by E. A. Copen
“Hippie,” I muttered.
Sal lifted his head. “What?”
“Nothing.” When I looked back, Chanter’s ghost was gone.
I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. When I opened my eyes again, I was still mad, but I understood. Appeal to the wolf. Speak without speaking. Move forward together, grounded.
“Tell me what you need me to do.” When he didn’t answer, I added, “If I can help, you need to tell me what I can do. I don’t know what you know. I haven’t seen the things you’ve seen or been trained to do the things you can do, but it’s the same with me. There are secrets between us. Secrets mean we can’t trust each other. It means our enemies have ammunition to use against us.”
Sal growled at the word “enemies,” and I wondered who he was thinking of.
He didn’t speak, though, so I kept going. “I need your help.”
Apparently, that was the right thing to say. His head went up, and some of the hostility went out of his face.
“But you need mine, too. We need each other, Sal.”
He frowned and looked away. “He doesn’t want to admit how much he needs someone else,” Sal said. ‘He’ presumably being the wolf that was threatening to show himself. “Needing hurts. It feels weak.” He sighed and shook his head. “But we need you. I need to know. It’s driving me crazy. I know you’ve been seeing Marcus.”
“Marcus?” I arched an eyebrow. “Marcus Kelley? Sal, those aren’t social calls.”
“I know,” he growled, on edge. again “I do. But I also know what he can do. I know how people get around him. The other day, and yesterday when you came back, I could smell him all over you. It’s stupid and petty, especially in light of everything else, but it’s all I can think about and it’s pissing me off.”
Jealousy. Of all the reactions I expected, that one hadn’t even registered. I thought the wolf would be angry that I’d objected to his killing. Maybe he would blame me for Chanter the way the rest of the pack seemed to. Instead, as silly as it seemed, the thing that was bothering him most was that I smelled too much like a vampire because I’d been spending too much time with vampires.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “If the smell offends you so much, I can go and get cleaned up.”
“It’s not a smell thing,” he said, his face flushing. “It’s…” He searched for a word but punctuated the sentence with a growl instead.
Shauna’s voice echoed in my head. “The mate and pack bonds are a lifeline that keep us from losing ourselves to the intoxication of the Change,” she’d said. I knew what he needed. He needed a partner, a mate, and he needed it more than just because of our relationship. Someone had to keep him grounded in reality and calm the angry wolf inside. I didn’t know if I could be that person, especially since life had kept me too busy to learn what would have been required of me. The pack keeping me at arm’s length didn’t help. Who else was there? The pack had gotten too small, and I wasn’t aware of any werewolf dating sites. Sal was slow to trust and even slower to open up to women. I cared more about Sal than anyone else. It wasn’t in me not to help him just because I was afraid of what that might mean.
I folded my hands in my lap, tilted my head to the side, and said, “You need me to be yours.”
“You don’t know what that means,” he said, sitting down on the sofa next to me.
“I know it means you won’t have to fight the wolf alone,” I said, putting my hand over his. “And I know it means you’re less likely to have your position challenged again. Istaqua is less likely to play mind games with either of us.” I shrugged. “I trust you. If it helps you, I’m willing to do whatever you need. Just no more killing. Not unless they deserve it.”
Sal’s face hardened. “They deserved it.”
I couldn’t help but agree a little now that there was more distance between me and the event. Istaqua had done his best to twist things and turn us against each other. For whatever reason, he felt the need to exert control over Sal and drive a wedge between us. The Vanguard had killed Chanter and would have killed Hunter. I wasn’t going to lose any sleep over the bad guys getting what they deserved. Because I still had to look in the mirror and see myself wearing a badge on occasion, I had to say, “I understand why you did what you did. As long as no official investigation gets launched, I’ll stay out of it, but I can’t cover for you. Not with BSI. People and their families disappear when they lie to BSI.”
He suddenly looked hurt. I guess it hadn’t occurred to him that Hunter or I could get hurt if things got out of hand. The bodies Istaqua had hauled away in Chanter’s truck were still a tough subject, and I didn’t want to talk about it, so I resolved to change the subject.
Sal made a strange face. It took a long moment for me to realize it wasn’t because of what I’d said, but rather because my cell phone was vibrating in my pocket. I gave a frustrated sigh and jerked the phone out to answer it without looking at the number. One of these days, I’m going to learn not to do that. “What?”
“I have information that might interest you,” Father Reed said. “I don’t know if it’s important or not, but it struck me as odd, and I thought I’d check with you.”
I sat forward on alert. “Tell me.”
“Did you notice anything strange about Marcus’ personal assistant?”
Sal growled beside me at the sound of Marcus’ name, evidently able to hear what Reed had said. I ignored him. “Why?”
“Something about her rubbed me the wrong way. I made a few calls, checked on a few things. Did you know she was fae?”
I blinked and looked at Sal, who shook his head. “No,” I answered. “If she is, she’s not registered. How can you be sure?”
“I have connections outside Marcus’ organization, Judah, and my own set of useful skills. I know fae when I see it.” He paused, and I thought I heard him make a small hissing sound through his teeth. “I don’t know what kind she is, but she’s worked very hard to keep anyone from knowing. Marcus might not even know.”
That was nice, but I didn’t see how that information fit with everything else that was going on. I had to remember it for later, but that was going to take a back seat to helping Mia.
“There’s more,” Reed continued. “I had a thought. Ghost sickness often works through family lines, killing off everyone. You also said you thought Emiko was behind this.”
“Well, at least that she was being used,” I corrected. “Someone is using her as a weapon. Brought her spirit back to attack Mia.”
“What if Mia wasn’t the target?”
I shook my head. “That makes no sense. If it wasn’t Mia, then who…” I stopped as my brain put together two seemingly unrelated facts.
Cynthia was fae. That hadn’t seemed important a minute ago, but my brain just wouldn’t let it go.
At the same time, I couldn’t stop thinking about how someone must have engineered this attack on Mia. If Mia wasn’t the target, everything I’d assumed was wrong. It opened other possibilities, older enemies. And if I was right, this wasn’t the kind of spell just anyone could throw around. After all, it involved controlling the dead to make it happen.
Besides, only four people had been at the tea party just before Mia got sick, and that limited my suspect pool considerably.
I shot to my feet. “Reed, where are you?”
“I’m sitting outside Marcus’ office, waiting to see him. After I had that realization, I thought I should warn him.”
“And is his personal assistant right there with you?”
There was a short pause. “She was, but it seems she’s gone in. I saw her go to the safe and get a few things out. Why? Do you know something?”
I grabbed Sal’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Go in and check on Marcus right now, Reed.”
“I don’t think—”
“Just do it!” Sal snarled at my raised voice and then let a breath out in a huff.
A moment later, Reed breathed into the phone, �
��Lord have mercy.”
“What do you see, Reed?”
“Marcus. He’s...Hold on. I’ll see if I can find a pulse.”
Sal must have heard what he said because he nodded reluctantly and said, “Go. I’ll catch up.”
“I’m hanging up to call hospital security,” I informed Reed on my way out the door to my car. As an afterthought, I added, “Don’t let Marcus die.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Marcus wasn’t dead when I got to the hospital, but that didn’t mean I could breathe a sigh of relief. Information was scarce because, like I said, unless you’re family or you flash a badge, no one tells you anything. Marcus, ever prepared as always, had even more layers of security in place. The hospital wouldn’t even confirm that he was a patient until I had a badge out, and even then, they took the time to call my badge number in and made me present two other forms of identification.
While they were on the phone with my superiors, I managed to get in contact with a security officer who told me Eden PD had gotten involved. As soon as I got confirmation that Marcus was alive, I ran back over to Fitz and rode the elevator up to his office. The situation was delicate, and the run-of-the-mill cops wouldn’t have known they’d stepped into an ongoing political mess. To them, it was attempted murder at best. I knew better. This was about more than that. It was straight-up assassination.
I charged into the office and stopped. Reed was sitting calmly in the waiting room, speaking with a uniformed officer. Or, rather, he was doing a very good job of speaking but saying nothing, the way wise men like Reed did, and frustrating the hell out of the officer.
“Now, tell me again what made you suspect something was wrong,” the officer said.
Reed nodded a silent greeting to me and kept his face blank. “Officer, I’ve given you my statement. Unless you intend to place me under arrest, I think I’d better speak with my lawyer before we continue.”
“Lawyer” is a magic word. Magic in the sense that it triggers a primal fear and sense of disgust in police officers. Anyone who believes in the fundamental good of the law hates lawyers because of their penchant for loopholes. The officer interviewing Reed was just young enough that he still believed in the law. He sighed, let the arm holding his little notebook and pen fall limp toward the floor, and leaned back.
That’s when he saw me.
“Excuse me, ma’am, you can’t be in here.” He hesitated. “Wait. I know you. You’re BSI.”
“Special Agent Judah Black.” I offered the young officer my hand.
“What are you doing here? Nobody called the feds yet.”
“Marcus Kelley is a friend,” I lied. “I heard through other channels and came as soon as I could.” His eyes flitted down to the too-big, mud-stained t-shirt I wore. I cleared my throat. “You want to take me to whoever’s in charge of the scene?”
“That’d be Sheriff Maude.”
I bit my tongue. It was two more months until he was out and Tindall was in, but that wasn’t why I almost shouted an obscenity at the well-meaning officer. Maude had the backing of the Vanguards of Humanity. Indirectly, he was responsible for Hunter’s injuries and for Chanter’s murder.
“Where?” I said through clenched teeth.
The officer pointed toward Marcus’ office, and I went. Maude was standing toward the center of the office, jotting something down on paper. I stopped in the doorway. “Sheriff,” I said.
He looked up at me, his face paling. Our eyes met, and he quickly looked away. “Agent Black. Who—”
“This is my crime scene,” I said, strolling in and raising my voice with authority. “I want to know what happened, and I want to know yesterday. Someone get an APB out on his secretary. I want it statewide. If you don’t already have guards posted on Mr. Kelley, I suggest you do it now.”
Maude sneered at me. “We’re not even sure a crime’s been committed yet,” he said. “All I’ve got to work with is a sick vampire, a broken window, and an unreliable and uncooperative witness. I won’t mobilize that many resources to deal with that.”
“What you’ve got is no idea what you’ve stepped into,” I snapped back. He started to speak again, but I cut him off, raising a finger. “You’ve stepped in a federal case, Maude. Back the fuck out gracefully, or I’ll have you removed from the scene.”
It wasn’t completely true. I’d made it sound like I was already working a case when the attempt happened, which I was, just not the one I wanted him to think I was working.
Maude set his jaw and ground his teeth.
“Get out of my crime scene,” I said.
The sheriff was a hateful, petty man, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew I could and would force the issue if I had to. He gathered up his flunkies, and they filed out. Maude stopped at the door in front of me. “This is going up the chain,” he said. “I’m filing complaints.”
I leaned into his face until I could smell the sweat dripping down the side of his neck. “I know what you are,” I said so that only he would hear. “And I know who you’re connected to and what they did. People are dead, Maude. Unless you want that connection to be made public, you and your Vanguard friends will stay as far away from me as you can manage.”
His face reddened. “You can’t threaten me,” he blubbered, his double chin quivering.
I leaned back and chanced a smug smile. “I just did.”
It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, turning my back on my enemy, but it achieved the desired effect. Maude got the message. I didn’t consider him a threat, and I was no longer concerned with his presence. He left in a huff.
“You shouldn’t antagonize him,” Reed said from behind me once Maude had gone. “He’s almost as well connected now as Tindall.”
“Tindall earned his stripes,” I said with a grunt and turned my head. “Give me a minute to walk it.”
Reed stood by in silence as I walked the perimeter of the room. The wind whistled at an uneven pace through the shattered windowpane. It was the loudest thing, so I went there first. Something—or I suspected someone—had broken it, which wasn’t an easy feat. Skyscraper windows are thicker than normal windows and supported by stronger frames to guard against high winds. They’re also lined with an impact-resistant inner layer of clear laminate. Birds sometimes fly into them. If the glass shattered every time a robin sailed into one, it wouldn’t be very cost-effective. By the looks of the window, Marcus had taken an extra precaution. His windows were a high-grade tinted polycarbonate. Bulletproof. Whatever had gone through the glass did it with enough force to knock the whole pane out. I went back to the place Maude had been standing. There was blood on the floor, but on closer inspection, I found there were undigested bits of food in it. The blood wasn’t from an injury, but rather, vomit. Right next to that was an empty syringe. The needle had bent when it hit the floor. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together to decide what had happened. Then again, I had information that Maude didn’t.
“How was he when you came in?” I asked, picking up the needle after slapping on a pair of gloves.
“Prone,” Reed answered. “Quick, rasping breaths, jerky eye movement. When the EMTs arrived, they took up that same syringe but couldn’t tell what it was he’d taken or how much.”
“Marcus is diabetic,” I said. “His personal assistant, Cynthia, gave him an overdose of his insulin.”
“On purpose?” Reed raised an eyebrow.
“Very much.”
“That’s a jump from the information I gave you,” said the priest with a frown.
I knew it was, and it was one that probably wouldn’t hold up in court. I was operating on a hunch, but so far, I had been right and it might have saved his life. Reed’s words weren’t a statement so much as a question. He wanted to know how I’d drawn the conclusion I had.
“I’ve known something was off about Cynthia for a while, but I couldn’t put my finger on it,” I explained. “I still don’t know for sure, but sometimes I get that feeling aro
und the fae. Marcus trusted her an uncharacteristic amount. Last time I was here, I watched her deliver his insulin.” I glanced up at the clock as I spoke and then back down, dropping the syringe to stand and pace. “Cynthia also had access to his house, which he was reluctant to give me, even to do the job he hired me to do. Yet, she had free rein to go wherever she wanted. She was also present at the house the day that Mia got sick. Separate, none of it is damning, but together—”
“It’s enough to make her suspect,” Reed agreed. “And you are right. Marcus is paranoid. It’s unlike him to trust. Do you think he’s magicked?”
“If he is, it’s a subtle spell, one no one’s noticed.” I stopped pacing in front of Reed. “I think the sickness that Mia is suffering from was meant for Marcus. Marcus told me that the four of them had sat down for tea, but he got called away for business sooner than expected. He never got to drink the tea.”
Reed nodded. “You think Marcus was the original target but that Mia got it instead when she drank the wrong tea? But then why isn’t Zoe sick?”
I scanned the wall as if it held the answer and came up with nothing. “She is. And Sal is probably next.”
“But who would want to kill Marcus?” I almost laughed until Reed corrected himself. “I guess the better question would be who would use a fae to try to kill him.”
Pieces were coming together. Cynthia was some sort of fae assassin. Somehow, she’d made Marcus trust her without his normal vetting process, whatever that was, and given her unprecedented access to all the important parts of his life. She tried to kill him once, failed, and got Mia instead.
I frowned. “Also, why did she wait until today to try again if she knew she’d failed? She could have done it at any time. Why wait?”
“An assassin could have shot him point-blank,” Reed pointed out. “Cut off his head or just arranged for him to meet with you on the wrong day.” He smirked at me but the smile faded quickly. “An assassin does his job and walks away clean. He doesn’t bust out windows and leave evidence. This feels personal. It’s as much about how the kill is carried out as it is about getting the job done. Someone meant to send a message.”