Chapter 15

Azmanages to charm the Patriarch of the Herd into forgetting her rudeness. I tryto follow the conversation, but the fast-paced, stilted formality loses me. Ifigure my role is to stand behind her and just generally look threatening. It’sa role I excel at.

Whenshe pinches my arm, I bow to the Patriarch. He bows in return. Formality. Thecentaurs eat it up.

“Ourhonored brother, the Alpha of Pack Houstonian,” the Patriarch greets. “It is ashame that we must meet under these circumstances.”

“Iam grieved over the loss of your people,” I say.

It’slame, but it’s the best I can come up with. I don’t know how he can stand thereso calmly with centaur corpses only a few feet away. If they were Shiftercorpses, there isn’t a force in the universe that would stop me from seekingout the killer and exacting retribution. I sure as hell wouldn’t wait forcivilian law enforcement.

“Rick,”Greer says as he slaps me on the back. “You made good time.”

Touchingme? He’s touching me? After I had to give up my morning to answer his summons? AfterI had to watch one of his rookies embarrass the department and all mankind withhis quick trigger? All it takes is one low growl to get Greer to remove hishand before I remove it for him. At the elbow.

“Ms…,”Greer scratches his head. “I don’t know that I got your last name.”

“Stanton.Az Stanton.” Az holds out her hand for Greer to shake. He keeps it brief. Goodfor him. “Maybe you’ve met my brother Ike?”

“Thearchitect. Mousy little thing,” Greer says, mostly to himself. “Yeah, I can seethe resemblance now. Face and nose. I see it.”

Peopleare, generally, stupid. The only thing Ike and Az have in common is color ofhair and shade of skin. If Greer is the best the HPD has to offer, we’re all indeep shit.

ThePatriarch looks at Az askance but doesn’t call her out. I don’t know if he’smet the Mage of New Orleans; it’s possible he knows her true parentage. I canonly hope that the centaur’s’ distrust of witches won’t extend to Az.

“Whathas your expert said about the death of Claire Eras?” Greer asks.

Princesswraps her arm around mine again. “She was murdered. The killer used -.”

“Astralprojection,” I interrupt.

Herhead jerks up so quickly I’m surprised her neck doesn’t snap. Stormy blue eyesnarrow a fraction. In times like these, I almost wish for telepathy. Come on,Princess. Don’t contradict me. If we can figure out that someone is from one ofthe old families because they used the Rite of Yulaga, then that someone canfigure out that from an oldfamily because you recognized the rite, too. Come , Princess.

Azblinks. She turns back to Greer and offers up that brilliant,thought-scattering smile. “Technically, the killer used Poerign. It’s a spell. Anextreme form of astral projection. The caster has a measure of influence overphysical surroundings.”

“Whowould be able to perform such a spell?”

Azshakes her head and clucks her tongue as if she’s disappointed in Greer. “Iwill tell you everything you want to know about Poerign at a later date. We arenot here to discuss the late Claire Eras. We are here for other, more pressing,matters.”

Greer’sears turn a fascinating shade of crimson. He puffs out his cheeks and blows outa breath. One arm sweeps out to encompass the trashed club. “It was a waitress’sbirthday, so the staff and a few regulars stayed after closing time tocelebrate. Around four this morning, five male humanoids burst in through theback doors, killed one busboy on kitchen cleanup, and then started in on themain room. They took out two of the bouncers first.”

“Fivemale humanoids?” I don’t believe it. Five men did all this damage? The club iscompletely trashed. From what I’ve seen of the corpses, they did not go downeasily. This looks like the scene of a massacre.

“I’vescanned the security tapes. Events correlate with witness statements. Theaggressors are large but they appear to be humanoid.” Greer leads the grimprocession to the bodies of two dead centaurs near the swinging doors to thekitchen. “These are the bouncers.”

Thecentaur closest to the door has fewer defensive wounds. The attackers likelysurprised him when they burst out of the kitchen. The blood pool around him isexpansive. His throat is torn open. The edges are jagged. Could be a serratedweapon, but my money’s on a claw. Or teeth.

Theother centaur is a mess of deep gashes, shallow cuts, and swollen bruises. Compoundfracture of the right ulna. Left arm looks like someone ran it through a meatgrinder. His throat is intact, but there’s a gaping hole where his heart shouldbe. I lean in to get a better look at the wound. All I can smell is centaurblood. No gunshot, then. No smooth edges from a blade. Ripped out? By ahumanoid? It doesn’t add up.

“Ithink I’m gonna hurl,” Az groans as she lowers herself to a crouch beside me. “Centaurblood smells like rotten bananas.”

Yeah,it does. In a minute, I’m going to ask her what it tastes like. I should havetossed a few barf bags in that purse of hers. “Look at his heart.”

Shepresses a hand over her mouth and another over her stomach. “I am.”

“Coulda spell do that?”

“Yes.”

Hereyes widen as understanding dawns. She swallows twice; her stomach burbles. God,I hope she doesn’t puke. For a hotshot detective, Greer has an awfullysympathetic stomach. He can handle the goriest crime scenes, but it’s like achain reaction if someone else loses it first.

“Whichone?” I ask.

“Oh,there are a few. Ulain gives the caster the strength of twenty men. The Rite ofIlli creates a fireball that melts flesh.” Her eyes drop down to the corpse atour feet. One pink-varnished nail points at the uncharred chest wound. “Guessthat one’s out of the question. Still, someone could have used the Graingaspell. That’s a nasty one.”

“We’renot here for guessing games, Az,” I remind her.

“Oh,Rick, don’t make me do this,” she begs. She even manages to squeeze out a fattear. “Please?”

“IfMs. Stanton doesn’t want to use her unique skills we can wait for the resultsto come in from the forensic lab. They’ve already taken swabs,” Greer says,hovering over us like a thundercloud.

Iignore him. This is between me and a member of my pack. A member currently indanger of disobeying a direct order. I fold a hand over hers and drag the tipof her index finger across the edges of the chest wound before holding thefinger up to her lips.

“Iam not waiting around for results when something capable of is in my city.” My eyes are lockedon Az’s. I don’t get off on making her do things she doesn’t want to do, butlife isn’t about doing only what you want. I tap her finger against her bottomlip. “Now, Az.”

Herglare promises fiery retribution, but she sucks the tip of her finger into hermouth. She pales. For a minute, I fear she’s going to vomit all over thecorpse, but she manages to hold it together. While she processes whatever she’stasted, I retrieve one of the bottles of water from her purse, uncap it, andoffer it to her. On the way home we’ll pick up several travel-sized bottles ofmouthwash. I’m sure this won’t be the last time she’ll have to do this.

Shegulps water like a man in a desert. When the bottle is half-empty, she shovesit at me and wipes her mouth with the back of one shaking hand. “No magic,” sherasps.

“What?”Greer asks.

“Nomagic.” She won’t meet my gaze. Odd. “Noone used magic to kill this man.”

Irise and hold out a hand to help her up. She doesn’t shove it aside, but sherises on her own. Eyes fixed firmly on the laces of her ridiculous shoes, sheshuffles closer to the Patriarch.

“Iam so sorry for the pain your people felt. Knowing what I do about centaurs, Iam sure the pain was felt across the Herd.” She executes a neat curtsy. “I amalso sorry, so sorry, for this,” she says just before snatching the Patriarch’swrist and dragging her tongue across the center of his palm.

“Az!”

“Ms.Stanton!”

Idon’t know who is more mortified: Greer or me. The only two who appearunconcerned are the licker and the lickee.The Patriarch elegantly wipes his palm on a linen handkerchief. Once hishand is dry, he pats the top of Az’s head.

“Itis quite all right, Alpha, Detective. It is common for readers to establish abaseline.” He dips his head to whisper in her ear. The rumble of his voice ispitched just low enough that I can’t make out his exact words. I do hear hername – her true name. I guess that cat’s out of the bag. Still, it doesn’t looklike he’s going to announce that she’s the Mage of New Orleans’s daughter.

“I’veonly tasted centaur blood once,” she explains with a grimace. “That was in acontrolled setting, and it was ages ago. I had to make sure I was gettingthings right. Like Shifters, the magic’s an intrinsic part of centaurs. Woventhrough muscle and bone.” She weaves her fingers together to demonstrate. “It’sfundamental, the magic, can’t separate it. Unbreakable bond. Can’t hide it. Can’tchange it.”

Andshe’s starting to sound like Crazy Az. From one drop of centaur blood? Whyhadn’t she said anything? If I had known it was going to affect her sostrongly, I wouldn’t have pushed so hard. It isn’t until I have her back by myside that I realize my mistake. Not craziness. It’s apprehension. The tang ofnervousness rises in the air between us. It always reminds me of fresh garlic.

Standingsurrounded by death – horrific death – I can’t blame her for being nervous. Well,actually, I can because that means she doesn’t trust my ability to keep hersafe. Still, it’s an offense I can forgive under the circumstances.

“Sono outside magic?” Greer asks.

“Nope,”she says. “Next, please?”

Thethird victim is a scantily clad succubus. Head twisted nearly off. A largechef’s knife protruding from somewhere uncomfortable. Judging by the blood trail down her thighs, though, it wasn’tpost-mortem. Sadistic bastards.

Idon’t ask Az to test for magic. She does it anyway. There is no grimace, butthe nervousness doesn’t go away. When we reach the fourth victim, a centaurwith two legs cut completely off, Princess gets over whatever bug crawled upher ass and wraps both arms around my waist.

“Areyou okay?” I ask, because I know the stubborn void won’t tell me when she’sreached her limit.

“Yes,”is the unusually terse response.

“What’swrong?”

“Nothing.”

It’sa lie. I can practically see the deception wafting off her. “Now is not thetime for games or petulance, Az.”

“Nowis not the time to be a grouchy, demanding son of a bitch, but that’s notstopping you. Let’s see you do this and see how cheery you are, sunshine.” Sheslaps a hand across her mouth before more vitriol can spill out. Her facescrunches up for a second before smoothing out into a placid mask. “Sorry. Ihave no idea where that came from.”

Itake it as a sign that the atmosphere and the magic in the room are getting toher. Time for a little preventative action. Once we’re at the fifth victim – abisected leprechaun with steak knives through both eyes – I keep a hand on hershoulder when she kneels on the fringe of the blood pool.

“Ican’t do leprechauns,” she says, without a trace of regret. “I’m allergic tothe toxins in their blood.”

Itmust be some sort of protection the race has in place to keep them off thesnack bar. Matt snacked on a leprechaun once and broke out in the nastiest caseof hives I’ve ever seen. She’s off the hook for the leprechaun because odds areshe’s a whiny patient. Besides, she’s not on the pack insurance yet.

WhileGreer and the Patriarch are discussing the timetable for releasing the scene,Princess plucks something off the leprechaun’s sleeve. I expect her to hold upfor Greer to bag. She doesn’t. She quickly sniffs it before folding her palm overit. It’s one thing to steal a crystal from a crazy, homicidal witch, it’s quiteanother to steal evidence from a crime scene.

“Ineed air!” she announces loudly.

Beforeanyone can respond, Az bounds to her feet and drags me out of the club. Shedoesn’t let go of me until we’re a block from the club. She paces a quick,short circuit in front of a used bookstore. Her lips move but my ears can’tpick up any sound.

Unwillingto interrupt her thought process, I lean against the store’s brick façade. WhenGreer pokes his head out of the club, I wave him off. If Az needs air, then Azis sure as hell going to get all the air she wants.

Aftera minute of pacing, she stops and pivots to face me. Her eyes flick from myboots to my face, down to my arm, and then back up at my face. “I can’t decideif I want to kiss you or lick you,” she blurts.

“Lick.”I know where her tongue has been, and I don’t want it anywhere near mine. Likethe magnanimous alpha that I am, I pretend I don’t see her eyeroll and offer upmy left arm.

Hertongue darts across the inside of my wrist. Twice. When she goes in for a thirdtaste, I pull my arm back. “Not an ice cream cone, Princess.”

“Saltedcaramel,” she mutters distractedly, staring at the object in her hand.

Okay.I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, either. “What’d you take? You justcan’t steal shit from crime scenes. Not only is it illegal, but it tends tomake Greer pissy. If Greer’s pissy, then I’m pissy, and that just makeseveryone miserable.”

“Smellthis,” she says just before shoving her hand in my face.

is a wad of matted, tan fur. I sniff. Process.It’s familiar, but something is slightly off. I feel like I should recognizeit, but I don’t. I can’t quite place the scent. Whatever it is supposed to beis overshadowed by the acrid odor of dark magic.

“Iknow, right?” Az grins and stuffs the fur in her pocket. “It’s like my brainwants to say Shifter, but it’s not.”

“Youthink that’s Shifter fur.”

“Ithink someone wants us to believe it’s Shifter fur. The same scent and taste areall over the bodies.” She winds her arms around her waist and resumes pacing. “It’slike how cheap, artificial vanilla is the same but not. When it first hits yourtaste buds, you go, ‘okay, this is vanilla,’ but then that chemical aftertaste coatsyour mouth and you know it’s the fake stuff.”

“Thisis cheap vanilla.” I think I’m actually keeping up with her, which frightens memore than I can say.

“CheapShifter,” she agrees. “Knockoff. Except it’s not chemicals. It’s magic.”

“Yousaid there was no magic.”

Theexpression on her face clearly indicates she doubts my level of intelligence. “Yes.Because I’m going to announce, in front of Detective Kiss Ass and the Patriarchwho just lost three of his Herd, that I think a not-Shifter killed sevenpeople.”

“IfGreer had seen a Shifter on the surveillance tapes, he sure as shit would havesaid something already.” Then again, it’s not a lot of fur. Probably from anarm. So it’s possible that there was no actual Shift. Fur sprouts when emotionsrun high. It’s usually a prelude to a full or half Shift.

“There’smore,” she says, as if the bombshell she dropped wasn’t nuclear enough. “Icouldn’t really tell on the centaurs, but on the succubus I could taste a blendof centaur and not-Shifter.”

“Youcan’t turn a centaur.” It’s Shifter 101. Sorta like how you can’t turn avampire into a Shifter or vice versa. The magic that makes a centaur a centauroverrides anything else added to the mix.

“Ididn’t say they were centaurs. I said that it was a blend. Like cake mix.”

“Cakemix?” She’s lost me now. No. No, she hasn’t. “Magic. Cheap vanilla Shiftermagic and a centaur base courtesy of the GravitaInker, a little time tocook, and instant test tube Shifter.”

Centaursaren’t the toughest creatures out there, but they’re difficult to kill. Succubaeare vicious bitches when threatened. Leprechauns have a tendency to usephysical and magical means of defense. The other two victims were a witch andan ogre. If you’re looking for a cross-section of the PC to test minionsagainst, then the Dora’s Box crowd is a good place to start. It explains whythe cash registers and safe went untouched, too.

Looks like the test tubeShifter project is in the beta phase. And we’re all up a shit creek. Joy.