by T. G. Ayer
It all seemed to happen in slow motion, as if I had no control of the destined impact. Dreadlocks was talking to Fynn over his shoulder, his eyes on the bar and he didn’t see me until too late. He slammed into me so hard that I lost my balance and began to tip backward, unable to save myself unless I shifted to access my feline agility.
The guy’s eyes widened with shock, he reached out with one hand and grabbed my hand, his fingers encircling wrist firmly. He saved me from falling on my ass, and pulled gently while I used the force to pull myself back to my feet.
He grinned, giving me a once-over which wasn’t at all lascivious. Refreshing. “That was close. Sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
I waved away the apology. “Neither was I. Thanks for the save.”
“No worries, ma’am. You have a nice day now.” He tipped an invisible cap and moved to walk on.
I stepped aside and turned to hurry toward the entrance. Grabbing the inner door, I tugged hard and stepped into the small doorway and then out onto the street. Sunlight blinded me, and I found myself blinking against a myriad colored dots that seemed to have overtaken my sight.
Standing on the busy sidewalk, I scanned left and right, but saw no sign of the redhead among the many heads bobbing along the streets. It was middle of the day rush hour, with the lunch crowd running to and fro, causing mayhem on the road.
Frustration rushed through me, making my head heat up, only aggravating the warmth of the sun as it baked the top of my skull. In turn, my panther awakened, rising to the surface, called by my emotions.
She butted against my rein on her, urging me to let her go. I’d been doing just that for weeks now, feeling so much more at ease and relaxed with my inner feline. I’d rebelled against my identity for so many years that it sometimes felt new to me when I found myself thinking affectionately of my panther.
I let out a soft breath and swiped my hair out of my eyes with my free hand. The other held onto my helmet, which in the rush to find the stalker, I’d grabbed from the seat automatically.
I scanned the street again one more time, certain now that he was gone and that staring around would do nothing to help me find him. I had to get serious about this.
I nodded to myself and headed back toward the bar, and allowed my panther to enhance my hearing and my sense of smell even though I had no scent to follow.
Yet.
What I did have was a trail that I could pick up. I reached the entrance to O’Hagan’s and paused to stare up at the sign. Nobody had entered the bar since me—I knew because I’d kept an eye on the street at all times. But even if anyone had entered though, it didn’t matter so much. My stalker may have been fast, but he’d left a trail anyway.
I pushed the bar door open and peered inside. A group of people stood in front of the bar, hiding my entrance from Fynn as I allowed the door to shut and turned back to study the handle. My stalker would have held onto the brass handle in order to pull the door open.
I smiled as my nostrils flared and I tested the odors hanging around the door. I wasn’t about to lean over and give the metal a sniff. That wasn’t how tracking a scent worked, at least not with feline walkers.
Of all the odors floating around the doorway, the strongest ones remained around the handle. The freshest, strongest scent would belong to my stalker. And it didn’t take me long to identify it.
Scent identified and committed to memory, I hurried back outside into the sunshine and made for my bike. Hooking the helmet over my arm, I threw a leg over the saddle. I gunned the engine and took off into the street, driving at no more than walking speed.
I studied the pedestrians, searching out the redhead while scenting the air around me. A multitude of scents drifted toward me, making it almost impossible to pick one smells out of them all, but a panther’s sense of smell was impressive, and soon I heaved a sigh of relief as I caught sight of him up ahead.
With the rumble of the motorcycle drawing close to him, he slowed to a halt and slid into the entry of a small antique shop. From there he peered out at me as I rolled past him, pretending to struggle with my helmet. By the time I’d passed him, I’d decided what I wanted to do.
I hung a left making it easy for him to turn the corner and shadow me as I headed down the cross street. The longer I drove, the angrier I got. Who was this guy? What did he want? The fact that he’d managed to successfully tail me didn’t sit well with me at all. Had I been so occupied with the problems I was dealing with—Logan, the Walker Council ultimatum, Lily’s treatment, not to mention shadowmen attacks—that I’d neglected to keep that one eye open and looking over my shoulder?
Now, I rode along the streets and drew my stalker closer and closer. At the next stop sign, I watched him in the rearview mirror of the bike, noting his heavy jacket, the tweed trousers and the brown leather satchel lying tight across his chest. He walked hunched over, shaggy red hair hiding the parts of his face not hidden by his thick-rimmed glasses.
He was the quintessential geeky reporter, nervous hesitation included.
Unless it is all an act.
I sighed and made a right, drawing him deeper into the more abandoned parts of the city. Here the supernaturals ran the place, but alpha status meant few people would consider bothering me.
I slowed almost to a stop and pretended to look at my phone. Let him think I’d come here to meet someone. We were close enough to the abandoned factory where I trained Lily with her shooting, but I steered clear preferring not to reveal to him my personal hideouts.
He kept coming, glancing over his shoulder as he crossed the road.
Good. You just follow the breadcrumbs.
I drove down a nearby one-way street and came to an alleyway, blocked by a pair of large gates that were held closed with a rusty lock. The place held an air of abandonment despite the piles of garbage resting against the once-red brick walls.
I pulled the lock hard, and it gave, snapping off with a loud crack. I didn’t have super strength but what I did have, added to the rust and the lock’s age had been enough to rip it apart.
I tugged the gates open and walked the bike inside, then toed the stand down and slid off the seat. My panther scent confirmed the stalker’s approach, and I could tell he was no more than ten yards away around the corner. I walked deeper inside the alley and hurried past the first pile of garbage bags to find a locked metal door.
I turned and slammed a heel into the door, then crouched low, hoping the stalker would think I’d entered the building through the door and had slammed it shut behind me.
Sure enough, his rapid footsteps gave him away as he ran toward me. I shrank into the shadows and waited until he rounded the corner and almost skidded into the door.
Then I surged up to my feet and grabbed a hold of his collar. Lifting him into the air, I let out what I hoped was a hair-raising growl. The guy gasped then shrieked, kicking his feet, pure terror filling his eyes.
I wasn’t sure whether to be angry or amused.
I let go of him, and he fell in a heap, a ball of arms and legs. He scrambled backward, his heels skidding on the concrete, desperate to get away. I set one foot on his ankle, and he winced as he let out a squeal of fear.
I rolled my eyes. He’d been stalking me for Ailuros knew how long and yet he was terrified of me? Something made me still at the thought.
He was afraid of me.
I didn’t need to smell him to know that.
His eyes were wide, soft whimpers emanated from his lips. His neck muscles were tight as he strained to get away. He was shivering too, as if terror had grabbed hold of him and was shaking him for dear life.
The odor of sweat, urine, and fear wafted off his body toward me.
Ok, so he was that frightened of me.
I took another breath and bent closer. “Why are you following me?”
“I…no reason. I just…I just thought you were someone I used to know and I followed you but now I know especially what with the whole scaring
the shit out of me and holding me hostage thing but I promise I won’t follow you anymore you let me g—”
“Woah buddy, maybe take a breath every once in a while, okay?”
He clammed his mouth shut and stared at me. His dark pupils looked like two bits of coal against the stark whites of his eyes. Black eyes filled with terror. Terror with a side of fascination.
I pursed my lips and took my foot off his ankle. “Don’t bother to run. I’ll just find you, and then I can’t promise I won’t break something.”
I was surprising myself at how ruthless and dangerous I sounded.
My stalker scrambled into a sitting position, back to a low stack of garbage bags. Thankfully the trash here didn’t smell like the decomposing kind, and I could actually allow myself to breathe.
“You are really one of them. I know it,” he said, excitement making his voice vibrate.
My ears rang.
Had his words just spelled the doom of the supernatural community?
Chapter 12
What?” I snapped, making him flinch. I still couldn’t believe I’d heard him right. Perhaps I was lying to myself.
He straightened even though his face was filled with fear. “You’re one of those shifters the FBI report was talking about.”
“What shifter?” I asked, my eyes widening. A second inhalation of his scent confirmed that he was a full-blooded human so why would he be privy to the existence of the supernatural world. “What does the FBI have to do with anything?”
He smiled, his breath coming in waves. “I was skeptical at first but now, not any more ‘cuz I can see for myself and to think I’d almost thrown the report away and now I’m here all because I took a leap of faith and believed in something that nobody dared—”
“Hold up,” I said, my tone betraying my annoyance as I leaned closer, my eyes blazing. I’d taken care to tamp my panther down, so it was my fully human fury that he was staring at. “What report?”
My stalker closed his mouth and stared, as if realizing he may have revealed a little too much too soon. I raised my foot. “What report?”
His dark eyes appeared even darker as he stared up at me. “Look, all I know is that I saw a report that I wasn’t meant to and I took the chance because I don’t know, maybe I was bored, maybe I felt I needed to endanger my life, but the thought that you really exist is just, well, amazing and I didn’t want to miss out and find out that someone else had jumped at the opportunity and I’d miss—”
I folded my arms and sighed loudly. “Would you like me to count to three to give you time to prepare to lose that ankle joint?”
He laughed, the sound hysterical as it echoed along the alley. “You’re threatening me, and I get it, I truly do because who wouldn’t be pissed off to find out that someone was following you, but I know you won’t do it. Well…at least I don’t think you’ll do it.”
I sighed again. What in Ailuros’ name was I going to do about this guy? I still hadn’t learned who he was. With a grunt, I leaned over and attempted to check his jacket pockets. The redhead slapped at my hands and scowled.
“What are you doing?”
I gritted my teeth. “I want to know who you are.”
His face relaxed, and he smiled, then lifted the glasses back onto his nose before patting down his jacket pocket only to look at me, confused. Then he checked his trouser pockets and withdrew a wallet, holding it open toward me. “Joshil Rai. But you can call me Josh.”
I squinted at the photo.
“What?” he asked sounding a little defensive.
“The hair. It’s just not…I dunno.” I shook my head unable to say anything without insulting him.
“Ohh,” he responded, as he registered what I was saying. Then he lifted his hand and pushed back at the shockingly red hair, revealing a head of glossy black hair. “Sorry. Disguise, You know…” His smile was sheepish as he shrugged and tossed the wig in amongst the trash behind him.
“No. I don’t know. I don’t usually follow innocent people around and invade their privacy.” Which was a lie because I could recall a time or two when I’d made a mistake and trailed the wrong suspect. But I didn’t admit to that. I cleared my throat. “Who do you work for?”
“The Chicago Colonial.” He stuttered then reached for his wallet again. “I can give you a card—”
I snorted loudly, and he stopped his search. “That rag? Can you even call yourself a legitimate reporter when you work for a newspaper like that?” I spoke the words but didn’t feel the insult. Dad had mentioned that there was a shifter—possibly a wolf—who worked there, in some senior position, so we had a way of shutting my stalker, or rather Joshil Rai, down if he became problematic.
Josh shuffled to his feet and stood, dusting his ass and checking his satchel. “I’ll have you know that the reputation of the Chicago Colonial is second—”
I held my hand up again, giving Josh a withering look. “Don’t know. Don’t care. Now, tell me why you’ve been tailing me?”
Josh cleared his throat, fiddled with his glasses then lifted his chin. “I mean it about the report. It came into the system a few weeks back. At first, it didn’t appear to be legit, but my boss was very against it. So much against it that I began to suspect he knew something. That maybe he had confirmation, or he suspected it was true and was keeping the story for himself. This is Pulitzer material, you know.”
I shook my head. “What is Pulitzer material? I think it’s past time you told me what this report is all about. I’m about to lose my patience.”
Josh nodded and reached to open the flap of his satchel. I stiffened, watching as he lifted it with care and pulled the bag open so I could see for myself that there were no weapons inside. He removed a thick manila folder, the yellow-brown paper worn so badly that it was soft and creased and almost tearing down the spine. He held it carefully, then presented it to me as if it were a bomb, great reverence, and fear in the action.
I took the file, assured now that he wasn’t about to take off while I held something that he seemed to prize. I opened the folder and skimmed the first few pages, and with each report, each photo, my blood grew colder, and my chest tighter.
I closed the folder a third of the way through, if that. Then I handed it back to him “I’d like a copy of that, if you don’t mind.”
Josh nodded. “So…what do you think? What will you do? They know now, they know the truth, and maybe they’ll come for you, maybe they won’t, but they certainly won’t ignore you forever.” He stopped speaking and took a deep breath and then barreled on again, “And just so you know I didn’t get into this so I could plaster it all across the headlines. No, I’m empathetic, I want to help, I think your…kind is fascinating. It explains so much about history and everything that happened and that it was all a huge lie to make us believe you and your people don’t exist—”
I raised my hand sharply. “Be quiet. I need to think,” I said, the softness of my voice tempering my interruption. He seemed genuine, unless his entire bumbling, eager persona was a lie. Which was possible. But then again, he could be a mole, coming to infiltrate the walker community to feed information to the FBI.
These days, nothing was certain.
Chapter 13
I tightened my jaw.
If the FBI wanted moles, I was pretty sure we already had them inserted within any of the hundreds of supernatural communities in the DarkWorld. Besides, they’d hardly send the dorky klutzy journalist to infiltrate a people capable of shredding him to bits if he put a foot wrong.
Still, the truth of the matter was that I couldn’t trust him. Not until I knew for sure that what he was saying was true and that he didn’t have a van parked around the corner filled with surveillance equipment ready and waiting to arrest me.
The supernatural community had hidden in plain sight from the world for centuries.
And whatever Josh said, he was a reporter, and I had enough smarts to know that journalists tended to be the passionate dog-w
ith-a-bone type. He could end up reporting on us anyway, especially if he had something to gain from it.
I took a step away from him. “I won’t kill you. Not yet. I need a copy of that file first.”
Josh let out a light laugh. “You forget I’ve been tailing you, watching you for a while now. I know for a fact that you’re no killer. Not unless there is a danger to someone you care about or if you are on a case.”
I stiffened. “What do you know about my cases?”
He stabbed the folder. “It’s all in there. That you have special agencies that investigate cases related to your kind, like the FBI or special investigative agencies. They’ve identified a few agencies that are currently operating on US soil.”
“What was the purpose of that file?” I asked, worried now. “Was it to blow the story out of the water? Or to use that information for their own purposes?”
I hadn’t acknowledged Josh’s claims, but I hadn’t denied them either.
Josh leaned forward. “I think they wanted people to dig into the files because their own hands were tied. I think someone higher up wanted the investigation closed, but the people who leaked the files either believed that the world deserved to know, or they felt that they didn’t have the kind of investigative control that they wanted.”
“And that’s the reason to leak information that is so sensitive?” It boggled the mind. These people had no idea the kind of bomb they were sitting on.
He shook his head. “You need to remember that to the FBI investigators that information isn’t all that sensitive because nine out of ten of them didn’t believe what they were reading. It was fiction, or the ravings of a lunatic. It couldn’t be real because that was the kind of reality they couldn’t fathom.”
I swallowed a retort that would have likely been inappropriate. Fury filled me at the thought of some imbecile wreaking havoc on entire communities just because of their own selfish needs.
“There’s more there than just ‘people have a right to know’. You don’t have any idea what happened to us in historical times.”