, you’re starting to ask the right questions.”

  I stared at him blankly. Once again, old man O’Donnell went cryptic on me.

  “This is good,” he added, as if he made all the sense in the world.

  Silence settled over the room as Donny pretended to read the book in front of him. The air laden with dust, parchment, and old bindings hung stagnant around us, yet oddly it comforted my irritated nerves.

  “Is the SRD investigating King’s Krank?” I asked again. “There’s something odd about it, and I can’t help feel there’s a supe connection.”

  Donny nodded, slowly, and pried his gaze away from the book. “They sent Agent Nagato to discern rumour from truth.”

  “And?”

  “He’s missing.”

  I shut my eyes and let my head drop back for some deep breathing. Why couldn’t I get a break, just once? “What happened?”

  “They’re not sure. His last correspondence indicated he planned to visit the Vampire court and then he disappeared. The SRD director has officially labelled Nagato rogue, and there’s a bounty on his head.”

  Wow. A bounty on Nagato’s head for going rogue without a proper investigation. Seemed uncomfortably close to my personal history with the agency.

  “Sound familiar?” O’Donnell arched a shaggy brow. If we walked outside, Donny probably would’ve spat to the side. His face scrunched up with evident disgust, and he shifted in his seat, giving off wave after wave of agitation.

  “You know it does,” I fired back. My legs started to heat against the plastic chair. “I take it you don’t buy the going rogue story?”

  Donny snorted and relaxed a little in his chair. “Nagato’s about as straight-laced as they come. No way he went rogue.”

  “So this is the second time the SRD has labelled an agent rogue without an investigation, and I’m assuming little follow up or an attempt to retrieve him?” I drummed my fingers on the wood table.

  “None. Just the open bounty.”

  “And no one’s asking questions?”

  “Not out loud.” Donny cast his gaze around the room again. “And you should be careful of which questions you voice in this building.”

  “This room bugged?”

  “No. Probably the only one that’s not. Tucker never felt the library held much significance. Once he discovers you’ve visited here post-employment, though, I doubt it will stay that way.”

  “Well, if you answered your phone—”

  “They tapped it last week.”

  My mouth clamped shut.

  Donny smirked and continued to read. I wanted to haul the massive book away from him and throw it out the window. The five-story fall would probably do little to harm the ancient relic, which reeked of old magic, but I didn’t want to touch it. My experience with ancient texts made me apprehensive of any unnecessary skin-on-skin contact.

  “Is there any connection between KK and Demons?” I asked, going for a new angle.

  Donny’s head snapped up so fast it cracked. “Why in Feradea’s name would you think that?”

  I shrugged. “Saw the shadow of something with wings following us.”

  “Do you think Bola is involved?” Donny knew the painful history I had with the Demon.

  I nodded.

  “That’s a big leap. There’s lots of supernaturals with wings, you know. Maybe you gained a guardian angel.”

  “Doubt it.” I snorted. “If I have a guardian angel, I’m pretty sure she drinks…heavily.”

  “You’re right. You’re a mess.” Donny shook his head, shaggy white hair brushed against his wrinkled face. He peered at me and stilled. His shaggy, white mono-brow dipped severely in the middle, his eyes squinted and his lips compressed as he studied me from across the table.

  “Something’s different about you,” he said.

  Like I’d tell him I finally got laid. I bit my lip.

  “Something new,” he mused.

  I shrugged, trying to ignore my quickening heartbeat and clammy skin.

  “Any new calls in the night? Another fera beckoning you to the deep forest?”

  I froze. My skin tingled as if a ghost tried to give me a full body massage. After a silent three-count, I glared at the old man. “I swear to Feradea, if you’re keeping tabs on my nocturnal habits with some pagan, hoo-doo, voo-doo Witchery, I’ll hurt you.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  Ma’ii’s teeth sank into my ankle, but I’d expected it. My shoulders sank and some of the tension flowed from my muscles. I found the coyote’s familiar gnawing on my leg oddly comforting. “No, I won’t. But I’ll be extremely pissed off. How do you always know what’s going on in my life?”

  Ma’ii released my ankle without saying anything, flopped back onto the floor by Donny’s feet, and resumed his snoring.

  Donny smiled, a small, knowing twitch of his lips before he leaned back to rest in his plastic chair. “Well, what is it?”

  “What’s what?”

  Donny’s eye roll made him appear ten years younger. “What type of animal is your new fera?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You resisted the call. Again?” He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re as stubborn as my daughter. What did it feel like?”

  “Cold. It feels different from my other feras.”

  “Cold?”

  I nodded.

  “Like a reptile?”

  I thought about it. The ice slithering through my veins, the cool detachment of the call, the tin-like quality of the fera’s voice. It fit.

  “Snake,” I said. “I think.”

  The trench between Donny’s brows deepened.

  “That worries you?” I leaned forward until the edge of the table pressed uncomfortably into my abdomen.

  “The snake is powerfully connected to primal energy and represents the source of life, but it also signifies important transitions in your life.”

  “Can you elaborate?” I asked.

  “Something’s building, something behind the scenes, like all the puzzle pieces falling into place…” Donny’s voice trailed off and his gaze turned vacant. Maybe he did practice some pagan stuff.

  “And?” I prodded.

  “And you’re either at, or soon arriving at, a major precipice in your life. You’re going to face a crossroad.”

  “You got all that from ‘cold’?” My question sounded flippant, but inside, my mind reeled. More difficult decisions? Had letting Wick go not been hard enough? Did my heart and body not ache from his loss, even as I developed a relationship with Tristan?

  Donny nodded. “The snake also represents healing and spiritual guidance.”

  “That’s good, right?” I held my breath.

  “Depends on how you look at it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The feras appear when you need them most.”

  My chest tightened, and I grimaced. Donny always had a way of delivering knowledge bombs that blew me out of the water. Did I even want to know? Yes. Yes, I di
d. “Please, explain.”

  “You’ll be in need of healing and spiritual guidance.”

  At first, my thoughts froze, as if ice traveled through my neurons. My heartbeat picked up its pace and warm blood flushed through my body. In need of healing? That meant I’d get hurt. Call me a wimp, but I preferred to stay pain free as often as possible.

  “It’s good the snake will be present to heal and guide you,” Donny continued, “but you will be hurt, Carus, and maybe not in the physical sense.”

  Acid gnawed at my gut, as if a pack of rats needed to get out. Would it be Tristan who hurt me? Ben? “Well, that sucks.”

  Donny nodded. “Remember, Carus. When darkness descends on your soul, you’re not alone.”

  “Thanks.” I think.

  Donny went back to reading the ancient manuscript in front of him, and this time, his body language told me the conversation was over. I would get no more information from him. Not sure I wanted to. My limbs went slack, and my chest ached. I mumbled a goodbye and left the library, Donny and his sleeping fera.

  After closing the door to the library quietly behind me, I walked down the hall to the elevator. I pressed the button to go down. My phone vibrated against my thigh. I dug it out of my pocket, and accepted the call from Stan.

  “Hey, Stan,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “I found Patty Cake.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Sometimes the thoughts in my head are so bored they go out for a stroll through my mouth. This is rarely a good thing.”

  ~Scott Westerfield

  My breathing hitched as my brain desperately groped for a witty reply to match Stan’s statement. Did Stan find him in a bakery? Patty Cake and the baker’s man? No, too obvious, and lame. There had to be a good one-liner in there, somewhere, but the words escaped me. Stan had found the street dealer of King’s Krank. Finally, some good news!

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Central City Morgue.”

  And just like that, excitement seeped from my bones, leaving my limbs heavy. My shoulders dropped, and my posture drooped. Dangit! “Guess we won’t get any answers from him.”