by Skye Knizley
“I’m sorry ma’am, but what is this about?”
Raven held up her badge. “Dead guy, sixtieth floor. I’m Raven Storm, the agent in charge, get me Franklin’s full name and address.”
“Yes ma’am, right away,” the clerk replied.
He began typing on the computer and Raven looked at her phone. Part of her wanted to call Sable and just ask. Another part wanted to be sure before she ruined her sister’s holiday. They weren’t close, but they’d been working at it and had developed a sister-bond, if not a friendship.
Raven knew if something happened to Aspen, she would want to know and she was certain Sable would, too. But they had no evidence the ring was for her, there were a few people named Sable in the Chicago metro area, it could belong to any of them.
But her gut said this was no coincidence.
“Here you are, Agent Storm,” the clerk said, holding out a neat printout on Waldorf letterhead. Raven scanned the page, the address was an upscale apartment building not far from her own.
“They must pay you well,” she said.
The clerk shrugged. “No more than most hotels, ma’am.”
“Really? Then how does Franklin Decker afford a five star apartment?”
“I really couldn’t say, ma’am.”
Raven glared at him for a moment, then pulled a card from her pocket and tossed it on the counter. “When you can, give me a call. Thanks for your help.”
She turned and headed back to the elevators, her mind racing. By the time she reached the crime scene, Dr. Ming Zhu, the District One medical examiner, was on scene. The body had been moved to a gurney and he was speaking softly with Aspen. He smiled when he saw Raven and waved, oblivious to the blood on his gloves.
“Agent Storm, such a pleasure to see you again,” he said.
Raven returned the smile. Ming was an old friend, one of the few humans who knew what she was. Who she was.
“You can call me Raven, doc,” she said.
“I find it helps to maintain decorum at a crime scene, Agent Storm,” he said.
“Suit yourself. What can you tell me about our vic?” Raven asked.
“Male, approximately thirty-five years of age, six feet three inches tall, I’d guess two hundred and thirty pounds. He was tortured for hours in this room before being killed,” Zhu said.
“Tortured to death?” Raven asked.
Zhu looked surprised. “Goodness, no. The bullet to his skull ended his suffering, some four hours ago, give or take a half hour.”
He bent over the victim and circled a wound in the side of his skull. It was so small, Raven hadn’t seen it.
“Small caliber, perhaps a .22 or .25 at close range. Subsonic, so there is no exit wound. The bullet doubtless bounced around his skull like a pinball.”
“But that’s not all,” Aspen said.
She raised the victim’s right arm, which glistened wetly with blood and fat. “He was regenerating. You can see the new flesh growing on his arm.”
“Regenerating?” Raven asked.
“Indeed,” Zhu said. “He is what I believe Section Thirteen calls a preternatural.”
“So he’s going to wake up in a couple days and tell us who killed him?” Raven asked.
“No such luck,” Levac said. “He’s not a vamp. Best guess, he’s a lycan of some kind and I’m betting the bullet was silver.”
Raven looked back at the body. She could tell by the marks on his wrists and ankles that he had struggled with all his strength, but somehow still hadn’t been able to get away. A lycan his size would have been strong, probably stronger than she was.
“What was he bound with?”
“Metal cable of some sort, like you would use to make a dog run or something,” Aspen said. “There’s a residue I suspect is silver nitrate, but I’ll need to run it through the mass-spec to be sure.”
“So the killer knew he was a lycan, or at least not human. That narrows down the suspects,” Levac said.
“And brings it that much closer to home,” Raven said.
She looked back at the victim. His face had been torn off and his eyes rolled in the sockets, held in place by nothing but wet muscles and the optic nerve. Still, he didn’t look at all familiar. Thad was training a pack of lycans to act as daytime protectors for the manor, but this guy didn’t look like any of them. Wererats tended to be smaller, more athletic and wiry. If Murphy had been a shifter, her gut said werewolf.
“Do you think this has something to do with the Renegades?” Aspen asked.
“Perhaps this isn’t the time or place?” Zhu asked. He nodded at the uniformed officers still guarding the room. They were close enough to overhear, and they’d already said too much.
“Doc, I need his bloodwork and a bullet, if there is one, as soon as you can,” she said.
“I will email you the results in the morning, Agent Storm,” Zhu replied.
“Thanks, Ming.”
Raven looked back at the scene. The scent of blood and meat was getting on her nerves, but there was still a lot to process. She put on fresh gloves and joined Aspen and Levac in completing the scene. It was going to be a long night.
The Donut Vault, North Michigan Avenue, 5:25 a.m.
The Donut Vault, with its orange walls, Formica tables and all too cheery staff had been the unofficial LeStorm field office since Raven had first met Levac, and it was a welcome respite after a night crawling through blood sorting evidence and clues.
In the end, all they had to show for it was a silk stocking that clearly didn’t belong to Murphy and a card for the Crow Bar, a dive on the far side of town. Raven sat in her preferred booth looking at the bloodstained card through the evidence bag. It was off-white with a crow holding an iron bar in its claws and the stylized name. The address was written on the back, along with a name: Rosemary Kerr. They’d run a database and hadn’t found the name anywhere in the country.
She looked up when Levac placed a large black coffee in front of her.
“Thanks, Rupe.”
“It was my turn to buy,” he replied.
He dropped into the opposite side of the booth and scooted over so Aspen, her hands full with something that smelled dark and chocolatey, sat beside him.
Raven looked back at the card. “What the hell kind of name is The Crow Bar?”
“Goth-dark humor,” Aspen said, blowing on her chocolate.
“Which means?” Levac asked.
“It’s a Goth pun. Crow as in bird and black, bar as in prybar and gin-joint,” Aspen said.
Raven gave her a look and Aspen blushed.
“I was pretty heavy into the scene when I was younger, I get Goths,” she said.
“The lame attempt at humor is obvious, but is there something else?” Levac asked.
Aspen shrugged. “I have no idea. Many of the names to underground clubs and bars do have double meanings, this one probably does, but I’m not certain what it is in this case. Best guess would be that the place caters to more rugged gothic types. Bikers, Industrial-Metal fans, Death Pagans, that kind of thing.”
“Do I even want to know what a Death Pagan is?” Raven asked.
“Probably not,” Aspen said with a grin. “They’re heavy into bloodplay.”
“Swell,” Raven muttered.
Levac bit into his powdered donut and chewed as he talked. “Looks like you two are going out tonight.”
“Us? Where will you be, partner?” Raven asked.
“Got a date with my beautiful Sloan and a midwife. She’s getting close to term,” Levac said.
Aspen smiled. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s very pregnant, it makes her look like she swallowed two watermelons,” Levac said.
“That’s not very nice, Rupe,” Raven said. “Isn’t it too soon?”
“Not for
cuāuhocēlōtl, they have a shorter gestation than normal people,” Aspen said.
Levac took another bite of his donut. “What she said. I’m due to have a kid by New Year’s day.”
Raven couldn’t imagine Levac with a child. She knew he’d make a great if goofy father, and he had amazing instincts. She had no doubt he would raise a happy, healthy, intelligent child with a decent head on their shoulders. Still, she couldn’t imagine it. This wasn’t the career for family-minded people. Every time they took a case, hunted something dangerous or stepped into a dark alley it could be one of them on the slab downtown. She didn’t want the baby to grow up without a father.
“Stop,” Levac said softly.
“Stop what?” Raven asked.
Levac sipped his coffee and wiped sugar off his chin before answering. “We’ve been friends a long time, Ray. I can read your face, I know what you’re thinking, about me and a family.”
Raven looked guiltily into her coffee. “We have a dangerous job, Rupe.”
“I know, and I’ve already died once. But this is my job and it’s my choice. Sloanie and I talked about it before we made the decision, and it’s our decision, not yours,” Levac said.
“Of course it is, Rupe,” Raven said, raising her eyes. “I’m still going to worry, I was the kid who grew up without her father, remember?”
Aspen raised her hands. “Time out, both of you, before you raise your voices.”
She lowered her hands and turned so she could see both of them. “I can see where this is going. You’re tired, it’s been a long night, and you’re both hardheaded. Ray, its Rupe’s choice and we both know he’s going to be an amazing father. Rupe, Raven loves you and only wants to protect you and your family. Neither of you is really angry, so chill.”
“Since when are you the family counselor?” Raven asked.
“It’s a Fae thing,” Aspen said, grinning.
“I think I liked you better when I thought you were human,” Levac said, the twinkle in his eyes making it a lie.
Aspen stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re just jealous you don’t have pointy ears and glitter in your shoes.”
Levac drained his coffee and set it aside. “I’ll pass. Let me out, pointy ears, I need forty winks.”
Aspen slid out of the booth and Levac followed suit. He tossed a Whovian scarf over his shoulders and pulled on his gloves.
“What time are we getting back to it?”
Raven checked her phone and frowned. “We need sleep and Ming needs time to get his autopsy done. I also need to check on Mother, what about two, we can meet at the morgue and see what Ming has found.”
“Roger that. Don’t forget though, I have an appointment tomorrow after Sloan gets off duty,” Levac said.
He kissed the top of Aspen’s head then left just as the sun was peeking through the morning clouds, a dull golden orb that promised a new day.
“We should head home too, love,” Aspen said.
Raven finished her coffee and tossed it in the nearby bin. “Ready when you are.”
Outside, the city was still silent, almost like a tomb. It was always like this a few days before the holidays, when even the city’s staunchest were sleeping in and taking it easy. The city rose late for a few days every year, before going back to its normal 24/7 hustle. In a few hours the city would be filled with people going to work or searching shops for last minute gifts, but for now there was nothing but the hush of snow and the rattle of the “L” a few blocks away, a dull clanking sound mixed with a rumble like distant thunder.
Raven huddled in her jacket and listened. Her instincts told her they weren’t alone, but she couldn’t pinpoint the sensation. She turned and saw the clerk inside the Vault, busy with the next batch of donuts, then she glanced at the buildings to either side, but saw nothing and no one, just sleeping buildings and twinkling holiday lights.
“What’s wrong, love?” Aspen asked.
“Nothing,” Raven said, opening the door. “Just tired.”
But she knew it was more than that. Her gut was hardly ever wrong.
CHAPTER TWO
343 Wolf Point, Chicago, IL Dec. 22nd, 12:00 p.m.
Rest hadn’t come quickly or easily. Raven had lain awake for over an hour listening to Aspen’s soft snores before finally drifting off to a troubled sleep full of frozen nightmares and faceless men with steel fingers. She woke just before noon, showered and dressed in a pair of soft suede pants, comfy oversized tee and her over-knee boots then adjourned to the kitchen to make coffee and lunch while Aspen dressed. Bacon went into the microwave while she stirred eggs and tried not to let them burn. Aspen appeared as she was serving up a passable bacon egg and cheese sandwich for each of them.
Aspen’s style continued to evolve. When they’d met four years before, Aspen had been partial to short plaid skirts, funky shoes and dog collars. Since then she’d gone through a sort of Gypsy phase a la Stevie Nicks, then grunge rock before settling on her current look, which consisted of leather pants, stylish yet comfortable boots, form-fitting tee beneath a witchy scarf and leather jacket. She’d pulled her violet hair behind her pointed ears and wore a selection of holiday-themed earrings.
“You look like you’re trying to memorize me,” Aspen observed.
Raven smiled and poured two cups of coffee that probably smelled better than it tasted. “You look amazing.”
Aspen hopped onto one of the stools and snatched a piece of bacon from Raven’s plate. “Thank you. The lab called while you were in the shower, I need to head downtown and go over some of the evidence. Harvey’s found something strange with the bloodwork.”
“Harvey’s pretty solid, has he been read into Section Thirteen?”
“Yep. Silver did it a couple weeks ago, she decided we needed someone at the city lab who could field the weird ones and send them my way,” Aspen said around a mouth full of bacon.
Raven bit into her own sandwich. She’d be the first to admit she was a lousy cook, but it was hard to mess up bacon and eggs. Trying Dominique’s soufflé had been another matter entirely.
She washed the bite down with coffee. “Will you be able to make Court tonight?”
“Of course, love. It’s our turn to be badass for your mother,” Aspen said.
“Not badass, just remind the Totentanz that Mother is still in charge, sick or not,” Raven said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about the lycan I killed a couple days ago. Did his workup ever come in?”
Aspen’s mouth was full. She tapped some keys on her tablet and slid it across the counter by way of answer. There wasn’t much, he wasn’t in the system and facial recognition couldn’t place him. His bloodwork showed he was a primal lycan of Russian decent, and that was about it, which was no surprise. Primals lived off the grid. It didn’t bode well if they were in the city. Either Eliazaar was losing control of his pack or there was a splinter group. It would take time to find out.
“My best guess is he was over a hundred years old, a beta wolf, definitely not strong enough to be an alpha,” Aspen said.
“What happened to him when you were done?”
“King sent him to the lab in upstate New York,” Aspen said. “Seriously, Ray, we need to get out there and see what’s going on. I have a feeling it’s more than just burning the bodies and disposing of the ash.”
The so-called lab in Troy, New York was a point of contention between Raven and Agent King. He insisted it was a disposal unit, but why then was it called a lab and not a morgue? It was classified far above her clearance level and she didn’t like it one bit. Humans had a bad track record when it came to leaving things alone.
“When there’s time, Asp. Let’s focus on the case and finding out what the Renegades are up to, then we can look into the lab and see what’s what,” Raven said.
Aspen finished her sandwich and took a sip of coffee. “I don’t disag
ree, honey. I’m late, going to meet Harvey and go over the evidence. See you tonight?”
“I’ll pick you up at the lab before Court,” Raven said.
“Good deal,” Aspen said. She leaned in for a kiss, which Raven obliged lovingly, and hurried for the door. In a moment, she was gone.
The apartment was too quiet in her absence, and Raven found herself feeling anxious. The fear of the nightmares was still with her, no matter how much she tried to ignore it. Had something happened to her when she was dead?
She shook it off, tossed the rest of her meal into the sink and headed for the door. Nightmares and what-ifs could wait, she had work to do.
Chicago City Morgue, Dec 22nd 1:45 p.m.
Raven drove through the city at what was, for her, a sedate pace. The city had come alive with shoppers and people going about their daily business, and it made her feel a semblance of normal to watch city life.
The morgue was an old brick building that had once been one of the city’s famous slaughterhouses. It had been a morgue since the 1940s, but still looked more like a meat packing plant than a city office, right down to the now sealed loading doors that were nevertheless painted the same off-white color they’d been when cattle were driven in one side and steaks carried out the other.
Raven arrived ahead of schedule, but not early enough to beat Levac, who was sitting outside eating chocolate and talking on his phone. Raven parked beside Levac’s battered old Nash and climbed out of the Jag, wrapping a scarf around her neck for protection against the bitter wind growing to the west. Levac raised a shiny silver chocolate wrapper in greeting and turned away. Whoever he was talking to, it wasn’t work related. Raven had learned to read his signals and give him a little privacy.
He ended the call with a quiet, “I love you,” and turned back.
“You’re early,” he said. “You usually hate the morgue.”
Raven smiled. “I still hate it, but Asp headed out to the lab and I was bored, so here I am.”
Levac stepped closer. “In seriousness, Ray, are you good? You haven’t been in the morgue since we found you.”
Raven looked down the steps to the glassed-in entry. She’d lost count of how many times she’d been through those doors. In the past they’d represented merely the sickening aroma of old blood. Now, there was something else, something colder like the fingers of death stroking her spine. But she was damned if she was going to let that get to her.