by Holly Rutan
I shuddered. "You're not helping. Go find someone else to pester, would you?"
"I'm just telling it like it was," my friend insisted. He gave me a rather sloppy kiss on the cheek before letting me go to find another classmate to victimize.
Tomas was looking a bit green. "You ate someone?"
"Supposedly, the milker's bodyguard. I don't remember," I admitted, while wiping spit off my cheek with a sleeve. "Apparently, I was locked in. There wasn't any other food to be had, and I was nearly dead from starvation. Given the circumstances, I must have done the best that I could."
Moira suddenly snorted with a brief burst of laughter. "God. Someone's gotta tell our friend about his brush with death when he sobers up. That's great. I like you, kid. You found a partner yet?"
"No," I said. "I thought I'd be assigned one. This party caught me by complete surprise."
"I think I'll remove myself here," Tomas said. "No offense intended, but I don't think I would make a good match for you."
"None taken. Thank you for taking the time to assist me," I answered, nodding to him.
A squeal followed by a thud rang through the room, and the crowd fell into a tense hush.
"Ah, the awaited ball shot," Tomas announced jovially, his voice distinct in the quiet room. "I think I'll go find whoever dealt it. Tough ladies set my heart afire."
"Not to mention your loins," Moira said with a soft chuckle. "Have fun."
Tomas grinned rakishly and departed, cutting through the crowd with grace in his quest to find the source of the disturbance.
"Are you serious about wanting me for a partner?" I asked Moira.
"Come on. You're too thin. Let's get you something more to eat, and then we'll talk," Moira answered.
When we'd safely settled ourselves in chairs near the buffet table with our newly laden plates, Moira cleared her throat. I tilted my head attentively.
"Are you sleeping with that boy?" she asked.
That was not the question that I had expected.
"Now and then, if I'm scheduled for a run in the park within a few days," I answered. "He's clean and fun and doesn't think less of me for not having any emotional attachment. I've no claim on him, though."
"Run in the park?" Moira wondered.
“The Department lets me shift and hunt rats in that little wild area they keep for the dryads who work Downtown," I explained. "It keeps me balanced and has the side benefit of keeping the pest population down. Since I'm canine, I can't use condoms. Shape-shifting prevents pregnancies."
"Understandable. I'm asking because, well. Have you heard the phrase 'shameless as a were'?"
"Yeah," I answered, my shoulders hunching. I'd been talked to a few times, but I thought I'd been discreet enough. Was Moira going to change her mind?
"You'll need to be careful not to live up to that while you're on the beat. It's unprofessional. Some have a harder time adapting to that than others, but curbing your behavior is absolutely necessary to gain respect, and you need that respect to do your job," Moira said. "Public displays of affection are right out."
"I had been informed," I said, reassuring her. "He's like that with everybody. Hopefully, he will find a partner who will keep him under control. Please note that I did not reciprocate his affection."
"I saw, and that's fine. You'll have to go further next time and actually push him away if he doesn't get the message," Moira said.
"I understand," I answered.
A burst of laughter and the sudden, sharp scent of alcohol drew my attention. It sounded like the drunk's flask had been confiscated and poured into the trash; he was protesting at high volume. Burly agents had taken hold of both his arms, and they hauled him away. Moira and I applauded, along with half the women in the room.
"Next question," Moira said. "I'm trained to partner with a were, specifically. I'll be honest, since I think you'll appreciate it—I do get paid more if I have a were partner, and that's part of what makes the position more attractive to some agents. Is that a problem for you?"
I shrugged. "You have to do more work, so you might as well get paid for it. I need more help than most weres. Will that be a problem for you?" I asked, turning the question back on her.
"Depends on what you need," Moira answered.
"I can't see well enough to drive or shoot, since objects in motion catch my attention much more distinctly than stationary things—like parked cars, for example. Most of the time, I can take public transit or run, but that isn't always possible. Reading is difficult for me, but I can do it. I have to call dispatch if I need to shape-shift; I am not permitted to shift on the fly. Also, Captain Moore said something about wanting to refer me for specialist training," I said, ticking every drawback I could think of off on my fingers.
"I see. So there's your downside. What about your benefits? How's the healing?" Moira asked.
"Accelerated, like it usually is for ferals. As long as it isn't in the head or the heart, I can take a bullet or three without slowing down, and have done so before. My sense of smell is acute in human form and nearly as strong as a bear's in beast form," I answered. "I'm also a mage, and while I'm not strong enough to offer combat-grade firepower, my senses carry over to the current, and I can offer some enchantments as long as it's not on the fly."
"None of that seems terrible," Moira said, her eyes narrowing. "Having a mage would be handy, and there are plenty of weres that can't drive or read. What do you do for fun?"
I looked at her. What did fun have to do with anything? I opened my mouth, hesitated, and then answered, "I like it when I am allowed to run in the park."
"Oh, honey, you need help. Come on, let's go talk to Roth."
Chapter Four
Four years later…
The day was both hot and humid, so much so that the air seemed hazy with moisture. I curled my lips off my teeth and let my mouth open in an unprofessional pant, but it did me no good, and my partner clapped me on the back as we walked back to her bike from some nameless burrito joint.
"Two more hours and we're off shift," Moira said. Sweat beaded on her temple and dripped slowly down her face.
I didn't envy her the ability to sweat, although I had in the past. In this weather, it wasn't doing her any more good than my panting. My dark uniform might as well have been an oven, despite the lightweight cloth used for summer wear. I shook myself, settling fur that wasn't there, and nodded.
"That will be good," I said. “You'd think no one would have the energy to screw around in this heat. Humans never fail to amaze me.”
My partner chuckled. She wiped the sweat off her face with a napkin and tossed it into an overfilled trash can on the sidewalk. The napkin missed and drifted to the ground. We both looked at it in dismay. Moira picked it up and placed it back in the can, along with some of the other trash within reach.
The two of us were patrolling in our usual beat, the Van Nuys area of Los Angeles. We kept my ears and Moira's eyes sharp to spot suspicious activities of the magical variety, although we wouldn't hesitate to intervene if we spotted mundane crimes in progress. Strictly speaking, though, those were the police's problem.
I lifted my head and sniffed. Moira waited with her hands in her pockets while I analyzed the scents and curled my lips to draw the moist air over my tongue as well as through my nose. Catching nothing but the usual mix of hot concrete, exhaust, and sweaty human, I then opened my ears to the constant, melodic thrum of gently flowing magic.
The magical current was quiet. I couldn't hear any songs out of place, and the soft melody of ambient magic didn't sound like anyone was drawing more than they should. We'd already checked the usual hotspots—a charm dealer who wasn't always as careful as she should be about what she was selling, a potion salesman who'd perfected a love elixir that worked a little too well, and a charlatan or two. Most of the real power held itself apart from the streets and petty criminals.
"Quieter than usual today," I said. “Maybe people are being smart and napping fo
r once.”
Just as I finished speaking, a fellow who had been selling fresh produce on the corner got an eyeful of our black uniforms while we were walking in his direction. My gaze met his, and his eyes widened. With a panicked look, he dropped his bananas and bolted.
Without thought, I sprang in pursuit. Moira, trusting my endurance, ran for her motorcycle. I flared my nostrils, catching the guy's scent. Even if he ducked out of sight, I'd be able to find him. I had the best nose in the Department. I bared my teeth, eager for the chase. The suspect pushed his way past startled pedestrians as he sprinted through the streets, and I wove through the startled bystanders left in his wake. He'd shoved someone to the ground in his haste, and I bounced off a car to avoid her, leaving a hefty dent.
Someone caught a flash of my eyes, and my path cleared. No one wanted to get in the way of a charging were.
I tapped the Bluetooth on my ear and growled to my partner, "He's taking a left on Tyrone. Can you head him off?"
"Can do," Moira's voice whispered back to me. I picked up speed, panting for breath and fighting the urge to drop to all fours. What was this guy, a marathon runner? It seemed like I'd been chasing him for a good half mile, and he hadn't shown a hint of slowing down. My open mouth spread into a wide grin. I felt like a hunting hound chasing a fox and squashed the urge to howl.
Ahead of me, the guy stopped and windmilled backward, stumbling and turning away from his intended course as Moira pulled her motorbike across the sidewalk to block his path. He turned around the other way, but I was almost on him, so he darted ahead and into a nearby alley. Perfect.
That alley was a dead end, terminating in a short, concrete wall topped with chain link blocking an empty, weed-filled lot. The suspect stopped, gasping for breath, and then pulled himself up the wall and tried to scale the fence. I was on him before he got halfway, teeth bared in a lupine snarl of satisfaction. I loved the end of a good chase.
Unless he was armed with silver, which I couldn't smell on him, he was no danger to me. I pulled him off the fence and let him fall to the dirty ground. Moira coasted into the alley on her motorbike, the blue and red lights flashing, and killed the engine.
He started to crawl away, and I kicked him with a heavy boot. Something cracked, and I could smell the sudden tang of blood. Not his, my nose insisted. My eyes widened in a sudden rush of fury, and I growled.
"Get up," I ordered.
The suspect tried to back away, and I reached down and grabbed the front of his jacket, flinging the larger man against the fencing. Moira came up and searched him while I held him more or less still. She came up with three closed vials of blood and fourth half-full and broken. It leaked with a steady drip onto the pavement. My skin tightened as phantom hackles rose. Several people had been milked to fill those vials. They were probably already dead.
"Oh my, would you look at that. He was carrying." Her voice was bright and cheerful.
I nodded. We had known he had something the moment he rabbited when we strolled by his corner. The only questions had been what and how much. It seemed as though I were looking at the perp through a glass barrier. I wanted to feel his flesh separating under my claws, taste the blood that would burst from his throat. He was nothing but trash, worth less than the effort it would take to bring him in. Only years of training kept me leashed. If I killed him, I would be executed.
"Blood running carries what, five to ten years?" I asked.
It was a struggle to force words from my mouth, and my voice came out in a dark rumble. I opened my mouth and panted slightly, my tongue touching the inner part of my lower lip.
"Only if they were just running. Milking's a death sentence." My partner slipped the vials into an evidence baggy. She kept a small supply in the saddlebags of her bike.
"Tell me, scum. Were you milking?" I showed my teeth in a feral grin. The silver bracelet on my right wrist hissed against my sizzling skin as I coaxed a partial change. My face spasmed in pain, but I held the change steady. My jaw grew, and my mouth gaped wider to accommodate a carnivore's teeth.
"Oh God. No! I don't know nothing! Oh shit!" The runner pushed himself against the fence in an involuntary scramble to get away. He stopped when I waved my black-banded wrist in front of his face.
"My first kill was a milker, did I ever tell you that, Moira?" I asked in an almost conversational tone. My voice was slurred from the intrusion of my teeth, and my voice had deepened. The front of the runner's pants darkened, and I wrinkled my nose.
"Only a half dozen times," the other woman replied drily.
"I hate milkers. I hate runners, too." I snapped my teeth together with a final-sounding click. "But I hate milkers more than I hate runners. Runners are just trying to make a living, right? They aren't baby killers, not like milkers. Right?"
The runner was nodding as fast as his head would move.
Moira tucked away the evidence and strolled up to the two of us. "Nah, I think runners are just as bad. Doing business with the baby killers..." She shook her head, letting the implications linger.
"The runner might tell us where he got his supply, right? If the runner did that, I'd maybe put in a good word. Rather eat a milker than a runner. Especially a smelly one." I ran a long, pink tongue over my fangs.
"Shit, she'll kill me," the runner whimpered.
With a grunt of effort, I pushed my shift further, growling and gaining a couple of inches. Even through the rush of rage and adrenaline, that hurt. My fangs now protruded from a short muzzle and my Bluetooth fell to the ground with a faint plastic clatter and crunched under my boot. I glared into his eyes. The message was clear: so would I.
"Oh wow, I've never seen someone push through the murder bracelet before. You must really piss her off," Moira marveled.
"Shit, I'll tell you everything I know, just get that thing away from me!" the runner pleaded. Moira came forward with a set of handcuffs and secured him, brushing me away. I growled but let her. It was taking an increasing amount of effort to hold my shift up.
While I waited on the sidewalk, glaring at our suspect in silent promise, Moira radioed for a car to take him in and recorded his babbled confessions. Somehow, I managed to hold my shift until the suspect was removed from our custody.
I stood on the curb and breathed, allowing myself to snap back to human form so quickly that I grew dizzy. My charred wrist leaked a clear fluid in tacky threads as it began to repair the damage. I wanted to lick it and make it feel better, but the silver would burn my tongue. My anger receded with the shift, and I sat, tired. My hands shook, and I stared at them. Another loss of control. That was the second time this month. Sooner or later, I'd break, if the Department didn't put me down first.
Moira's return brought me out of my funk. She tossed me a crumpled plastic baggie filled with dog biscuits. I caught it. My nostrils flared at the enticing scent, and I tore the bag open without a second thought.
"That was awesome. When did you learn to do that?" my partner asked.
"I've been practicing at night. Being trapped in human shape all the time is too limiting, even with a direct line to Madeline. I thought it might come in useful," I mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs. Madeline was our area dispatcher, who could okay a shape-shift when I needed it. Otherwise, Moira and I would end up ears deep in a tactical squad, all with their weapons pointed at me.
"It scared the shit out of that asshole. Need an aspirin?"
I shook my head. "Nah, I'll be fine in ten minutes. Thanks, though. You get anything good out of him? I wasn't taking in too much."
"Yeah, he's been running a route from Eagle Rock to here. He has a buyer in Valerio. That street vendor cover is a good one, we'll have to remember it later."
I grunted in agreement. "Stupid punk shouldn't have gotten scared. We'd have walked right on by. Hey, Eagle Rock's a long way out of our area. You going to call in another team?"
"Radioing it in as soon as you're good. Max and Sparky can handle that end, let's focus on the buyer."
"Sounds like a plan to me. I'm good, go call it in," I said.
Moira went to go fiddle with the radio on her bike, and I rested. Slowly, my pain eased as the burn disappeared, leaving a red scar behind. It would take days for the mark to fade and join the tracery of existing white lines on my wrist.
I contemplated the simple silver-and-black band that marked me a killer. It wasn't the kill that bothered the Department so much. That had been a clear case of self-defense, and I've been told that I saved the lives of two other children when I'd done it. However, they took real offense to me eating the body afterward. Apparently, it spoke of a bad mindset on my part—the type of thought pattern that separated a good and civilized were from a dangerous feral.
Losing my temper twice in a month was frightening. Humans smelled like food, and no amount of aversion therapy would change that.
My partner motioned to me, and I hauled myself to my feet and headed over to the bike.
"Hop on," she said. "We need to drop this off at the station, and then I want to check in on the Valerio Street encampment."
"Are you sure you want to do that tonight? It's getting late." I climbed up on the bike behind her, wrapping my hands around her waist.
"Better to get it over with. He had gang tats; maybe Antonio will be offended enough to give us a run through his turf," Moira answered.
"By the time we get there, word will have spread, so there's no hurry. Let's hit a drive-through first. I'm starving." The dog biscuits hadn't been nearly enough to fuel my repairs. My stomach growled audibly.
"Fine."
We rode down to the station and dropped off our evidence, promising to fill in the reports after we'd followed our lead. Our runner had already been deposited and was sitting in an interrogation room. I had to restrain the urge to have a peek and rattle his cage; we'd gotten what we needed from him in the short term, and other agents who had specialized training in interrogation would wheedle the details out of him later.