“You’re the one who walked by our parade, you stupid cunt!”
He added several race-filled expletives. “People like you shouldn’t even exist. You shouldn’t get to breathe the same air as me.”
Serin’s face twisted. Perfect. Just perfect.
This hadn’t happened for some time, but she had been around long enough to recognize the signs of a brewing race war. You have to keep closer tabs on the humans. It was just as her sisters said… they were cycling up faster and faster.
When Supernaturals fought, it was bloodier and a hell of a lot more dangerous, but their wars tended to burn out faster, lasting a few months at most—usually. Human conflicts could simmer and rage much longer. Sometimes it took decades to get to the boiling point, but once it did….
Whether the brewing resentments would erupt into a full-fledged race war had yet to be determined. Damn. This was going to complicate her operations in this country for years to come. The prospect was exhausting.
For now, the least she could do was take out the trash.
Serin picked up the still-swearing neo-Nazi by the collar. With a flick of her wrist, she launched him into space. He sailed several yards, landing in the open dumpster at the mouth of the alley. Clapping her hands together to dust them off, she continued to the end of the lane, this time avoiding the direction of the nazi parade route.
Keeping her hands in her pocket, Serin made her way down the block. Her skin itched to turn around and show the race-baiters they weren’t as superior as they thought they were.
You don’t have time. There was never enough time. It hurt her heart to admit, but some battles were not hers to fight. Her priority was to find Puck.
She’d already sent out feelers to contacts who had any sort of tie-in with the art world, both human and Sup. One of them, a Loki, said he had something. She was waiting impatiently to find out what that was. It was why she was in a damn alley, for the meeting.
Speaking of which…
There was a shift in the moisture in the air, a little change that told her she was not alone.
“It’s about time, Loki.”
She turned to find the fae posing, leaning against the wall in a black leather jacket and rolled-up blue jeans. He was wearing his favorite glamour, that of a rakishly handsome young man. The fae was gorgeous save for a crooked nose. He’d always said perfection was too much of a distraction for others.
Loki were a subclass of trickster fae. They were powerful shapeshifters who could look and sound like anyone they wanted. Some had the ability to create minor illusions, subtly subverting reality around them. A truly determined Loki would have been a terror. As it was, most were content to flit through life playing practical jokes and partying. Thankfully, they were rare.
“Why are you dressed like the Fonz?” she asked.
Loki was even wearing black sunglasses—at night no less.
His face fell, and he threw up his hands. “It’s the fifties’ greaser fashion. I’m going to a party later. It is Halloween, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I forgot.” It was easy to do that when dealing with the supernatural every day. The fae didn’t bother with costumes on All Hallows. “I take it this is a human party?”
“That it is. They’re so cute in their little costumes. Besides, while the booze isn’t all that good, it is plentiful.” Loki pushed away from the wall, checking behind Serin to examine her handiwork. “Keeping busy, I see.”
Serin glared at him. “You picked the meeting place.”
Loki crossed his arms. “Yes, well, I distinctly remember naming the coffee shop around the corner, not the alley behind it.”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. Do me a favor. The next time you insist on a face-to-face meeting, try to find a location that isn’t less than a block away from a Neo-Nazi rally. Unless you did it on purpose, of course, to get your kicks.”
They did have a history. Loki liked to attach himself to her cases, out of boredom no doubt. He was a bit of a nuisance at times, but he could be useful, too. And the trouble he caused was never more than she could handle…at least not yet anyway.
Loki was affronted. “I would never do that to you, my sweet Serin. You know that.”
Behind them, a biker whimpered. Loki rushed him, delivering a swift kick to the man’s gut before running back to Serin. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for this rabble. The humans are acting up again.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Loki winked and turned, holding up his hands. He waved, and the bikers turned into old tires. Their groans disappeared with them, but it was a shoddy illusion. It would only work for an hour or so, but a Loki’s glamour was limited when applied to something as big as those men.
“What’s the point of that?” she asked.
It wasn’t as if they had to worry about the Nazis following. The only place these guys were headed to was the hospital.
“I just think they need to suffer a little longer for accosting your esteemed self. This way, no one will rush them to the ER straight off. Unless you think they need immediate attention, of course.”
She scoffed. “I didn’t do any permanent damage. Well, nothing more serious than a limp.”
“They can fix that these days. The wonders of human surgery. It has advanced quite a bit in the last few decades.” He held out his arm with chivalrous flair. “Let’s get out of this weather.”
Crossing her arms, she rested her weight on one hip.
“Yes, of course. The rain doesn’t bother you.” He sighed, giving her hair a longing glance. “Even with a glamour, mine frizzes in the drizzle, you know.”
“You do that on purpose, to fit in.”
Smiling, he batted his thick lashes at her. “And you’re beyond that. That’s why I love you. Tell me when are you going to leave that hopeless mate of yours and run off with me?”
Serin’s shoulders stiffened. She narrowed her eyes at him before turning her back and walking away.
“Do you have the information I want, or not?” she hurled over her shoulder.
If Loki was surprised by her sudden temper, he didn’t show it. He hustled to fall into step beside her.
“I do,” he said. “But I’m afraid what I came across is quite sensitive.”
Her baleful glare bounced off him. “Meaning?”
“Well, I didn’t uncover the identity of your art dealer Puck, not exactly. There are, however, some rumblings. A few juicy rumors. But I can’t share them with you.”
Serin stopped short. “Why not?” The words came out hard and ice cold.
“It…err…is against policy.”
“Policy?” The only rules Loki followed were his own…and the queen’s.
The Fae Queen of Air and Darkness had ruled her people with an iron fist for hundreds of years, longer than Serin had been an Elemental. She doubted the queen had been whispering in Loki’s ear. He wasn’t a fan of court life, and he usually avoided it like the plague. Which meant this rule wasn’t recent. And there would only be one reason for such a blanket policy.
“So Puck is fae,” she confirmed. She had guessed as much from the name he chose to go by.
Loki shrugged. “I can neither confirm nor deny that, but perhaps if we continue, you might stumble upon a certain location that might prove helpful in your inquiries…”
Serin resumed walking. “I need an address.”
They turned the corner, their legs striding in sync thanks to Loki’s peculiar penchant for imitation.
“There isn’t one to give, even if I was allowed to serve up one of my own to an Elemental.”
“Denying me is against Covenant,” she reminded him without heat.
Elementals were the ultimate authority in their world. Her request should have superseded the queen’s, but Serin knew Loki well enough to realize he was dancing on a fine line.
“You did something to piss off the queen, didn’t you?” It explained his reticence to give her re
al information outright. Loki wanted to help her, but he needed to be careful about it.
The queen wasn’t their enemy, but she definitely wasn’t a friend. Helping an Elemental would have been verboten, at least until Her Highness figured out how to make it benefit her.
Loki coughed. “Yes, well, sometimes the stiffs in court don’t enjoy my little pranks.”
A corner of Serin’s mouth lifted. “What did you do?”
“There was a small matter of one of her favorite’s being inconvenienced. Nothing serious. But it was a distraction from his normal duties.”
She waited, meeting his eyes and lifting a brow.
“I dyed a certain part of his anatomy bright orange. The queen found it distracting.”
An unwilling laugh escaped. “I take it this was one of her consorts?”
“Servicing the queen is an honor.” His tone implied otherwise.
Concerned, Serin put her hand on his shoulder. “Were you ever forced to service her?”
Loki’s eyes shone with crocodile tears. “You do care! But there’s no need to worry, love. The queen only consorts with the highest echelons of fae, usually a member of her personal guard. I’m quite safe from her attentions. Besides, you know I only have eyes for you.”
“Sure you do,” she muttered.
A Loki’s devotion was fervent and true…for the length of time they were proclaiming it. Nevertheless, while he was here, she couldn’t afford to let his little games get in the way. “That’s enough of that unless you want to find yourself in a dumpster, too—a full one this time. Your outfit would be ruined.”
He hopped over a stray piece of trash on the sidewalk. “Not on All Hallows Eve, love. That would be too cruel. In any case, I can’t tell you more about the Puck rumors, but should you happen to guess certain details, I can confirm. Hot or cold.”
“So I have to play Twenty Questions to get intel that is little more than hearsay?”
“Right in one…as usual.”
She exhaled, trying to control her impatience. “At least tell me what kind of fae Puck is.”
“According to the scuttlebutt, he’s the kind who likes acquiring things.”
That could be anything from a gremlin to a leprechaun. “This is going to take forever, isn’t it?”
Loki beamed at her. “Forever is a fluid term for our kind. Feel like getting that coffee now?”
“Fine. But none of that fluffy sugary crap you like. No whipped cream, or fancy leaves in foam. I take it black.”
“I can be black like that.” Loki snapped his fingers. “Just say the word.”
Serin laughed despite herself. “I’d break you in half, and you know it.”
Putting his hand where a heart would be on a human, he gave a theatrical sigh. “But what a way to go.”
8
Serin parted the drizzling rain so she could see the street number of the darkened storefront. The windows of number thirty-seven were so crowded she couldn’t see the room behind them—just like Loki described.
Once she ‘guessed’ the intel he was feeding her was not for Puck’s location, but for one of his associates, Loki’s tongue had loosened. He described how to find the obscure antique store buried in the diamond district, giving up the idea of going with her when she reminded him that he was all dressed up with better places to go.
Merde. Serin knew something was wrong as soon as she opened the door. The coppery metallic scent hit her like a rogue wave, out of place and overwhelming. A lot of blood had been spilled. It was too strong for a minor household accident. This pronounced a stench meant someone was dead.
Serin murmured a protective spell, a little extra shielding in case whoever was responsible was still around. Closing the door, she picked her way through the piles of bric-a-brac that filled the room.
The body was somewhere near the rear of the store. Like a shark, Serin could smell the minutest traces of blood and other signature olfactory cues. Not that she needed that degree of sensitivity to find this crime scene. Shutting out the overwhelming odor was more of an issue.
She edged around a precarious pile of old clocks and tiny cabinets. There was a thousand-dollar Waterbury lying on its side next to a hamburger phone. Everything was jumbled together in various states of disrepair as if the proprietor didn’t have the time to organize or sort by value.
The owner of the shop was lying in the back of the room just beyond the threshold of his office. He’d been dead at least three or four hours, his slashed throat certainly the cause.
Frowning, Serin knelt to picked up the man’s arm by the cuff of his sleeve. There was a matching gash on his wrist. She dropped it, then nudged the other hand with her foot. Another cut. Both deep, as if someone wanted to make sure this guy was drained dry. But all his blood was on the floor, so this wasn’t the work of a vamp trying to disguise their kill.
The click of the gun cocking didn’t register until she was rising to her feet. Pivoting slowly, Serin turned to see a man in a suit holding a pistol on her. His stance was wide, practiced law enforcement.
“If you’re smart, you’ll put your hands up and come quietly.” He reached behind him, pulled out a shiny pair of silver handcuffs, and started advancing toward her. The man’s face was familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
Serin tilted her head. “You know, I could think of more entertaining uses for those.”
Teasing a cop was atypical for her, but she was moving through these circles as Eileen and there wasn’t much Eileen wouldn’t dare.
The man responded by flushing, his blood coursing through his veins a little faster. She caught a blast of pheromones and then a little masculine sweat. He waved the cuffs again.
Behind him, she could see the distant red and blue lights of various police cruisers. It was getting closer, but they didn’t turn on the sirens. He heard them anyway. “That’s the backup I called for, so don’t try any of those fancy fighting moves now,” he said, his face hardening. Serin could sense his embarrassment, probably at becoming aroused.
Crap. That can’t be a good sign. Where had this man seen her fight?
For a second, she debated pushing past him and making for the exit, but the uniformed officers were pouring in the front door now. They stomped like elephants, knocking and crashing things over.
Fighting her way out meant taking out half the squad.
The man gestured again, twitching his gun this time. “I said to put your hands up.”
Her eyes flicked behind him. The back door was a dozen feet away, but it was completely blocked with piles of junk. Knocking them away would mean taking a bullet or two in the back unless she wanted to shift to her medium in front of the man.
Slowly, she raised her hands in the air.
I am going to kill Loki.
Whether he’d meant to or not, Serin had been set up. The body she’d stumbled on was the dealer she’d been searching for, but he’d been taken out just hours before she could question him about Puck.
And then there’s this guy. She flicked an annoyed gaze at Agent Romero as he set a glass of water down in front of her. It was little more than a mouthful, but it was enough to drown him with had the circumstances been different.
She finally recognized him from the case down in Texas. That was almost a year ago. Apparently, her unexplained exit from the bathroom had put a bee in his bonnet. He’d been trying to track her ever since—not that he said as much. His partner was the big talker.
Blatantly, she eyed Romero up and down, ignoring the partner. He’d caught her attention back in Texas because there had been a trace of otherness to him. She’d felt it when their eyes met, but dismissed it just as quickly.
She should have examined him closer. Her first impression wasn’t wrong exactly. Agent Romero was mostly human. But that something extra… It was shades of a hunter.
And I’m his prey. The idea made her smile.
“Something funny?” The other agent, Doyle something, slapped his hand over
a photo of her fighting a bunch of bikers in a back alley. She’d done that enough times for her to not remember the city.
None of the grainy photos were from a close enough range to identify her, but that didn’t stop Doyle from waving them in her face. “If these weren’t damning enough, we’ve got you over a freshly dead body,” he said, continuing a tirade she’d only half-listened to.
Serin leaned back in her chair, dismissing Doyle. This one was human through and through—swarthy, sweaty, and with the beginning of a middle-age paunch. He was a stark contrast to the lean and sculpted Romero, who was propped against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
Romero said nothing, but his eyes hadn’t left her face since they’d brought her in. It was like he was weighing her with his eyes, measuring her every breath.
“I had nothing to do with that man’s death,” she said.
Her comment was addressed to Romero. The hunter was the only one who mattered.
“See, that’s not how we saw it,” Ray replied, his mouth curling up in a sneer. He held up another photo, this time one of the body. “This poor old man was sliced and diced. Bled out all over the floor. And you were the only one in the room.”
He slid it over to her with his index finger, nose wrinkled as if he smelled something foul. She glanced at the graphic photograph. The old art dealer had been alive when his throat was cut, judging from the arterial spray.
“I hope he didn’t suffer,” she said, knowing he had. “But I found him like that. He’d been dead for some time. Hours at least…I’m sure your forensics people can tell you exactly how long.”
“And how would you know how long he’d been dead?” Doyle asked, leaning closer with a smirk.
Serin shrugged. “I watch old Forensic Files reruns. CSI too. That blood didn’t look fresh to me. And I’m sure someone is checking that jacket you took off me for blood. It won’t have any. Not a speck.”
“The last time I checked, breaking and entering was a crime.”
“I told you, the door was open. The killer probably didn’t bother to close it after he did away with that poor old man.” She knew how to pick a lock without leaving a trace. They had nothing.
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