Silver Bound (Sammy Davis Book 1)

by Holly Rutan

  In the cases where there was enough left of the perpetrator to examine, it was noted that their left palms were dyed red. The milker I'd killed as a child also had a red palm. I wracked my brains, but the information didn't trigger any new memories to store with the scraps I already had.

  While Irwin slept, we prepared our report on the newly nicknamed "Cult of the Red Hand," and sent it in to Voneshi. I put a map up on the wall and pinned the sites where the raids had occurred, hoping for a pattern. We had four so far, not counting Santa Cruz, and they looked to be totally random.

  I had a sinking feeling that more people would die before we could figure it out.

  Chapter Ten

  I was fumbling for the key to my front door when my cell phone rang, scaring the hell out of me. "Yeah, hello?" I asked.

  "Sammy, you all right? You're usually here by now." Maria's voice was tinny through the crappy handset speaker, but I could still hear her puzzlement. I must have sounded funny answering while chasing my key ring, which I'd dropped.

  "Shit," I responded. "Sorry, Maria. This case I'm on has been hell, and Moira's out sick so she couldn't remind me of the date. I totally forgot. Will it be okay if I get there in half an hour?"

  "Sure, sweetie. Moira's out sick? That's a first. You want Jorge to come pick you up?" In the background, I heard a pan clatter. The thought of food made my stomach rumble.

  I shook my head, forgetting she couldn't see me. "No, that's all right. I need the time to clear my mind. The last thing you need is for me to bring work with me."

  "As long as you're sure," she answered.

  "Pff, you're what, three miles away? I'll grab my jogging shoes; me and the track haven't met each other for weeks, and I could use the run. See you soon," I replied.

  "Be careful," Maria said.

  I retrieved my errant keys and ran inside long enough to change shoes, my mood considerably lightened. Dinner at Maria's! What would it be tonight? Enchiladas? Pasta? Something good and filling, that was for certain. My shoes were on and I was back out the door fast enough to leave the little curtain in my window fluttering in the breeze.

  Over the past few years, I've developed a fondness for running. The pure physicality of the act is relaxing. Muscles bunch and release in an effortless rhythm, and the miles dissolve under the pounding of my feet. I always think well when I'm running.

  I took the time to examine the facts of the case. Right now they were like those little clusters of pieces that always seem to form when you're doing a puzzle. The edges hadn't been put together yet, and there were only glimpses of the picture that would soon be created.

  We had cultists. Minions for an unknown force, certainly. They were probably just around to provide brute force. As far as Irwin could tell, the runes on their bodies were some sort of language melody. Maybe for translation. I agreed with him, which meant they were either foreign or working with a power that was foreign.

  Other aspects of the case suggested someone local was also involved. Otherwise, we'd have found more than hints at this point; they were too good at hiding to be anything other than intimately familiar with Los Angeles.

  It bothered me that the runic magic was so familiar to me, and yet completely unknown. Those marks looked like no language I knew. Even if I couldn't speak it, I could recognize Spanish or Chinese if I saw the characters. No one else had cracked the code, either. But I'd seen those runes before in my childhood. Somewhere in my memories were more clues, if only I could find them. I'd quit seeing a counselor ages ago, when we'd gotten too close to what was missing and I panicked. I'd buried my memories like a bone that had gone rotten and was no longer good to eat. I resolved to fix that. I was tired of the nightmares that haunted me and the hints so close I felt like I should snap my teeth and break the back of the puzzle like a too-curious rat.

  With that decision made, I relaxed into the steady rhythm and comfort of running.

  Jorge and Maria lived in a small, neatly appointed single-story house with spotted curtains. I had the feeling the curtains were Maria's idea, but you never knew. Denied the space for a real garden, she kept the flower boxes under the windows filled with brightly blooming blossoms year round.

  The front door opened into their kitchen. I took a moment to catch my breath—a week of hard exercise but inadequate rest had put me out of condition—then tapped on the door and let myself in.

  Maria was standing over the stove, stirring a pot of something creamy. I sniffed at it, my stomach rumbling, and the round woman batted me away with a happy laugh.

  "Sammy, glad you could make it," she said, letting her spoon rest for a moment to give me a hug.

  "Maria," I answered. "Sorry I'm late."

  "Yeah, I know. Work. They work you like a dog, loba," Maria said, and resumed stirring the bubbling sauce.

  "It's a good job," I said, my shoulders hunching.

  "'Course it is. You do good work. Did you know they showed you on the news?" Maria quirked her lips in a grin, displaying deep dimples. "You're a celebrity now."

  "I'm a what?" I asked.

  "Yep. Famous. Some lady you dug up did an interview on CNN. Now everyone knows you're a hero," Maria answered, laughing at my expression. I straightened, staring at her.

  "That's insane," I marveled.

  "It's true. We recorded it, you can watch after dinner," Maria promised. "Now get out of my kitchen and go bother Jorge. He just made foreman, you know."

  "He did? That's wonderful news!" I exclaimed, allowing myself to be ushered out of the kitchen. I snagged myself a dog treat from a half-empty box on the counter as I went, unable to wait long enough for dinner.

  Jorge was lounging on the battered green couch, watching a football game. The remote control was dwarfed by his huge, square hands. He was, without a doubt, the largest man I'd ever met. Suiting to his human body, in beast form he was a massive, shaggy kodiak. I'd dated him in high school for a while, until we knew for sure the mating bond wouldn't set in. Even now, he was one of my closest friends outside of Moira.

  "What's up, big guy?" I asked, plopping down next to him and crunching on my treat. Maria had stocked peanut butter, a big favorite.

  "Seahawks versus Rams. Second quarter, 6–13," Jorge answered.

  "Low-scoring game. Could go anywhere," I commented, peering at the screen. "Heard you got a promotion, bruin. Congratulations."

  "Yeah." Jorge pulled his attention away from the game. "Just over a week ago, while you were gone. My plan is to get accidents down by half. I told my boss I could do it. He said have a go, so here I am."

  "Half? How do you plan to do that?" I asked, impressed.

  Jorge puffed out his chest.

  "Seems someone had been doing a piss-poor job securing the lines. So I did a little demo. I said, a beam comes loose and hits you, it's gonna look like this. And I beared out and slapped this crash test dummy I'd got a hold of and the head flew off. My boys have been a lot more careful after that."

  I inhaled some crumbs and spent the next few breaths coughing. He patted me on the back with a huge hand. Poor Jorge. His workers were probably more terrified of him than of any accident now.

  "Whatever gets the job done," I finally choked out.

  "If it works," he answered. "Better safe than dead."

  "Hey, that's mine!"

  "Both of you, out!"

  The sound of laughter and gleeful fox barks from the kitchen announced that Simon and Mark had finally arrived. Mark streaked through the living room in fox form with the bone-shaped end of a treat stuck in his mouth and ran behind the couch, the white tip of his tail still visible.

  Simon followed more slowly. The normally sedate wolf's eyes sparkled as he peered around, looking for his mate. I grinned amusement and waited, trying not to give the game away.

  It didn't take long—Mark's tail twitched, and Simon pounced, hauling the unrepentant fox out from behind the furniture with a playful growl. Mark sprung out of Simon's arms and landed on the couch, rolling ove
r to wave his feet innocently. All signs of the dog treat had disappeared.

  The werewolf laughed and rubbed the fox's belly. I stood and shook Simon's hand.

  "Hey, bro, haven't seen you in ages. How're you doing?" I asked. The handshake turned into a mutual forearm grab, which progressed to an only half-playful tussle that ended with me perched on a helpless Simon's chest.

  As Simon conceded, Jorge rolled his eyes. "Wolf politics," he said as an aside to the still foxed-out Mark.

  The fox snickered.

  "You wouldn't understand," Simon and I said simultaneously.

  "Dinner," Maria called.

  There was a stampede toward the dining room. Mark won by virtue of being smaller and more nimble than the rest of us, but had to spend a moment shifting up to human, so he was the last to take his seat. Maria had impressed upon all of us that animals were absolutely not allowed at the dinner table. No one wanted to risk her good graces, so we all obeyed.

  "Oh wow. You've outdone yourself this time," I marveled, looking at the huge spread of food.

  "Thank you. Mark, that outfit is just gorgeous. New design?"

  Jorge spooned a generous portion of pasta onto Maria's plate before taking some for himself.

  Mark smiled brilliantly. "You noticed! Yes, this is part of my latest line. Silk is such a lovely fabric, don't you think?"

  "It hugs your figure splendidly," Simon said.

  Mark's blue eyes sparkled at the compliment. He was wearing a semiformal suit in black silk and leather. It was cut in such a fashion as to make him seem even more slender and delicate than he usually did. He seemed positively elfin. The look suited him, and I added my approval.

  We all settled to silence as Jorge held up his hand.

  "Lord," Jorge intoned. "Thank you for your love and guidance. We have gathered here to enjoy the bounty that you have given us in good food and better company, and ask for your blessing. Amen."

  "Amen," the rest of us echoed.

  I wasn't terribly religious, and never had been. In a way, I felt envious of the easy comfort Jorge and Maria found in God. They hadn't seen the horrors that I had, though. I did my best to shield them from it and rarely let any details about my work pass from my lips to their ears.

  Mark dished out Simon's food, and I took my own. The other wolf waited to eat until I'd taken a bite, an unconscious habit most of our kind had. I was careful to take a mouthful of bread quickly; it would have been terribly rude to leisurely fill my plate while he sat there drooling.

  Silence reigned until everyone had eaten enough to quiet the worst of our hunger. Alfredo pasta vied with meatballs and Caesar salad for our attention. Everything was delicious and highly caloric. The massive amount of energy our bodies needed to survive demanded no less.

  "You know, Maria," I mused. "You should consider opening a restaurant. I bet you'd have excellent business managing one of those homey diners."

  "Pah," she answered. "It is enough work to feed the four of you and myself. I will not cook for any more, not even for the money it will make. This way, I can cook with love."

  "The best spice," Jorge said, patting his belly.

  I had no choice but to agree.

  "I smell some new males on you, Sammy," Maria said, turning the tables on me with typical bruin bluntness. "You get yourself a boyfriend yet?"

  I shook my head. "You're scenting the other agents assigned to my latest case, Irwin and Charles. Magus Irwin is a real powerhouse. His partner is a werehunter."

  "That has potential," Maria stated. "You need someone strong to keep up with you. I love Moira, but she isn't it. Poor girl can't help but be human."

  "It isn't intended to be permanent," I answered, amused. "You aren't concerned he's probably evaluating me?"

  "No. Are you interested in either one of them?" Maria persisted.

  I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Well, Charles is attractive. He's kin, which is a nice bonus. The fact he's a werehunter makes me nervous, though."

  "On the contrary, you'd feel better keeping your death close to your heart," Simon said with a sad, half-amused huff. "The only one that's worried about you is you."

  "You're probably right," I admitted with a sigh.

  "Well," Maria said. "Think about it. I don't want to see you married to your work forever, loba. Wolves aren't meant to be alone. It isn't good for you."

  "I don't have to find someone today," I replied.

  "Hey, did Maria tell you that you were on the news?" Jorge asked, changing the subject. "We saved it to show you when you got back. You're a real hero!"

  "Yeah!" Mark chimed in, latching on to the new topic. "You have to see this."

  "After the dishes have been washed," Maria interjected.

  We all pitched in to clean up, and Maria went into the living room to retrieve the saved news clip while she waited. Four people barely fit into the small kitchen. Washing up, as always, turned into a lot of splashing and fun and then the floor had to be mopped afterward.

  Finally, we all settled down in front of the television. Jorge lorded supreme over the couch, tucking Maria under his left arm. I perched on the arm of the couch while Simon took the remaining cushion and Mark lounged on the floor.

  Maria hit the remote, and the scene flickered to life on screen.

  "This is Bruce Simon, reporting live from the scene," a resonant masculine voice announced. The face of a familiar newscaster appeared against a ravaged backdrop of fallen trees and muck. He'd done the story on the Canyon Country kidnappings, too. Bruce Simon very nearly always covered the supernatural news circuit.

  "As you may have heard, a massive landslide has buried the small town of Redwood Springs. Search and Rescue teams are working tirelessly, sifting through the rubble in search of survivors. Alice Greenblat was one of the first victims to be found."

  "I was buried." A tearful voice wavered. The camera view switched to a woman strapped to a gurney, clearly on the way to the hospital.

  "Hey, I remember her," I commented, perking up. "She seemed like a nice lady. Did well under pressure."

  "Shh," Mark hushed me.

  "There was no way for me to dig myself out. My legs...my legs were trapped, and the water kept coming into my hole, and I thought I was going to drown. And then an angel came," Alice said.

  "That angel is one Samantha Davis, a werewolf Search and Rescue operative loaned by Los Angeles," the reporter filled in.

  The screen switched to a different view. Me, coated in muck up to the shoulder. My wet fur was pasted to my sides from the rain, and I led my team through the camera's view, nose to the ground. I did not think I looked particularly angelic. If anything, I looked scrawny and bedraggled—hardly the picture of a prime federal agent.

  "Ms. Davis combines the best traits of a canine with the mind of a human to search tirelessly for survivors in conditions that would give even the most experienced disaster workers pause. Her track record is excellent for such a young operative, and all of her mentors are very proud of her," another voice said as the film followed my actions.

  I saw myself silently bark and then shake my head as a figure in a yellow rain coat rushed forward. The person—Moira, I thought—stabbed a red flag in the ground at my feet. On film, I turned and bounded forward.

  "The guy that's talking is Reginald Berry," I supplemented. "Advanced scent training. Nice to know he remembers me."

  "Thank you, Los Angeles," Alice's voice sounded. The camera switched to her being loaded into the waiting ambulance. "Thank you for sending your best."

  Maria pointed the remote at the television, and it went dark.

  "Wow," I said, breaking the silence. "That was really nice. No wonder I got a commendation."

  "It isn't often we get that kind of good press," Simon said. "I've heard a bunch of pack youths are thinking about following your example."

  "Well," I said wryly. "I'd better not have any high-profile fuckups, then."

  Chapter Eleven

  The next day we we
nt to visit Antonio, who had been released from the hospital. Irwin and Pyggie opted to stay at the station rather than brave the Valerio current, a decision I could respect. Charles set him to work compiling data from the various sites to find any common threads, and Investigations in San Francisco promised to search for any similar events in their service area and contact him with their data.

  Charles was a quiet driver, not prone to chitchat like Moira. The silence seemed too intimate. His intriguing, wolfish scent made muscles along my shoulders and back release their tension. I sat in the front seat of his car and rolled the window down, letting the wind hit my face and blow his pheromones away. It wasn't as good as Moira's motorcycle, but it would have to do.

  I didn't bother checking in with the guards at the border, figuring that even Antonio's newest recruits would know our faces. Charles and I brushed past the young tough on duty, and he didn't say a word, validating my supposition.

  If anything, the sea of mixed mages and humanity was even worse than before. I spotted several infractions that at any other time would have led to some arrests, and by the time we made it to Antonio's, I was growling and grumbling to myself.

  Charles put his hand on my elbow. "Steady, Samantha. We're not here to make any enemies. Let's do what we came to do and go."

  "That man shooting up right out on the street!" I snarled.

  "No one was holding a gun to his head to make him," Charles answered. "It can wait."

  I sighed and subsided. The crowd made me itch. So did the territory; the surging current was a strident roar in my head, constantly battling for dominance over the sensations of the outside world. I wanted to shape-shift. Or bite something.

  Two burly, tattooed men guarded Antonio's front door, exuding menace. We had to allow them to search us for weapons. Charles had to surrender his werehunter service revolvers and then to my extreme surprise, three blades, a garrote, and another gun that he'd kept hidden.