Bad Blood

Another officer ushered a vaguely familiar woman under the crime scene tape and through the milling forensics team. A man, clearly her bodyguard, judging by the loosely concealed piece, dark suit with matching shades, and general protection vibe, accompanied her. Wolf-shifter by the looks of him. Creek inhaled. Too many othernaturals in the crowd to make a positive ID.

The officer escorted her to the body and pulled the sheet back enough to uncover the dead girl’s face. The woman went pale beneath her sleek, brunette bob and heavily lined eyes. Her mouth opened in shock, then she snapped it closed, swallowed as she regained her composure, and nodded. Pain bracketed her eyes. She said something normal human ears wouldn’t have heard from this distance. “That’s her.”

Creek tipped his head toward the woman. “Who is that?”

The officer looked up from moving his stylus across his e-tablet screen. “The mayor. Delores Diaz-White. Don’t you watch TV?”

“Don’t own one.” Ugly didn’t begin to describe what was about to go down in this city. Creek cursed softly.

“You can say that again.” The officer’s head went back down to focus on his notes. “Don’t leave town. Chances are a hundred percent we’re going to need you again for questioning.”

Creek jerked his head in response, but his eyes were on the mayor. She spoke to the officer who’d led her to the body, her gun-toting muscle scanning the crowd like he expected trouble. Creek had planned to head out again on patrol, but stopping by Seven to let Dominic know about his comarré might not be a bad idea. Maybe the anathema could give him a heads-up on who might have had a beef with the girl. An angry customer, maybe, or a heavy-handed boyfriend.

The mayor’s bodyguard stopped his constant scanning and faced Creek. Because of the man’s dark shades, Creek couldn’t tell if the shifter was looking at him, the cop, or someone in the crowd behind them.

The shifter turned, leaned toward the mayor, and whispered something too soft for Creek to catch. She nodded. Her next words to the cop at her side were easy enough to make out. “I’d like to speak to the man who found her.”

Creek followed the officer over. Sorrow filled the mayor’s large brown eyes, but he could imagine that when she smiled, she was beautiful. “Madam Mayor, I’m Thomas Creek.”

She reached to shake his hand, then stopped when he showed her the bloodstains covering them. Her gaze skipped back to the covered form of her daughter about ten feet away. “I understand you found her. Did she say anything before she…?”

“No, ma’am. She was too far gone.” The pain on her face made him ache for her. He could imagine what it would have felt like to lose his sister, Una, if he hadn’t stopped his father in time. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Her mouth twitched, too heavy to smile. “I’m sure you know Julia and I were estranged.”

The papers had made certain everyone knew during the last election, but the mayor had survived for another term. “I’m sure the PCPD will do everything they can to find out who did this.”

Fresh tears filled the mayor’s eyes. She looked at the officers swirling around them, blinked, and nodded. “I’m sure they’ll do their best. They keep asking me about the gold marks on her. I don’t know why she would tattoo herself that way.”

Creek hesitated. The covenant had been broken for over a month. The mayor must have some idea of the chaos erupting in the city, the strange creatures walking among the human citizens. There was no ignoring the news reports. Or the fact that the gargoyles on city hall had taken to evening flights. She had to know.

“What do you know?” The bodyguard’s stern voice snapped him back to the moment.

Creek looked around. “I would be willing to talk to you, but not here.”

The mayor’s brow unfurrowed. “Tomorrow, then, first thing. My office. Eight a.m.”

Creek nodded. “I’ll be there.”

He started to slip away, but the bodyguard blocked his path. “You don’t show and I’ll hunt you down, understand?” He smiled, showing larger-than-human teeth. “I’m very good at hunting.”

Creek squared his shoulders and wished he could see through the guy’s shades. “Most wolves are.”

The bodyguard’s jaw went slack. Without a backward glance, Creek disappeared into the crowd and away from the scene. Normally, his ratty jeans and hoodie made a great disguise for blending in, but not with bloodstains covering them. Maybe he’d grab a shower, then take another crack at seeing Chrysabelle. She had to let him in sometime, right?

A block away and the little hairs on the back of his neck went up. A heavy sense of foreboding pressed down on him, along with the stench of brimstone and putrid flesh. His first thought was Nothos. Since bringing Chrysabelle back from Corvinestri he’d run into two, probably left behind by Tatiana’s hasty departure. With the blood scent he was leaving, they could probably track him with their eyes closed.

He kept his senses open as he maintained his pace. No sound of footsteps. The weight increased and the KM brands on his back began to itch. If this was Nothos, it was a new breed.

Water pooled in his mouth as nausea threatened to bring his dinner up. He took the next right, ducked into an alley, and crouched behind a Dumpster. A second later, his halm was out and fully extended, ready to take down whatever stalked him.

Seconds flowed into minutes and nothing happened. The pressure and smell stayed constant. His stalker must be at the mouth of the alley, waiting for him to make the first move.