Chapter 22

“Seriously,Rick,” Greer says, rubbing the back of his neck. “What the hell is going onaround here?”

Azpops up from the chair. She’s as skittish as a deer. “Okay. You boys have funhere. I’m going to find Olivet’s secret stash.”

What?No. I need her to help explain this to Greer. This isn’t like the othercrackpot theories I’ve brought to him before. This takes stretching theimagination to a new level. “We’ll get to it after, Princess.”

“But,this is just surface stuff. I don’t think he did much of the hardcore magichere, but there has to be something. You can talk to Greer without me.”

“Sit.Down.”

Shesits. And glares. She mouths something at me, but I can’t understand her. Iknow it’s not a balding spell or anything like that, so I don’t worry too muchabout it.

Greerdoesn’t sit. I don’t either. He paces in front of window with his hands stuffedin his pockets. I lean against the front of the desk and cross my ankles. Theposition may appear relaxed to anyone who wanders in but every muscle is tensedin preparation for an attack.

“Olivetis using magic to create creatures that are similar to Shifters,” I say,knowing that being blunt is the best way to start.

Greersnorts. “He’s making Shifters? How stupid do you think I am, Rick?”

“They’renot Shifters,” Az corrects. “We’ve been calling them not-Shifters. Get it?”

Noone laughs. Her glare morphs into a pout. Greer and I ignore her.

“Fromwhat I figure, Olivet is a warlock looking to take over the city. He can’t dothat while the pack is around, and he can’t beat us on his own.”

Comprehensionirons out the creases on Greer’s forehead. He swears under his breath and slamsa hand against the wall. “So he’s creating his own army to take you down.”

“Yes.”

Greereyes me warily. “You’re too calm about this. How long have you known?”

“Noconfirmation until today,” I say. Telling him that I’ve suspected for dayswould only piss him off even more. He doesn’t need to know, and I don’t want todeal with a tantrum. It’s bad enough I have to deal with the pouting Princess.

“Howis he doing it?”

Asone, he and I turn to Az. She rolls her eyes but launches into an explanationabout centaur blood, various rites, and how it’s a little like reanimating astuffed animal. At least, that’s what I get out of the explanation. She offersto detail the math and specifics of the rites, but Greer waves her off. Iwonder if his head aches, too.

“Goddamnwitches.” Greer slams his hand again. I hear a bone crack. He doesn’t complain.Lines of pain blend in with the anger on his boyish face.

“Thatseems to be a common sentiment,” Az observes.

Greer’seyes narrow on her. He takes one step forward. A second. Something about thestiff line of his spine sets my teeth on edge. Before he can take a third step,I growl. He stops walking but continues to try to eviscerate her with hisstare.

“Olivetcalls you a witch.” Greer’s statement is bit out through clenched teeth. His fists are on his hips. His face is nearlypurple with rage. “How the fuck do I know I can trust you? How do I know youaren’t in on this? What if that memory thing was just a trick to get me totrust you?”

Azis out of the chair before I move to rip Greer’s venomous tongue out of hismouth. The warm, soft hand she places on my forearm is the only thing thatkeeps me from tearing off his head. Despite my best efforts to keep her behindme and away from Greer, she positions herself so that she’s between us.

“DetectiveGreer, I understand your frustration. Having something as sacrosanct as yourmind violated by anyone can be a terrifying thing. It can make you suspiciousof everyone.” She tries to smile, but it comes off more like a grimace. Thehand on my arm twitches. “But Olivet’s notes also say that I’m the daughter ofthe Mage of New Orleans.”

Oh,God. Where is she going with this? Pointing out the one thing Olivet got rightabout her is not a good way to refute Greer’s claim that she’s a witch.

“So?”Greer asks. He barks the question, but his fists have relaxed. He’s softeningtowards Az. Probably due, in part, to the fact that she’s a pretty girl in apretty skirt.

Thistime, the smile blossoms into something genuine. “Do you really think the Mageof New Orleans would let his daughter go anywhere without a cadre of guards? Thathe’d let her hang out with – gasp – a Shifter?”

Greercan be obtuse at times, and he irritates me more often than not, but even heknows that Shifters and witches – and warlocks and Mages by extension – do notget along. Witches they arebetter than Shifters while Shifters that they are better than witches.

“Butyou were able to break the memory spell. And you’re Rick’s magic expert. Allthat equals witch.”

Ohhell. There’s someone growling in the room and, for once it’s not me. Maybe I’mglad I am not the one between Az and Greer. She is terrifying and beautiful whentruly angry, like a vengeful goddess descending from the heavens.

“Youdon’t have to be a witch to know magic.”Az’s hand falls away from my arm. She settles one fist on her cocked hipand gestures passionately with the other. She is radiant with rage. “In fact,most witches don’t know jack about real magic. When you have the power, it’seasy to ignore the details. You forget things like the origin and intent ofspells. You don’t give a damn about where the power comes from or how easily itcan be taken from you.”

Greerthrows his hands up in supplication. “Okay, you’re not a witch.”

“Youdon’t see me walking around calling anyone who has ever played Clue adetective, do you?”

“Iam very sorry, Ms. Stanton,” Greer apologizes.

Azdeflates. Swings back to cheery in the blink of an eye. “Oh, it’s okie-dokie. Everyonemakes mistakes.”

Greer’smouth falls open. It seems our dear detective has as hard a time as I dokeeping up with her mood swings. He should try living with Az Ike.

Ofcourse, he can’t let it go like anyone with two brain cells would do. “Youbroke the memory spell.”

“Breakingspells isn’t the same as creating them. I can negate magic.” She doesn’t tellhim that it’s not something she has a choice over, nor does she go intospecifics about what it means to be a void. “Nothing on the scale of thesenot-Shifters, though, I am sorry to say.”

“Andyou said something about the items in this room being only the surface stuff?”Greer’s segue isn’t exactly smooth, but it will keep all his limbs intact.

Azgestures at the items on the desk. “This is what you’d expect to find in anywarlock’s drawer. It’s practically a magic-user’s starter kit. Olivet has tohave the good stuff hidden away somewhere.”

Wefind Az’s “good stuff” in the small room off of the master bedroom. The roomhits every cliché for a secret, dark magic den of iniquity. Fat, black candles?Check. Stinky cauldron? Check. Shelves of jarred herbs? Check. Eyeballsswimming in a preservative solution? Check. Animal parts? Check. Thickleather-bound, yellowed magic book? Check.

GravitaInker with dried blood smeared on the side? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Azsends Greer off on a search for a box while she and I search the room. I don’tneed her to remind me to keep my hands in my pockets. Unlike her, I don’t havebuilt-in protection.

“IfI promise none of this will harm the pack, can I bring it home with me?” sheasks. “I’d like to take my time, and having Greer breathing down my neck messeswith my concentration. He is remarkably annoying today.”

Understandable.I’ll have to talk with Ike about building a magic bunker somewhere in the yard.Not only will it protect the rest of the pack, but it will give her a place tobreathe. Tensions can run high when Shifters stay cooped up for too long.

“We’llpack up whatever you want, Princess.” The sooner I can lay eyes on my pack mates,the better. I have gotten status updates from those who went to work, but thatdoesn’t ease my worry.

Shesets down the muslin bag of herbs she’d been examining and studies me instead. Shereads my face as easily as she reads her books. “Do you want me to call Joseand check on the others? I’m sure everything’s okay. He or Hank would havecalled if something was wrong.”

“We’llleave soon.”

Greerreturns with two cardboard boxes. His phone is propped between his shoulder andhis ear. He hovers in the doorway while Az tosses in the items she wants totake. I expect her to take the Gravita Inker so that it won’t fall in to anyoneelse’s hands, though I’m not happy about having it near my Shifters.

Withouta word of explanation, she picks up a pestle and proceeds to bash the hell outof the Inker. By the time she is finished, all that remains is anunrecognizable lump of metal. She covers it with both hands, pauses for amoment, and then chucks it in the trashcan.

“Thatwas potential evidence,” Greer protests as he returns his phone to his pocket.

Ha.“Do you really think that once I get my hands on Olivet this will go to trial?”I ask, perfectly serious. He’s deluding himself if he thinks that this will endany other way.

Greerslaps his hands over his ears. His glare bounces off my skin. “I hear things like that, Rick!” Hefrowns at Az. “I don’t condone the destruction of evidence. Do it again,without good cause, and I’ll arrest you.”

“Thatwas something highly dangerous and of no use to you.” She arches a paleeyebrow. “Unless there’s something you’d like to tell me, Detective.”

“Whatdid it do?”

Withoutbatting an eyelash, Az lies to Greer. “Drains blood. I’ve been told it also causespermanent male pattern baldness and sterility. Possibly syphilis. Breaking itrenders it unusable, and I killed the magic.”

Greerswallows, but doesn’t raise a fuss over the destruction of the inker. “Thatcall I got? Two centaurs were killed. A father and son. The son was home sickfrom school, and the father was staying with him. Initial report looks like abreak-in gone bad. They lived in River Oaks.”

Abreak-in gone bad? At a centaur’s house? Shortly after a massacre at a knowncentaur hotspot? Yeah, right. Looks likeI won’t be going home anytime soon.

WhenI look over at Princess to see how she’s processing this development, she isscribbling furiously across the side of one of the cardboard boxes. She’swhispering to herself, oblivious to the two men staring at her. The formulasleft in the wake of her pen are familiar.

Itap on the table to get her attention. “Az?”

Sheblinks up at me, pen still poised over cardboard. “The pack killed at least twonot-Shifters yesterday. He has to replace them, but it takes one centaur tomake one not-Shifter. I hadn’t quite gotten that far in my calculations, but itmakes sense. You can stuff something full of magic, but it takes a spark tobring it to life.”

Soif we know how many centaurs Olivet has killed, we can get an idea of how manynot-Shifters he has. “Greer, can you do a search on centaur deaths over thepast eighty days? I’d say a 200 mile radius is a good start.”

“I’llcall it in on the way to the scene,” Greer agrees.

“You’regoing to find at least one dead witch,” Az predicts grimly. “Not at this scene,but somewhere in the city.”

“Likethe ones off Riley Fuzzel?” Greer pales. He tugs at the collar of his shirt. Pansy.

“Yes,”she says. She glances around the room and closes both cardboard boxes. “I’mdone here.”

“We’llfollow you to the scene.” I tuck one box under my arm while Az carries theother. I need to make sure the magic inside the house didn’t batter herdefenses too badly. There’s no telling how much magic we’ll encounter at thecrime scene.

“You’reworrying,” Az says as soon as the SUV doors are closed. “It makes antsy. I’ll call Jose right now.”

“No.I mean, yes. Call him for an update. That’s not what I’m worried about, though.”The way she jumbles me up is alarming. What happened to my self-control?

“Idoubt the not-Shifters will launch an attack so soon. If it were me, I’d wantto analyze the results. Figure out where the not-Shifters went wrong and try tocorrect the problems.”

“Oryou could hit while the pack was still weak, and try to finish them off.”

“Butthat would put your soldiers at risk, which increases the likelihood of defeat.Plus, you’ve used up a great deal of magic, and even if you’re using witches asconduits it takes its toll. You’d need a breather. Performing magic of thismagnitude when exhausted is a surefire way to blow yourself up.”

“Butyou’d kill two centaurs in cold blood in daylight.”

“Twocentaurs, safe at home, aren’t a pack of Shifters.” Az nods as if that’s theend of the debate. Before I can voice my counterargument, she’s on the phonewith Jose.

Asimple phone call to check on my injured Shifters takes her fifteen minutes. Notonly does she report on the pack, she informs me that three trackers wereremoved from vehicles, dinner is likely to be pot roast with veggies, Oscar andTommy aren’t on speaking terms, and Jose has a coffee date with his librarianin three days.

“Ithink Tommy should be the one to apologize,” she muses. “Even I know that Oscaris sensitive about being smaller than everyone else. I mean, minks are cute andall, and he is a behemoth compared to real minks, but still. He’s no wolf orfox.”

“Ithink we should let them sort it out themselves. If they can’t or if they pullothers into their fight, then I’ll get involved.” When it doesn’t look likeshe’s going to agree with me, I tap her knee until she meets my eyes. “I meanit, Az. They have to work it out on their own. No meddling.”

“Fine,”she huffs. “Are you through worrying now, worrywart?”

“Areyou going to be okay going to the crime scene?”

“Areyou going to make me lick anything?”

“Nopromises.”

Shegags, but doesn’t argue. “I’ll be fine. I still feel a little wonky, but Ishould be able to pick up on anything out of place. I didn’t absorb too much inthe house.”

Thereisn’t anything at the crime scene for her to lick. The Centaurs were shot inthe forehead and then drained of all their blood. Nothing magical about it atall. I won’t be a jerk and call it anticlimactic, but it is a disappointment.

“He’sgetting desperate,” I suggest to Az. “No time for magic or finesse.”

“Well,it does make it look like a botched burglary so maybe he’s trying to cover histracks,” she responds, eyes on the silent widow standing near the two coveredbodies. “She’s standing Eraga. It’s a centaur tradition of protecting thespirits as they travel to the otherside. I’d like to help her, if you don’tneed me. Grief should always be shared.”

Iwave my hand in dismissal. My compassionate void scarpers off to the widow’sside, murmurs in the woman’s ear, and then stands between the two bodies. Afterfew moments, the female centaur shuffles closer to Az and rests one small handon Az’s shoulder. Az raises a hand to cover the centaur’s.

Whenthe centaur opens her mouth and starts singing a low, mournful dirge, I searchout Greer. He is outside the house examining the busted kitchen window. It’sthe point of entry. They exited through the back door.

“Twosets of footprints.” Greer points to the impressions in the soft soilunderneath the window. “The techs think the smaller set belongs to a female. Thelarger set is definitely male.”

Thelarger set is huge. Size thirteen, at least. Olivet’s feet hadn’t been thatbig. The footprints could belong to a not-Shifter. A not-Shifter to kill thecentaurs and a witch to gather the blood?

“Detective!”a tech calls out from inside the kitchen. “You should see this!”

Greerand I poke our heads through the open window. The tech holds out a pair oftweezers. Clenched between the two metal pieces is a tuft of fur too dark anddense to be from a centaur. Fur like that comes from real animals or fromShifters.

Orfrom not-Shifters.