Shadow of doubt the pote.., p.2
Shadow of Doubt (The Potentate of Atlanta Book 1), page 2
“Fire ant.” Bishop made a production of searching for more on the sidewalk. “Little bastards.”
“Bastard is right,” I groused at him before redirecting my focus to Midas’s chest to avoid another standoff. “Mr. Kinase, I’m sorry for your loss. I respect your right to be present, but I have a job to do. I would appreciate it if you stepped aside and let me do it.”
Midas yielded no ground but let me ease around him. If he figured my willingness to do so proved his dominance, well, bless his heart.
Ditching him and Ford at the barricade, I continued on with Bishop. “That went well.”
“Yeah,” he said, ignoring my sarcasm. “It did.” He crouched over the body, what remained of it. “The pack isn’t required to cooperate with us. Not when the victim is one of theirs. They could throw their weight around and block us from investigating. Their alpha prefers to handle these matters internally.”
“There’s no guarantee the person who did this is gwyllgi. That puts the ball back in our court.”
Though I couldn’t afford to let assumptions cloud my judgment this early in the investigation. I had to get this right, or I lost points with the POA, who would not want to cut his trip short to play pack politics.
“That’s why I like you.” Bishop chuckled under his breath. “You’re so gosh darn optimistic.”
“Har har.” I flicked my fingers at the shadow nosing the corpse. “Make yourself useful.”
The vague outline of me snapped out a salute then made a production of diving in headfirst.
“Showoff,” I grumbled then caught Bishop staring. “What?”
“I’m never going to get used to that.”
“All potentates have wraiths.”
“That is not a wraith.” His gimlet eyes dared me to lie to him. “It’s so…Peter Pan. Do you remember the part in the cartoon where Wendy captures his shadow one night then sews it back on him the next?”
“No?”
“You never watched Peter Pan?” He clucked his tongue. “What kind of childhood did you have?”
A dull throb spread beneath my left eye, a distant memory of pain, and when I ran my tongue along my teeth, I almost tasted blood in my cheek. I would have spit to clear my mouth if it wouldn’t have contaminated the scene.
Some girls learned makeup to entice, some learned it to claim their spot in the girl hierarchy, but others learned it for more practical purposes. Makeup had never been armor for me, it had been camouflage. I learned how to apply concealer, how to set a proper foundation, so no one, not even my siblings, saw what happened to the family’s spare when the heir misbehaved.
Goddess forbid we got a speck of dirt on the precious family name.
Thinking about how thoroughly I raked that name through the mud before discarding it once and for all, I almost laughed, but freedom from that life had cost me everything.
Every-frakking-thing.
Most of them, I didn’t miss. Some things, two in particular, I missed a whole heck of a lot.
“A long one,” I rasped, drawing on the good times to erase the bad.
Motion caught my eye as darkness seeped from the body, giving no warning before it leapt into mine.
Cold plunged into my chest, wrapping my heart in an icy fist, squeezing a gasp out of me.
“Play nice, Ambrose,” I snarled under my breath. “Or I’ll put you in time-out.”
Warmth returned to my torso in a petulant creep, but the biting chill speared my skull in the next second, giving me an epic brain freeze.
At least, once I thawed out, I had the information I requested. Since he had more or less behaved, I tossed a piece of expensive chocolate into the darkness spilling from my soles across the concrete.
“You’re training your shadow to do tricks.” Bishop watched the confection vanish. “That can’t be healthy.”
“Nice streaks,” I said sourly. “Who does your hair?”
“Point taken,” he grumbled then gestured toward the body. “Walk me through it.”
“The victim is a black female, early twenties.” Squatting for a closer look, I started off easy, with the stats. “Five-nine or five-ten. Maybe one-sixty. Brown hair. Eye color is also brown.” Next came the hard part. “The cause of death is…” I searched my memory for the technical jargon the POA would have used but came up empty. A gaping hole started below the victim’s throat and ended at her hips. The soft parts had been devoured, the hard ones gnawed on. “She was eaten.”
Bishop didn’t dock me, just listened while I tried to keep the fumbling to a minimum.
“There are claw marks on the body as well as teeth marks.” Bruising where the creature pinned down the victim while it ate made clear which was which. “There are defensive wounds on the forearms and hands.” That stupid taco made its thoughts on the carnage evident, but I wasn’t going to hurl in front of an audience. “She was alive when the creature started feasting.”
The shadow I cast across her thighs turned its head, interested in something behind me.
“You keep saying the creature,” Midas rumbled, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Are you implying the killer was one of us?”
“I’m not implying anything.” I kept my back to him. “No gwyllgi did this.”
Ambrose, being a parasitic entity that consumed paranormal energies, had what you might call a refined palate. The flavor, according to him, wasn’t gwyllgi, wasn’t anything he could pinpoint, and I bowed to his superior taste buds.
Midas squatted next to me, our elbows almost brushing, close enough I smelled the cedar and amber soap he must use. “How can you tell?”
“It’s my job,” I said flatly, but Ambrose shook a warning finger, chastising me for taking all the credit. “What I can’t determine—yet—is the killer’s species.” There was no delicate way to ask, but I figured I might as well put him to work if he was going to hover. “Can you identify its scent?”
“No,” Midas said after a pause that made it plain he was deciding if the question insulted him.
I conducted the rest of my examination in silence, as much to keep my thoughts contained as to give the illusion I knew what the heck I was doing without the POA there to dictate my every move.
“I’m done here.” I stood, ready to bluff my way through the pack reps, when Midas rose beside me. “Mr. Kinase, I will keep you and your alpha apprised of any further developments.”
“No need.”
“Are you…?” I squared my shoulders, cleared my throat. “Are you taking the case from me?”
“I thought about it,” he admitted, and I had to swallow a plea to let me have this one chance. “I have a lot of respect for Linus, and he chose you as his potential successor. That means, if you ace your apprenticeship and trials, you and I will be crossing paths for the foreseeable future.”
Relief fluttered through me on butterfly wings. “Thank—”
“I can’t allow this investigation to continue without pack oversight.”
“—you,” I finished dumbly.
“Ford.” He gestured for him to join us. “You’re with Ms. Whitaker.”
Surprise flickered in Ford’s eyes, but he smothered it quickly. “Happy to oblige.”
Bishop, who filled the roll of aide to me when I wasn’t doing the same for Linus, goggled.
“Looks like it’s you and me against the world, darlin’.” Ford grinned at me. “Let’s give it a swift kick in its axis.”
A soft laugh escaped me, totally inappropriate given the location, and I caught Midas staring at me, watching my mouth like he expected me to crack up again. Blanking my expression, I angled my chin higher. “Anything else?”
“Give me your number.”
The moisture evaporated from my mouth when he captured me in his gaze, but I found enough spit to lubricate my tongue. “Ask me nicely, and I might.”
“Please,” he said flatly. “Give me your number.”
Figuring that was as good as I was going to get, I rattled off my digits and waited, but Midas didn’t offer his in return.
He didn’t say goodbye, either. Just turned on his heel and left me questioning who had won our rematch. Bishop trotted after him, likely hoping to clarify our arrangements, but I was done here.
“Women.” Ford blasted out a sigh as I watched Midas go. “Y’all always want what you can’t have.”
“True.” I reeled my attention back to him. “I want to be home watching TV with a bowl of extra buttery, extra salty popcorn on my lap while I marathon the Robot Space Tentacles trilogy, but it doesn’t look like that’s happening.”
“You’re a geek.”
I swung my head toward him. “So?”
“A huge geek.” He flared his nostrils. “That’s probably what Midas smelled earlier.”
“And?” Used to being picked on, I reined in my temper. “There’s no law against being a geek.”
As a matter of fact, Atlanta hosted one of the largest science fiction and fantasy conventions in the world.
“You, being a geek, would know.”
A flicker of shadow coiled near Ford’s boots, but I stomped on it and sent it skittering.
“Fire ant,” I mumbled when his brows winged higher. “Little bastards.”
The rest of the on-site work fell to the cleaners. A neutral entity comprised of all supernatural factions in any given area, they documented each paranormal crime scene in photos and video, collected blood and tissue samples, then made it all disappear before humans caught wind of a disturbance. There wasn’t much I could do until they finished and uploaded their findings into their database, so I was done here.
“Come on, Lee.” He reached in his pocket. “Can I call you Lee?”
“Sure.” The almost familiar ring of the nickname shot a pang through me. “Where are we going?”
“Dawn will be here soon.” He squinted at the sky. “I’m driving you home.”
“Necromancers don’t have sun allergies like vampires do.”
“I know.” He jingled his keys. “Hurry and you can still catch Robot Space Tentacles Encircle the Earth.”
“Ah.” I nodded sagely. “I thought I caught a whiff, but I wasn’t sure.”
“This isn’t the start of a wet-dog joke, is it?” He pointed out a jacked-up white pickup truck, a gleaming off-roader without a speck of dirt marring its glossy wheels, one I would need a boost or a ladder to climb in. “I’ll warn you now, I’ve heard ’em all, and not a single one made me laugh.”
“No.” I made a show of sniffing him. “Geek.” I wiggled my nose. “You reek of it.”
Grinning when he hooted with laughter, I headed for his truck, shadow obediently in tow. For now.
Two
Ford drove the posted speed limit, always used his turn signals, and kept to the slow lane, proving he was every bit the gentleman behind the wheel as he was on the street. Even the classic R&B station he hummed along with registered as an indistinct murmur to my less sensitive ears.
Without prompting, he took me straight to the Faraday, and I wasn’t sure how that made me feel.
The Faraday was all glass, gloss, and glitter. It was also a human-free zone where paranormals in the city could relax, unwind, and be themselves without censure or fear of inciting a panic. Its trendy address was so exclusive, I half expected the doormen to charge admission on the rare occasions when I had no choice but to enter through the lobby.
The security staff was also one hundred percent gwyllgi, explaining how he knew my address.
“You look right put out with me, darlin’.” The smile on his lips crept into his eyes. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I asked around about you.”
Pins and needles swept through my arms, a primal warning a predator had me in its sights. “Why?”
Intrigued by my panic, a curl of darkness slithered across the seat, its jack-o’-lantern grin sinister.
“You’re easy on the eyes,” he flattered as he idled at the curb in front of my building.
Flattening my palm on top of the creeping stain, I dug in my nails until it quit spreading. “Try again.”
“And…you’re attached to the Office of the Potentate.”
Professional curiosity I could handle, as long as it didn’t go any deeper. “What did you find out?”
“That you’re Adelaide Whitaker’s little sister. That you suffered from fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome all your life and became a shut-in to the point most folks thought you had died. Until Adelaide got herself engaged to Boaz Pritchard, who is family friends with Grier Woolworth, who happens to be engaged to your boss.” He slid his gaze toward me. “Most folks now believe Linus cured you using one of his experimental sigils as a favor to his fiancée. He brought you to Atlanta with him, and he’s training you in his place supports the conjecture. Some of the less charitable speculate it was a trade—your life in exchange for his.” At my startled look, he clarified, “His fiancée went and named herself the new Potentate of Savannah. He won’t want to stay here while she’s there. He might have given you a second chance at life, but he’s getting one out of the bargain too.”
The facts were close enough to the truth to make me sweat, but they fit my cover story like the lid on a pressure cooker.
All warm drawl and kind eyes, he asked, “Any reason why digging into your past would bother you?”
“It’s hard for me to talk about that period of my life with new people,” I said, and I wasn’t lying. I just wasn’t telling the truth.
“I get that.” He let himself relax. “You spent so many years isolated, it’s got to be strange moving to a big city, being all on your own. You must miss your family.”
Family was a sore topic with me, one I didn’t want anyone else poking, so I let it pass.
“Yeah.” I hit the release on my seat belt and told him another truth. “I’m a new person here, with a whole new life.”
“How are things in the friendship department? It’s gotta be hard making connections when you’ve had so little experience socializing with strangers.”
I had no friends. Not a one. Not anymore. I would much rather blame my self-imposed solitude on social ineptitude than face the real reason why I had no one to hang with after work. “I’ve been focused on learning the job.”
“You gotta have balance, Lee.” He twisted in his seat. “How about I hook you up with some training wheels until you get the hang of it?”
“Um…”
Toying with the piping on the seat, he shrugged. “How about I be your friend?”
“Does this have anything to do with you keeping a closer eye on me?”
Midas had paired us up for a reason, and I had no doubt his justifications went deeper than this case.
“You’re hurting my feelings.” He clucked his tongue. “Friends don’t hurt each other’s feelings.”
I had done more than hurt feelings. I had ruined lives, ended them. That was then, and this was now. I had to stop letting the past overlap the present. Otherwise, what was the point of a second chance? “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”
“Hey, you’re getting the hang of it.” He clapped for me. “Friends always say they’re sorry when they’re wrong.”
“I didn’t say I was wrong.” I smiled at him, all sugar and spice. “Only that I was sorry I hurt your feelings.”
“Okay.” He gripped the wheel. “Back to remedial you go.”
“Are you sure friendship isn’t a conflict of interest when it comes to our partnership?”
“Nah.” He waved off the notion. “Now if we were dating…”
The slight rise in his tone on the last word made it sound like a question I didn’t know how to answer. “We’re not.”
“No,” he agreed, his mouth pinching. “We’re not.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being nice because Midas told us to work together, or if you’re hitting on me.”
“Am I that rusty?” He scratched his cheek, glanced out the windshield. “I haven’t dated in…a while.”
“That makes two of us.” I was creeping up on a twenty-month dry spell with no end in sight, even if Ford was a tall drink of water.
“Do you remember the night we met?”
Try as I might, I couldn’t pin it down to one defining moment. “No?”
“The first time I saw you, you were standing over a decapitated chupacabra, a short sword in each hand, and its head at your feet.” Nostalgia tinged his voice. “Not gonna lie, darlin’. I got heart palpitations.”
I remembered the kill, one of my first, but I didn’t remember him bearing witness.
“Only when you’re hunting big game, huh?”
“You might have noticed the POA is a fan of decapitation.”
I, his faithful apprentice, was one year into lessons with twin kopis blades already stained with more blood than a lifetime of scrubbing would cleanse.
“Does it bother you?” He put a pin in his amusement. “The killing?”
“No.” The shadow reveled in it, took sustenance from it, and I…had made my bed. There was nothing to do but lie in it. “It’s part of the job.”
“You’ve seen gwyllgi?”
“Shifted?” I locked down the shiver that wanted to roll through my shoulders. “A few times.”
Gwyllgi, this pack at least, had descended from the matings of gwyllgi born in Faerie to wargs born here.
In their natural form, gwyllgi reminded me of that flipbook where you mixed and matched heads, torsos, and legs from other animals to create a new one. They weren’t mishmashes, but a seamless blend of a large dog and a monitor lizard. A bullmastiff and Komodo dragon maybe. Their pelts, as far as I could tell, ran toward earthy colors. Tawny or rust or black or some combination.
“You don’t sound scarred for life,” he noted. “Does that mean you can deal with that aspect of my nature?”
“You can’t be worse than Midas.”
A prickling curiosity honed his voice. “When did you see Midas shifted?”
Frak.
I hadn’t meant to let that slip.
Memories from my old life were crowding my new one, and I was at risk of getting trampled.
