by Tina Gower
It’s midnight, but I’ve not eaten, and I doubt Becker has either. I warm up something Ali left in my fridge with a note.
In an effort to keep you from poisoning yourself, I’ve prepped a few meals. They will be faster than ordering takeout and much healthier. I obviously love you more than you love yourself.
There are more than a few meals in my fridge. I have food for the next week. Gods, when did she find the time to do this?
Becker sets his tablet on the coffee table and it clatters. He runs his palms down his face. “Gah! The seven names used to open the accounts are all bogus. Not a single living creature.”
I tap the wooden spoon on the saucepan and turn the vegetable soup down to a simmer. I wipe my hands on my skirt and walk to the couch. I lean over and check out the first name on Becker’s tablet. “Abigail Portmiester. Portmeister?” I frown. The name is familiar.
“Yeah, some lady in Turkey in the eighteenth century who started the first oracle school that increased reliability of their visions in a localized area. It’s considered the beginning of the net we have in place today.”
I swipe to the next name. “Kim Young-ja. She’s credited for finding the mathematical formula that we use to assign predictions in the 1930s. She established a frequency of certain key words and the likelihood that a vision would manifest in the present…her brother Jong-yul was an oracle and they worked closely together to test the reliability and validity of her formulas. I’ve seen the original translations from Korean.”
“Yeah. Kim Jong-yul had an account too.” Becker sits up, plants his feet on the ground, and rests his elbows on his knees. “They’re all historical figures that are connected to the development of the net in some way. Looks like they created fake IDs, must have used glove prints for access.”
Glove prints were a thin plastic coating used to impersonate fingerprints on payment systems. Criminals could use them to steal identities or create whole new IDs. I scan through the information Becker collected on the financials. “These were all open for a few years. They closed them a few days ago. Why?”
“This must have been the first case that got snagged in the system. We’re on to them.”
“Right.” I blow out a breath and set the tablet between us on the couch. “Except we don’t know who they are. I’m not even sure of what they want. If they were anti-fate then why work with the fates to twist predictions to do what they want? Why not focus all their energy on bringing down the system?”
Becker shrugs. “They do seem disorganized. Maybe not everyone is on the same page. If they recruited anti-fate believers in the beginning stages because their goals aligned and now they’ve evolved?”
“Maybe.” The steam from the soup dances above the stove. I decide to let it simmer for a while longer. “Doesn’t it seem strange that nobody at any of the banks noticed the names?”
Becker snorts. “Seriously? I’d be surprised if the average person on the street knew any of these names. I had to look them up.”
“You don’t have a college degree.”
His lips curls, more of a snarl than in an amused smile. “Excuse me? That’s presumptuous.”
I rise from the couch, hitting him with a pillow lightly as I rise. “You know what I mean. I’m tired. Soup should be almost done.”
He grasps the pillow in his lap. “I don’t know what you mean, but if this is some dig about me not passing my detective exam again—”
“It’s not a dig, Becker. I’m sorry. It came out wrong.”
He tosses the pillow back to the edge of the couch. “It’s fine. I should get back to my place anyway.” He sinks into the couch, arms over the fluffy cushions, his glare focused on the stacks of witch binders on the table in front of him. He doesn’t look like he’s going to move from that spot for a while.
“Some soup first? Think of it as my apology via Ali’s excellent cooking.”
He doesn’t reply.
I spoon the soup into two bowls, making the decision for him, and butter two slices of bread. I pop them into my oven to toast to a crispy brown. “Or our assailants have a sense of humor. We can narrow our profile down to people who have knowledge of at least the history of the net. Why go to the trouble to use those familiar names?”
“It’s a message.” Becker grinds out. “They know you’re working on this case and you fascinate them. The shades we’ve pulled in and Liza all ask about you and how you can avoid predictions. They know you’re fateless. They know you’ve eluded them twice and foiled their largest attempt to take over the net. You’re their biggest hurdle, Kate.”
I set the bowl on the table in front of him. “That’s the werewolf in you talking. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m not that important.”
I turn to get my bowl. Becker catches my hand. “You’re very important. Don’t underestimate yourself.”
The yellow flecks in his eyes are dangerously close to taking over. They glimmer, expanding slightly as his pupils dilate. Instinctually I want to shake off his hold and put as much space between us as possible, but I’m learning. Werewolves are the kind of creature where you move forward when all signs point to moving away. Not all werewolves. This werewolf.
I slide my arm from his grasp. His grip tightens and his eyelids lower in confusion, but he loosens his hold. He thinks I’m moving away. It’s not until our hands meet and I squeeze that he realizes. I sit next to him on the couch, swinging my legs over his. His arms wrap around me, fully engulfing me. His head rests on mine. He lets out a long steady breath.
“I’m sorry.” He turns, rearranging me into a more comfortable position. “I can’t control it. I let myself get worked up whenever you’re involved.”
I stroke his fingers, lacing them between mine. The more we touch, the more his shoulders and muscles relax. He’s able to regulate his emotions and express himself clearly. I understand a lot more than I did before.
He holds me tighter. “It was never like this with Jaylee or with my pack. It wasn’t this intense.”
“Maybe because you’ve never gone without pack. Especially for so long. Coming back is harder.”
Becker eases from me, but only a fraction. “I can’t be lone again. You understand that right? I can’t.”
I bite my lip and nod. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I’m going to ask the right questions. I clear my throat, attempting to stumble my way through this. “What do I have to do?”
He’s quiet for a long time. I stop stroking and he takes over, massaging my palm and fingers. When he pauses, I know it’s coming—whatever he has to say.
“I think it needs to be a choice. Because beyond this point there won’t be much room for changing your mind.”
He takes a deep breath and I wait for him to continue.
“With Dalia in the picture, if she turns out to be my sister, it’s an easy transition to a safe pack-mate. We’d form a bond and eventually we’d be able to use each other as pack until we’re able to gain more members. Blood relative. Awkward transition, but not impossible.” He shifts, staring at our joined hands. “Or we continue on as we are with the agreement that this can never go beyond a pack agreement. We’ll figure out what we need to do to make it work. We make an effort to keep the agreement as professional as possible, keeping it as confidential as we can—”
“But we tried that.” I say it quietly, because I’m afraid of both of those options. Lose Becker or force him into a situation that will continue to hurt him. He can’t be serious. He can’t let me make this decision. I’m too selfish.
He slouches down in the couch, his expression going dark. A flush runs up his neck. “Or…”
I sit up, waiting for the third option. “Or?”
“Or we go all in.”
“You mean a relationship?”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
“So we’d stay pack and we’d have a relationship?”
“Yes.”
I blink, waiting for the punch line, b
ut with how red Becker is turning, I don’t think there is one.
My voice lowers to a whisper. “But I thought it was too much of a risk for you.”
He doesn’t respond. His attention is on our hands.
“I’m fateless. I’m unpredictable. I’m a wildcard.”
“There are people who say that about me.”
I wave off his words. “But this is different. Earlier you said I was a risk and I am.”
“It’s all I’ve thought about, the risk, but not because you’re fateless. I’ve thought it through and I’m okay with not knowing. If you’re invested in making it work, then that’s all I need.”
I nod. But I know what he means. He means we’d have to commit to forever. Now we’re both staring out in front of us. Blank expressions on our faces.
I sit up and scoot forward, detaching from Becker, and run my hands up and down my thighs. Is that soup still warm? The soup looks cold. Maybe I should heat it up? Becker watches me, his eyebrows scrunching together in a worried look.
I snatch his bowl and head for the kitchen. “Let me just pop this in the microwave for a minute. We can discuss this again after we eat?” Yeah, that’s a better idea. I could think clearly on a full stomach.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“You should probably think about it anyway.” He gets up from the couch and hovers dangerously close to the door.
“Where are you going?” I point my finger and he pauses, hands in the air, like my finger is loaded. “You’re not leaving.”
“Just stretching.” But his gaze goes to the door handle like he’s gauging his potential speed.
“No. You’re going to escape. How are we ever going to figure this out if you’re always leaving when it gets complicated?”
His shoulders lower. “I don’t leave all the time. You’re obviously uncomfortable…” He gestures, swiping his hand from my head to my feet as though that movement fills in the rest of what he’s saying.
I cross my arms. Far off in what feels like another world, the microwave beeps, indicating Becker’s soup is warm. I pull it out and place it on the counter. “Maybe I already know the answer and I’m just worried that it’s the wrong one.”
“Then don’t answer it yet.” He takes another step for the door. He swipes his hat from his back pocket and secures it low, covering my view of his eyes.
“Ian Becker. Don’t you dare walk out of here. I have too much food and not enough energy to come track you down in whatever hiding spot you set yourself in my parking lot.”
His hand rests on the handle. “I should give you some space to decide.” He says it as though he already knows my decision before I do and it isn’t the one he was hoping for.
“No.” I jog around the counter and flatten my body against the door, although it’s futile. All Becker has to do is use a fraction of his natural strength to either move me or just open the door as if I’m a feather propped up against it. “Don’t do that thing where you read my emotions. You can’t read my mind, so stop trying. Just please eat with me?”
“And then what? It’s late. You’re tired. You have to work in the morning. I have to work in the morning.”
“Then stay.”
He tilts his head, backs up a step. “Kate…”
“You need to be with pack on a regular schedule. Right now I’m your only option and it will take a while to transition to Dalia even if I chose to step down. Am I wrong in assuming this?”
He doesn’t look at me. “We can cut off contact at any point. There’s no need for a transition.”
“But it would be much easier on you if we did a smooth hand-off.”
His eyes snap to mine, narrowed and glaring. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t like me challenging his knowledge of wolves or that he hates discussing the idea of the possibility of a termination date to our pack agreement.
I press against the door harder as though he could force his way out at any second. He might after what I’m going to say. “Don’t hide information from me. Don’t spare my feelings. Dalia hinted at as much on the phone. What if the best decision for everyone involved is to let you transition to Dalia while we…” I take a deep breath. It’s been far too long since I’ve uttered these words and really hoped it would work. “…pursue a relationship?”
He shakes his head as though he’s not allowing the idea to enter.
“Is it really all or nothing with you? What’s wrong with having a back-up pack? It’s obvious I’m not enough.”
“You. Are. Enough.” He bites out each word. “It’s not fair to Dalia. If I draw her away from her pack it’s difficult for her to reform a bond too. What happens when you decide you’re not okay with it? What happens when I have to break that bond with her?”
“You wouldn’t be. If she’s your sister, you’d always have someone to go to when things get too intense between us. It’s not about limiting anyone. It’s about creating options. A safety net for everyone.”
“It’s not a typical pack structure. Dalia might not want to break from her pack. It might be safer for her to return and claim that I wouldn’t mate with her.”
The way he says it, I know he doesn’t believe it. The Turmoil pack will continue to pursue him. Nearly full-blooded werewolves are hard to come by. Even harder to find one that’s well adjusted…I mean, adjusted is a relative term, Becker being on the functional side of a very narrow scale that could tip at a light breeze.
I slide my hand along his arm. “Please, consider it. We can talk through it and set up the best scenario for everyone. If Dalia’s your sister, you’ll want her away from Turmoil. They’ll exploit and blackmail her if they know she’s one of the experiments. They’re already pimping her out as a breeder.”
Becker’s jaw clenches.
I ease closer to him, our bodies inches apart. My fingers keep contact with his skin. It works to keep him calm. “But for now, let’s work on this case, eat dinner, and sleep.”
There’s a moment of complete stillness, where I worry he might not stay. My stomach knots in anticipation of his rejection.
He pulls away from the door, heading for his bowl of soup. It takes a while for the swarm-of-angry-bees-in-my-gut feeling to die down.
He sips at his meal, which I’m sure is cold again, but he won’t go to the trouble to have me heat it for a third time. And I brush aside the little twinge in my soul that he doesn’t feel at home enough to do it himself, or that he thinks he needs to appease me. Baby steps. A few days ago, we’d never have been able to have this conversation. I have to be happy with the progress. I pour the rest of the soup into my bowl, taking a testing sip. Too hot. I turn off the burner and set the pan in the sink.
Becker tucks his bowl in the crook of his arm and motions for me to follow him. “So, I’m running a check on each of the witches in Ali’s binder. So far I’ve got three names from this one.” He flips open the orange one with the labels peeling off. “And one from the blue one.” He opens to the page in question. “Anastis Maka.” He checks his notes on his tablet. “She’s an accomplished seer who’s impressed her instructors and fellow witches alike, but she never did anything beyond her training. I have no records of her. Looks like she performs simple fortune-casting at a dime predictions store in the apothecary district.”
“Sounds like someone who might have the time and opportunity. Also she’s set up in a prime area where most of the action has happened.”
“We’ll question her, see if we can get a read on her.”
“We also have some physical signs to look for. Not really much, but at least something. Reddening of the eyes. Cuts or scars to indicate they’ve been using their own blood to boost the magic as it gets harder to conjure. Unless they’ve been at it for over a year; then we look for skin lesions under the fingernails.”
“I’ll see if I can get our magic specialist on that. Might be beneficial to get some photos to see what we’re looking for.” He moves to the first flipped ope
n page of the orange binder. “This one is interesting: Emmanuel Brazil. He’s was tagged as having oracle tendencies from an early age, but he refused training to follow in his parents’ footsteps. Works in potions and he’s very skilled. Does M.E.D.s for the military.”
“Would explain the M.E.D. we had to disable during Jack’s case. But I was able to unlock it. This guy seems like the type to have a tighter hold on his magic. Ali thought the M.E.D. I worked with must have been a surface magic. Strong enough to slow us down, but not cause much damage.”
“I don’t know. It was pretty strong.” His lips twitch into a smile. “Of course, I was the one caught in it.”
His eyes twinkle and I allow myself to drink in this relaxed moment and relive the time we started working together. I tip my head down and laugh, and my hair falls in front of my eyes. He reaches without thinking and swipes it behind my ear. His grin slowly fades, replaced with something more intense.
He pulls his hand away, clearing his throat. “Becky Williams. She’s another one that was marked for oracle training, except she went through with it and also witch training simultaneously. She must have burned out though, since I don’t see any record of her for the last five years.”
The side of my face tingles as though Becker’s hand is still there stroking. “Another possibility.” I sip more of my soup, sitting cross-legged opposite him by the coffee table.
“Last one.” He flips to another page. This one, like the others, has been tagged by Ali as well. She’d scribbled some thoughts next to each one. We could review her ideas against Becker’s findings to help us narrow down the suspects. “Talia Lee.”
He doesn’t elaborate, just stares at her photo with a grim expression.
I lean over to her description and read Becker’s notes on his tablet. It’s more like a rap sheet followed by numerous disciplinary actions. “She’s a druid. It says here she’s been kicked out of every magic school in the surrounding counties.”