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As I left the shop, I noticed the books Oisin and I had cleaned off had been alphabetized and neatly placed on the shelves. I thought Oisin was insane when he insisted I hire Con as a part time secretary. But I was amazed how much I found we actually needed him. I was shit at anything but hunting down creeps and beating them up. Oisin had a bit more finesse, but not much more patience. He was really just in it for the stimulation of the hunt... and probably also for his need to be near other supernatural beings. Fae leaned on each other within the clan, their magic twined together in a way that made him suffer now that he was on his own.
But Con kind of...smoothed out the rough edges and gaps between me and Oisin's bloodthirsty approach and running a business. He fed us. He supported us in these little ways I couldn't even explain. Even Oisin seemed calmer and more relaxed when he was around. This odd little arrangement between us was...surprisingly perfect.
Thinking of Oisin made me frown in reflex. The pretty little fae had stayed behind to reinforce the wards on the shop before he headed out to tend bar at the pretentious club where he worked. When I asked him why he thought the wards needed reinforcing, he brushed me off. Just normal maintenance, he insisted. I called bullshit. My fae was worried. I hoped it was just because he now had Con and I to protect. But somehow, I knew better. He was afraid his family would find him. And he still wouldn't fucking tell me what would happen then. On top of that, I had no clue what had caused his "allergic reaction" in the bookstore.
The weather was waffling between late summer and early winter—a thing that happened in Michigan. A crisp breeze met me as I headed down the sidewalk toward the area where the squirrel had been massacred. It had been found lying in front of a small pet shop. I stood out front, studying the store window, where a bunch of furry critters either slept or ran around their little cages. I tried to look like I was considering whether I needed a hamster in my life while I drew in a deep breath, trying to scent anything unusual. It was a busy walkway and lots of people had come in and out of the shop since the squirrel death. The owners had probably scrubbed off the cement, too. Humans had this thing about bloodstains.
All I got was a muddy mixture of scents. I was an eagle, not a bloodhound. I got humans, maybe a hint of some sort of shifter or two, birds, dogs, car exhaust, and the sweet scent of cedar bedding and pelleted food.
Absolutely nothing useful.
I could go inside and talk to the employees, but that would cause all sorts of questions. I wasn't a police officer. I wasn't even officially a consultant on their payroll...I was just some nut that hung out in between worlds. I decided to save the questioning until I had a better set of questions to ask.
Moving on, I headed toward the place where the rabbit had met its end. This one was a little more unusual. It was a few blocks away from the squirrel site, in a classier business district lined with sleek glass-fronted buildings that housed law offices and real estate agencies and crap like that. New Paradise was an anomaly in the small-town U.P. vibe of Ontonagon County. Before the population shift that happened about fifty years ago, there probably wasn't even a stoplight in this place. Now it had law offices, and pretentious clubs, and a few high-rise buildings among the older brick row—and apparently, it now had its very own fledgling serial killer.
I pulled out my phone to glance at a photo and make sure I had the right place. The rabbit corpse had been found by a lawyer on his way in to work. Again, the scents were too muddy, and the "crime scene" had been scrubbed clean. I got nothing useful.
I was turning to leave when a guy in a suit opened the door and waved. "Hello," he said with one of those pasted on, professional smiles. "I noticed you hesitating out here. Can I help you?"
I tried not to be rude. I could hang out on the street all I wanted to. He didn't own the damned sidewalk. But then I got a glimpse of my reflection in the shiny tinted glass windows. I was wearing leather pants, scuffed combat boots and an old bomber jacket. I was six-foot three, and blond or not, I had too much muscle to be dismissed as a harmless female. Shit. I looked like a thug.
He probably thought I needed some legal help but was too embarrassed to go inside.
I waved him away. His aura and his scent said he was probably a shifter of some kind, but I didn't feel like explaining myself to him. "Thanks for checking, but really, I'm just...." I scrambled for a moment. What would Con do? He was the brains. I tried to channel my inner nerdy professor. "I'm part of an animal rights group." I gave him a sad smile. "We heard there's been a rash of animal murders around here and we are writing a letter to our city council about protecting urban wildlife."
His eyes had already glazed over by the time I finished talking. He shifted his feet, clearly wanting to get out of the chilly wind, now that he knew I was a nut-job and not a potential client. "I assure you," he said in a tired voice, "the police have been informed and the higher-ups in the city are working on this murder. Have a good day, miss."
He shut the door abruptly. "Well damn," I said to myself. "Someone got his panties in a twist."
I took out my phone and headed toward the next non-crime scene. A squirrel in town was normal. A rabbit was stretching it. But a coyote? That was odd. It had been found outside a bar on the other side of town. I had never been there before, but I'd driven by. It was like a rich guy decided he wanted to slum it and run a tavern—clean, upscale, but decorated like an old-world pub. Maybe this time I'd go in and do some "research" in the form of a couple pints of dark Irish ale. My mouth watered at the thought.
I had made it halfway across town when the occasional shush of traffic noise around me changed slightly. The sound of a car slowing had me coming out of a daydream about beer to find a sleek black sedan with darkly tinted windows pulling up alongside me. I stopped and put my hands on my hips, studying the bald guy in the classy suit and sunglasses who stepped out and gestured from me to the car.
"Miss Lionheart," he said in a flat tone. "Mr. White would like to speak with you."
I arched an eyebrow at him. "Oh, hey there, Bobby. How the hell have you been?" I said to White's bodyguard, as if we were old friends. "Me? Oh, I'm fine. Kind of doing something right now though, so maybe if White wants to talk, he can give me a call sometime." I turned and started to walk away.
"He said you'd refuse. Said to tell you it's about those guys the kappa sold to his secretary."
I spun on a heel and headed to the car. "And I care why?"
He just stared at me, eyes hidden behind those stupid dark glasses while he waited.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," I said, throwing up my arms. Bobby opened the back door of the car for me, but I didn't get in. I might be dense sometimes, but I wasn't completely stupid. I pulled out my phone and called Oisin, ignoring his growling and threats when I told him who I was going to meet. At least someone would know who was the last one to see me alive when they dragged my dead ass out of the river and removed the concrete shoes.
Sliding into the backseat, I waited until Bobby took his place behind the wheel before tapping the imaginary boundary between the front and back and saying, in my best British accent, "drive on, Jeeves, wherever the bollocks we're headed."
He didn't say anything as he pulled back out into traffic and accelerated. But I swear the corner of his mouth twitched.