Transient Moon

by Kos, Gaja J. ;

  I caught myself before I snorted. Until lately, Isa certainly hadn’t struck me as a person who had a leash around her neck.

  But I really didn’t want to drag Elena into any of it, so I just nodded and followed her to an empty desk one row over.

  My desk.

  I set the folders down with a shaky breath.

  I was ICRA now.

  I spent the better part of the next two hours combing through the reports. I did my best to stay detached, look at them with a critical eye, but once I started to thumb through the ones pertaining to Melina’s injuries, my restlessness grew.

  As if the visual of her wasn’t bad enough, reading about what the sick fuck who attacked her did in detail was enough to make me nauseous. And angry. Really fucking angry.

  I swore to myself that, ICRA or not, if we ever crossed paths, I’d beat them within an inch of their life before handing them over to the authorities.

  Unfortunately, nothing that might have pointed me in the right direction popped up from the pages.

  It took every ounce of my will not to groan in frustration. No wonder Isa was so snippy all the time. First day on the job and I already felt like punching someone just to vent. Maybe some cool-down time in the break room would alleviate the coiling tension in me, but, for better or for worse, I wasn’t comfortable enough to just walk in there and let loose.

  I leaned back in the ergonomic chair and closed the folder, tapping my fingernails on the brown paper. My stomach growled despite the nausea. I wasn’t going to accomplish anything by brooding here, all wound up and hungry.

  I logged out of the computer with a swipe of my card, shrugged on my coat, then crammed the reports in my backpack and left the sublevel behind. The thought of just driving to back to my place and ordering a large mozzarella and prosciutto pizza with a shitload of olives was tempting, but I knew I wouldn’t have been able to sit still for a single moment until I accomplished one last task.

  Regardless of how terrified the mere thought of it made me.

  Thankfully, by the time I pulled up my Zentrum rental in front of Melina’s house, I managed to compose myself enough to subdue the tremors.

  I blew out a final steadying breath, then climbed out of the car and sampled the brisk air. After all the time that had passed since the attack, I wasn’t hoping to really catch anything of importance, but the process helped hone my mind further—and reassured me there was no one loitering in the ever-growing shadows.

  Light spilled from the houses onto the street, most of them contained to a single room or two as the people hunkered down for the night. Only Melina’s place was completely dark, the streetlights failing to illuminate anything beyond a short stretch of winter-dulled lawn.

  I eased the car door shut, clicked the lock, then ducked under the tape still cordoning off the house. On silent feet, I strode up the driveway and let myself in. The darkness was absolute. I blinked and fumbled for the light switch. After a few tries and one uncomfortable collision with a protruding nail, I found it.

  I flicked it on, the bright glare momentarily assaulting my eyes. I waited for my vision to clear.

  And regretted it instantly.

  Eleven

  Melina’s house wasn’t just ransacked. It was trashed to the point where it was hard to tell what the place had once looked like.

  Mindful of the debris littering every inch of the floor, I prowled through the rooms spanning across two levels. The ICRA technicians had marked certain spots—the same ones that had been documented in the reports—but I ignored them. I wasn’t looking for anything specific right now, just a general sense of what had gone down.

  The destruction was thorough, as if the perp didn’t want a single thing to remain whole right down to her beloved Prince racket. And yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that they had been looking for something.

  Maybe it was the way the sheer magnitude of the wreck struck me as excessive, or maybe it was the lingering anger that continued to permeate the air and made my hackles rise… But as I circled back down to the ground floor, I was positive of one thing.

  The attack had been personal.

  Even if, for the life of me, I couldn’t think of anyone who’d have it in for Melina. Not like this. She was one of the sweetest people I’d ever come across, and while I knew violence didn’t always stem from reason, there was something in the air that led me to believe the outburst was a consequence of a past action. Though just what Melina could have possibly been involved in to incur such wrath was beyond me.

  As I sucked in deep lungfuls and focused on the subtle trace of blood still embedded in the air, I realized something else didn’t add up.

  Why was Melina still alive?

  I hated myself for even asking that question. Hated the insinuation that she should have been dead… But it was the truth.

  Melina had been beaten nearly to death, her injuries grave enough to put her in a coma, only her soul hadn’t crossed over. Surely, even if the attacker had been in a hurry, it wouldn’t have taken any effort or time at all on their part to hash out the killing blow. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and scanned what was left of her living room, the beige couch shredded to ribbons and books strewn everywhere.

  Why keep Melina alive?

  The gears in my mind were turning too fast for their own good, but still no answer came—aside from the obvious. They hadn’t found what they were searching for.

  Something important enough to risk identification when—not if; I didn’t allow myself to go there—Melina recovered.

  I groaned and rubbed my eyes, then spared the destruction one last look. Sleep tugged on my eyelids, blurring the details together. This was enough for one night.

  Wishing I’d have Afanasiy’s company to come home to, I walked out the front door. The dead of night had crept upon Munich while I was inside, and I savored the chilly winds that whipped at my skin. No, this wasn’t a bust. It might not have been anything flashy, but I’d made progress. Had valid questions—a starting point. A plan.

  Clearly, there was a whole lot to my friend I still didn’t know about. But it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

  Die Gräte classified as one of those calm, quiet bars frequented by locals, and locals only. Even the atmosphere suggested as much, the lack of flamboyance revealing they had no desire to draw more people in than they already had. Although, in all honesty, that might partially be because the establishment was one Munich’s witches had made their own.

  As I sat at a comfortable corner table, surrounded by the harmonious scent of herbs, I had to admit the situation was a bit odd.

  Bathilda had been the only magic wielder I’d spent a noteworthy amount of time with, and her energy, combined with seven others who were chatting softly while they enjoyed their teas, stirred something deep inside. I had no idea what it was beyond some sense of awareness, but it wasn’t unpleasant, exactly.

  If anything, the unfamiliar presence helped soothe my nerves.

  Far be it for me to complain.

  I sipped my gourmet chocolate raspberry coffee, cherishing the taste that bloomed on my tongue, then set the cup on the table. “Thanks again for meeting with me, Bathilda. I know this is difficult, and I really, really wish there was another way, but I have to ask you a few questions about Melina. Okay?”

  Bathilda nodded, lips flattening into a tight line which only pronounced her already gaunt face.

  I swiped a rogue bead of coffee off the cup with my thumb, then folded my hands in my lap.

  “When I visited her place yesterday,” I started, a spur of the moment decision to offer Bathilda some information instead of merely extracting it from her, “I sensed a hint of old anger in the air. Resentment. Even rage. I think it belonged to Melina’s attacker. Do you know of any argument she might have been in lately? Did she mention anything to you? Someone who wasn’t pleased with her work, scorned lover…anything at all?”

  Due to her entrancing and highly coveted Vila side, Melina w
as extra cautious when it came to any sort of personal interaction, stepping away before anyone got the twisted idea she was this sexual thing they could possess. But no one’s record was spotless. Some things were simply—and sadly—beyond a single person’s control.

  Bathilda’s brow furrowed for a couple of moments, then she shook her head. “No. You know well yourself that she’s a sweet, kind person. I don’t recall her ever being in an argument with anyone.”

  While that didn’t mean Melina hadn’t been in any, I let it slide. I swallowed a mouthful of coffee.

  “New lovers?”

  “Not after you, no.” Bathilda nibbled on her lower lip. “At least not ones that she mentioned, but she… She usually does because of the…you know…”

  “The possibility that they’d crave her like a drug?” I finished for her, barely holding my anger in check.

  Three witches in their mid-thirties ambled through the front door, the magic levels in the space climbing up a few notches. One of them, a copper-haired woman with striking gray eyes, dipped her chin in greeting when she spotted Bathilda, but thankfully didn’t come over—though she clearly wanted to.

  The attention over, Bathilda sank back into her seat.

  “What about her family?” I asked. “I know you, obviously, but Melina rarely spoke about anyone else. Her mother? Father? Could the attack be related to them in any way?” I scratched the back of my neck.

  Not for the first time, I regretted my companionship with Melina had been cut short before it had even truly begun. The staggering gap in my knowledge kind of pointed out I hadn’t been such a great friend.

  Sure, I could name her favorite wine or book, point out tennis legends she looked up to, but the truly personal stuff… We’d never made it that far.

  I let out a grunt, then leveled my gaze on Bathilda. “I’m well aware I might be grasping at straws with the whole family angle, but I sure as shit can’t afford to overlook anything at this point…”

  Bathilda’s slender fingers curled around her teacup. Her eyebrows knitted together, then smoothened. A faint tingling rose in the air.

  “Her father. Niram. He’s powerful. And from what I remember, important, too. If you suspect the attack”—her throat bobbed at the word—“was motivated by her family, he seems the most likely choice.”

  “Could you put me in touch with him?”

  What little hope had sparked inside me was shot down the instant Bathilda shook her head.

  “Niram is in Faery, which is beyond my reach.” She dropped her gaze back to the tea, absentmindedly stroking the cup. “I only ever saw him once, and even that was years ago. Like most of the Fae, he doesn’t spend much time in our world. But”—her voice lifted just as my mood threatened to deflate entirely—“I knew he was in touch with Melina. I’m not sure if it was through letters, email, or magic, but maybe you could find a way to contact him among her belongings.”

  Given how trashed the place was, it was highly unlikely. Of course, there was also a chance the perp had already beaten me to it, erasing any trace of his motivation. But as my frustration rose, a thought slithered in.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” I said to Bathilda, then all but ran outside, my phone already in my hands.

  With Isa off the grid, I dialed the number Elena had slipped me at the end of our little orientation trip around HQ. Just as I considered terminating the call since it hit me that she’d worked the night shift yesterday and was probably still asleep, the line connected.

  “Yes?”

  “Hi, Elena. This is Lotte. You said I could contact you if I needed assistance.”

  “Lotte.” Her voice perked up, any traces of sleep promptly gone. “Of course. How can I help you?”

  I hugged an arm around myself as that delightful Munich wind howled around the corner and down the narrow street. Despite the sun spilling down the sidewalk, the sweater I had on hardly sufficed.

  “Who do I call if I need data retrieval from a computer?” I asked, then grimaced. “Gods, I’m such a rookie, aren’t I?”

  Elena’s amusement bubbled down the line. “Everyone was a rookie at some point.”

  “Yeah, but I bet most of them were at least aware of the other sectors within the Agency.”

  “Trust me, that’s nothing compared to some of the things I’ve seen over the years.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “So I presume ICRA does have a go-to computer wiz?”

  “Yeah. That would be Markus Hartman. I’ll text you his number. He’s the most down-to-earth of the computer forensics bunch and never minds a bit of extra work.”

  “Thanks, Elena.” I rubbed away the goose bumps on my arm and shuffled from foot to foot. “Oh, just one more thing to keep me from embarrassing myself in front of even more coworkers…” Elena’s laughter mixed with my words. “Do I need to go pick the computer up myself and bring it to ICRA HQ, or do they send out a team?”

  “The latter.” Her voice still carried a hint of her laugh. “And you’re not embarrassing yourself. Believe me. It’s the ones who think they already know everything that take that particular mantle.” A rustle crackled through the speaker—followed by a muffled curse. “Great, my neighbor is about to let her dog take a crap on my lawn again.” More rustling, as if her hand scraped against the microphone. “I have to go right now and scare the crap out of her, but give me a ring if you need anything else.”

  “Will do.” I grinned. “And thanks again.”

  Elena’s text pinged almost the instant the line went dead. The witch, apparently, knew how to multitask.

  I transferred the number into my contacts list, but before I could hit call, a scent carrying far more violence than was acceptable on a Sunday morning in the middle of the city breezed past my nose.

  Awareness prickled at the back of my neck, and I ducked—just in time to evade a bone-shattering blow.

  Twelve

  I rammed my elbow into my attacker’s plexus.

  The sudden retreat of heat suggested I hit my mark, but I didn’t wait around to see if it was enough. I spun, then clocked him on the head with the edge of my cell phone before I swept his legs out from beneath him.

  A growl trickled from my lips—and only rumbled louder as I recognized the damn angular face.

  Aaron.

  I stashed my cell in the back pocket of my pants, then hoisted the asshole up, far more roughly than I could have.

  “What the fuck are you playing at, Aaron?”

  “You think you can keep me from Jaxon?” he sneered.

  I nearly choked on the level of alcohol suffusing his breath.

  Great. Pissed off and plastered.

  I rammed him hard against the wall. “I think you took care of that all by yourself. But yes, now that you mention it, I can.”

  I knocked him out with a single blow, then flashed the onlookers my shiny new badge. “ICRA. Move along.”

  They did, if a bit begrudgingly. Only Die Gräte retained its crowd, just under a dozen witches standing on the threshold and pooling out on the sidewalk—Bathilda included. She still looked frail, hugging her body against the chill, but at least the contempt that had overtaken her features as she stared at Aaron added a touch of color to her cheeks.

  Nothing quite like a troublemaking piece of shit to infuse some fight into a person.

  “Do you need help containing him, dear?” a small, grandmotherly woman with a pristine water perm asked from the edge of the group.

  I glanced at the filth lying at my feet, then nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”

  As the witch got to work, binding Aaron in ropes of power, I dialed the police. A straightforward assault like this, even if it did involve two werewolves, just wasn’t ICRA territory.

  Bathilda brought out my coat while we waited for the cops to arrive, the witches adamant to stand guard, as well as offer their testimony. Apparently, they all had had front row seats to our scuffle thanks to Die Gräte’s windows overlooking the street.

>   After we gave our statements and a human-werewolf uniformed duo hauled Aaron’s ass away, I sent a quick text to Jaxon, recapping the events. Then, when Bathilda and the rest of my spur-of-the-moment allies went back inside, I finally made the call Aaron had so rudely interrupted.

  After three rings, I found myself on the receiving end of a rich, deep voice.

  “Hartmann.”

  “Hi. This is Lotte Freundenberger.” I had no idea how to introduce myself to people since I wasn’t a full agent. The long way seemed like my only option. “I’m a liaison working under Senior Agent Vogt.” And I hoped to the gods mentioning my superior didn’t instantly make me lose popularity points. “I need some technical assistance on a case and was told you were the right person.”

  “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  Relief swept over me. Either the man was lucky enough to not have had any personal encounters with Isa, or he didn’t mind her attitude. Whichever it was, I was one grateful pup.

  “Extracting as much data as you can from a victim’s computer. She was in touch with someone I have to speak with, and I was hoping there are at least traces of their correspondence somewhere in her system. Unfortunately, I only have the first name of the person in question.”

  “Not a problem. I’ve worked with less.”

  Although I didn’t have the faintest idea what Hartmann looked like, I had no difficulties imagining the smile on his face that corresponded with his warm tone.

  “Just tell me where to go, the name of the contact you’re interested in, and the case number. I’ll coordinate with the others from there.”

  I quickly gave him the last two bits of information first, then conveyed the address to Melina’s club. I just hoped this worked. I hadn’t noticed her computer at her apartment, which meant the attacker had either stolen it or, as she often did, Melina left it at the club after synchronizing her data between her laptop and desktop. Even if it was the former rather than the latter, we’d still have one computer to comb through.