Argh.

  Ford made a choking noise behind me, and I turned to find him covering his nose with the neck of his tee.

  Thankfully, my senses weren’t as keen. “I don’t smell it yet.”

  “You will.”

  We kept documenting as we went, as much to keep track of our macabre findings as to pinpoint their locations, and then I spotted the reason for the low water. A dam made of torsos in various stages of decay stretched across the modest creek, causing the water to overflow its banks on the far side while it trickled on ours.

  Shock numbed me even as I said, “I count seven.”

  “Eight,” he rasped, his flirty coping mechanism as broken as his voice. “Look there.”

  A girl, maybe seven or eight, lay tucked between two women’s bodies, as though they had tried to protect her, even in death.

  “The victims are all women.” Wishing I had enjoyed the clean air more while I had it, I had no choice but to breathe in the stench of decomposition. “You can put in that call now. We can’t touch this without cleaner oversight.”

  Calling it an obstruction felt wrong. Paranormal or normal, they had been living, breathing, laughing, crying people until whatever did this hunted them down and killed them.

  Throat tight, I followed procedure and shot Linus an update. I could have called, maybe should have for the sake of expediency, but I was too raw. I worried a tremble in my voice or catch in my breath would betray the doubt threatening to rise up and swallow me whole.

  I’m not enough. I’m not enough. I’m not enough.

  I never had been. Not even for my own family. These poor souls were mine now. I was all they had left, and I would stand for them.

  For the past year, as I scurried in the wake of the POA’s tattered cloak, I had champed at the bit for this: a shot at proving myself, a case of my very own, an opportunity to shine. Now that eagerness tasted as sour as the air in my lungs.

  The POA was not the coddling type, but I would dump this case in his lap in a heartbeat if he were here, and he would let me. Justice before pride, always. If I let myself start to doubt, there would never be an end, and that alone got my fingers moving over the screen.

  We have more victims.

  The pause between me hitting send and him replying never ceased to amaze. He rarely slept for reasons above my paygrade, and so he replied within seconds.

  >>How many?

  The number has yet to be determined.

  Until all the pieces fit together again, we could only guess, but eight was a start.

  >>Can you handle it?

  A tremor shook the phone in my hand. Yes.

  >>Are you certain?

  Nerves jittering, I forced myself to seal my fate. Yes.

  >>All right.

  The first victim was gwyllgi. For that reason, Midas Kinase assigned Ford Bentley to act as my temporary aide and represent the pack’s best interests. The other victims have yet to be identified. Until such time it is determined the first victim is their only casualty, I felt accepting Midas’s offer was prudent.

  >>You mean he left you no choice but to accept oversight or surrender the case.

  Pride stung, I deflated on the spot. I like how I said it better.

  >>Our alliance with the pack is critical to maintaining the balance of power in the city. Accepting Midas’s offer tells them that you’re willing to cooperate in the gray areas where our laws overlaps theirs. You made a judgment call, one I happen to agree with under the circumstances.

  Relief sang through me upon reading his validation. I’ll keep you updated.

  >>Please do.

  “Checking in with Linus?”

  I sent Bishop the same update then pocketed the device. “Is it that obvious?”

  “You scrunch up your face when you text him. If you were one of us, I’d say you were baring your teeth.” He shrugged. “Makes sense, really. He’s your superior, and you’re looking to move up. If you were gwyllgi, you’d probably be at his throat.”

  “If I were gwyllgi,” I said, willing to be distracted. “Who do you think would win?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “You.”

  “You would bet on me against the POA?” I barked out a laugh. “You are insane.”

  “Linus has a home, a family, a fiancée, a whole other life south of here. For all that he does his job and he does it well, his heart hasn’t been in Atlanta since Grier Woolworth put that ring on his finger.”

  “Award me a sympathy win, why don’t you?”

  “Let me finish.” He shushed me with a raised hand. “You’re hungry, and you’d have to be blind not to see the chip on your shoulder. You walk lopsided because of it. You’ve got something to prove, and you believe this is the place to do it.”

  “I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”

  “Not even to yourself?”

  A pang resonated through me when his jab landed too close for comfort, but I ignored the hurt. I was an old pro at that. “Can you pick up the scent of whoever—or whatever—did this?”

  “I’m not a bloodhound.” He pushed out a long sigh. “But yes, I smell it. That is to say I smell something. I’m not sure what. The rot and the water make it hard to parse the individual strands.”

  “So,” I nudged, “you can’t tell if it’s the same as what you scented on Shonda’s remains.”

  “No,” he said patiently. “I don’t have the best nose, and I can only do so much with it in this form.”

  Before I goaded him into shifting forms, which may or may not do us any good since he had been on two legs then as well, I flexed my toes on the slick rocks and considered other options.

  “The predator scent is hours old.” He filled his lungs, humoring me. “The killer isn’t here.”

  A shadow on the water confirmed his assessment with a wavering nod, but Ambrose had already told me as much. I just had no way to convey that information to Ford without telling on myself.

  Potentates were expected to bond with a wraith or even multiple wraiths, if they had the power to leash more. They used them as backup on the streets, but—as Bishop had pointed out—Ambrose was no wraith. Until I earned the title, I couldn’t afford to take any chances.

  “I’m getting pruney.” I started back. “I’ll go sit with Bonnie until the cleaners arrive.”

  There was nothing more for me to do here, and I bet questioning her woman to woman would go over better.

  “I’ll wait here.”

  I could have told him the dead didn’t need him to stand watch, but gwyllgi protective instincts demanded he stay put, and I wasn’t going to convince him otherwise.

  After I stepped out of the water, I yanked on my socks and shoes then joined Bonnie.

  The smaller woman trembled despite the heat. “Did I do the right thing?”

  Unsure if she meant her ill-advised solo recon, which we had already addressed, or calling Midas instead of me or the cleaners, which might land her in hot water if these victims were anything but gwyllgi, I kept my answer as vague as I felt.

  “It’s good we got a look at this scene before it was disturbed.” I dragged a damp hand down my face before remembering where it had been. “Ford got a hit on the scent before we had to deal with cross-contamination, and that might make all the difference.”

  Tension shot through her spine. “He can track the person who did this?”

  “We can hope.”

  “Oh.” A frown gathered across her brow. “Can he tell if it’s a warg or another gwyllgi?”

  “No,” I admitted. “We’re stumped on that front, but we’ll figure it out.”

  Hopefully before another innocent paid the price.

  “The cleaners should be here in a minute. I hear vehicles approaching.” She relaxed her rigid posture and inched closer until our hips brushed. “I don’t like them. They smell like death and chemicals.”

  Given their line of work, I wasn’t surprised they carried their profession in their scent. “If I can keep you out of it, I will. If I can’t, then I’ll stay while they question you.”

  “Okay.”

  Once even my weak hearing picked up the sound of approaching footsteps, I rose and went to greet the four men dressed in waders and carrying crime scene kits. They each nodded on their way past, about as much of a hello as you could expect from cleaners, who did their best to avoid on-scene interaction to keep their impartial reputation intact, but the red-faced man who arrived next made a beeline for me.

  “You should have followed standard operating procedure. You should have called us immediately, not waited until it was convenient for you.” He stabbed a finger in the direction of his team. “You contaminated the scene, you compromised this investigation, and your superior will hear about this.”

  “Don’t raise your voice,” Bonnie whispered. “Please.”

  “I don’t take orders from you,” he spat then turned back to me. “Or you.” His cheeks puffed with outrage. “Not yet.” His face kept mottling. “Not ever if I have anything to say about it.”

  “Please,” Bonnie said again, barely an exhale.

  The man slanted her an annoyed glare that slid toward panic in the next instant. “What is wrong with—?”

  Crimson magic splashed up Bonnie’s slight frame, washing away her human form as it crested over her head in a tidal wave of power. As it drained, I got my first look at her other self, and I almost wet my pants.

  Bonnie might be submissive, but she was a giant submissive. Frakking gargantuan.

  She was also snow white from tip to tail minus her button nose. It, and her eyes, were as pink as the tiny flowers on her dress had been. Her scales were translucent and shimmery like they had been sprayed with glitter, and even her claws were clear to the quick.

  All that might have been fine if she hadn’t been the size of a robust pony, easily twice the height of any gwyllgi I had ever seen. In this form, she came off as a lot less timid and a lot more willing to eat people who frightened her.

  Bonnie growled at the cleaner until he backed down, then she came to lean against my side, almost knocking me down with her heft.

  “I would go if I were you,” I told the man, and I wasn’t being snide about it. “Maybe tell Ford to come? Quickly? Not run, you understand, but to walk swiftly and with purpose?”

  After smoothing a hand over his balding pate, the man sauntered off with as much dignity as he could muster. Until Bonnie huffed in his direction. Then he squeaked like a mouse before skittering away to safety.

  “You can change back now,” I told her, and I hoped she didn’t notice the faint tremor in my voice.

  Don’t get me wrong, I had seen gwyllgi shift, but usually there was a pane of glass between them and me. Never had I stood this close to one on all fours, where all those details I had missed—the sharpness of her teeth, the pinkness of her gums, the brightness of her eyes—were crystal clear.

  A soft whine escaped her, and she rested more of her weight against me, reminding me of a Great Dane who thought it would fit in its owner’s lap as an adult the same as it had as a puppy.

  There was no delicate way to ask, but never let it be said that stopped me. “Are you…stuck?”

  Another pitiful, whistling exhale more or less confirmed it.

  “Do you want me to call Midas?” A shake of her head nixed that idea. “Okay then. We’ll wait on Ford.”

  The man in question arrived five impossibly long minutes later, torn between awe and horror when he spotted Bonnie. I didn’t understand the combination, but his gawking caused her fur to stand on end.

  “She’s stuck,” I said when he didn’t make a peep. “Can you help her?”

  “Stuck?” He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Well, damn.”

  “She’s an albino,” I prompted when he continued to stare. “Does that have any special significance?”

  “Yeah.” He blinked a few times. “It sure as hell does.” He leaned forward to get a better look, but even that intrusion into her personal space made her snarl. “This explains why Midas took responsibility for her.”

  “How would he know the color of her fur based on a sniff test?”

  “Not her color, her species,” he explained. “She’s gwyllgi.”

  “I got that part.” I gestured toward the hulking beast. “Are all albinos this huge?”

  “No.” He checked to make sure we were alone. “I mean, she’s gwyllgi.”

  “Oh.”

  Fae.

  That’s what he meant. She was fae. As in a pureblooded fae. As in born-in-Faerie fae. A fae-fae.

  The exact thing all good necromancers are forbidden to approach, speak to, interact with, etc.

  As if I needed a reminder I wasn’t good by anyone’s standards, my shadow perked with sudden interest.

  Fae didn’t just have magic, they were magic, and Ambrose strained against his leash for a taste. He was eyeing her like a starving man handed a plate at a buffet, but I smashed his dreams with a tug on the bond that connected us, reminding him who was in charge, however thin the margin.

  Bonnie nudged me, a soft cry in her throat, like she was pleading with me for understanding.

  The fact the Atlanta pack harbored an undisclosed number of their Faerie relatives was a secret very few knew, and it was information they would kill to protect. Bonnie’s identity was a burden, a huge one, and I wished I could shrug it off, but now Ford knew I knew she was the real deal.

  “She must have been using a charm to mask her scent,” he decided. “Only on her human self, since I can smell her loud and clear now that she’s shifted.”

  The subject of magical augmentation hit too close to home, so I redirected him. “Okay, so what about white is special?”

  “Gwyllgi born with albinism are always, without exception, powerful healers. They’re kept under lock and key. No pack who has one will let them go without a fight, whether the gwyllgi is on board or not.”

  That might explain why she fled her old pack, but it’s not like we could ask with her currently embracing life on four legs. “Can you communicate with her?”

  “She can understand us,” he told me, “but I would have to shift to converse with her, and I can tell you right now that’s a terrible idea. She would view me as a threat, and she would attack. She can barely control her instincts with me on two legs.”

  “What are we going to do with her?” I tipped back my head, annoyed at the rising sun and how its bright glare made my head ache. “I can’t bring her home with me.”

  I almost mentioned I hadn’t paid a pet deposit, but that was the exhaustion talking.

  “She lives at the Faraday,” he confessed. “She was uncomfortable at the den.”

  That explained how she joined Midas within minutes. She definitely hadn’t been on-scene with us.

  “How are we going to get her inside without anyone seeing her?”

  “Will you consent to being taken to the den?” he asked her. “Just until you can shift back?”

  Bonnie flattened her ears against her head and bared her teeth.

  Panic must have been fueling her reaction. More like overreaction. There was no reason for her sudden aggression at the mention of the den. The alpha was there, and if anyone could unstick Bonnie, it was Tisdale.

  “I’m guessing that’s a no.” I joined him in a sigh. “Let’s get her loaded into the bed of your truck.”

  “Okay, but how is that going to get her inside the Faraday without exposing her to rubberneckers? It’s almost lunchtime, darlin’. The streets will be packed downtown.”

  “Leave it to me.” I started walking and trusted Bonnie to follow. “I know a guy.”

  The guy was Bishop, and boy was he in for a surprise.

  Bishop met us at the Faraday with an industrial laundry cart on fat wheels, stuffed with heaps of pastel fabric that resembled the contents of my scrap heap. He tossed a few sheets in the bed of the truck where Bonnie lay flattened on her side, then parked the cart beneath the tailgate, which he lowered after she chuffed her readiness.

  I palmed my forehead when the lump no one would believe for a hot minute was a pile of laundry started wagging its tail.

  “Help me hold this up,” Bishop said, passing me the corner of a sheet. “This will give her some cover to hop down.”

  Doing as he asked, even though it put me close enough to the zoom of ravenous motorists that I felt a breeze from each passing vehicle, I pretended this was a totally normal activity fit for human consumption while silently thanking my lucky stars this was a pack problem and not one I had created.

  Except Bonnie obviously hadn’t shifted since the pack took her in until now, since no one except Midas had a clue what she was, and she hadn’t felt the need until she met…me.

  Well, frak.

  “Ready?” Bishop rippled the sheet. “Olé!”

  Bonnie leapt into the cart, which made a popping/grinding/screeching noise that couldn’t be good.

  After closing the tailgate, Bishop, Ford, and I lifted the cart out of the road and back onto the sidewalk.

  “Where did you even find this?” I panted at Bishop. “The Faraday doesn’t have a laundry service.”

  “You would be amazed at the props I keep on hand for just such occasions.”

  “You stole it, didn’t you?”

  “I’m an attaché to the Office of the Potentate of Atlanta. I don’t steal. I acquire.”

  I throttled a laugh as we pushed Bonnie to the entrance in time for the doorman to step in our path.

  “What the hell is in that?”

  Clearly, he had been watching the show, and we had to give the man an answer. “Bonnie Diaz.”

  His eyebrows shot so high, he almost struck a low-flying aircraft, and he cranked his head toward Ford. “Is she serious?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He nudged the cart forward. “Now, get out of our way.”

  The doorman did as he was told, and we squeaked past him into the safety of the lobby, but Ford didn’t follow. He lingered outside, and I might have felt the sudden need to bend down and retie my shoe.

  “Midas has a special interest in Hadley,” Ford said. “So do I. Unless you want to get busted down to janitorial work, I would do my damnedest to hide whatever problem you’ve got with her—or any other resident—before our beta makes an example out of you.”

 

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