Hour of the Dragon - Heather Killough-Walden Page 0,70

had stumbled off a particularly grisly scene just to lose his unfortunately large Mexican lunch on the greenery of a highway median. In one sick, sad way, he’d been lucky – it had been a car wreck and not a murder that mangled the bodies he’d had to count. It had been an accident, so at least he hadn’t been forced to contend with the idea that someone had willfully made that mess.

These poor bastards in the alley didn’t have that luxury. This was a homicide scene; a murder had taken place. And the person inside had been purposefully subdued, broken, ruined, and finally ended by something evil. It was hard knowledge to swallow. As the rookie was clearly demonstrating.

James sighed, crushing out his cigarette before he lifted a stretch of the yellow tape and ducked under. His partner immediately glanced over, her experienced radar activated to his presence. He nodded at her and she returned to her conversation then held up a finger. “Just one more minute, guys.”

Then she turned back to him. “Sorry Henry. I know you’re on sick leave.” She shrugged and offered him a wayward smile. “So don’t breathe on me.”

Detective Hendrix James went by “Henry” to his partner. And only his partner. He liked the way it sounded when she said it.

He smiled in return and took a step back to placate her. There was a new flu going around that was particularly bad this year. He’d taken the opportunity of a human excuse to use sick leave and get shit done for Katrielle and the sovereigns. Human flus were convenient that way. He had to admit this one was worse than years past though. He had a feeling he knew who was behind that.

His partner tucked a lock of shining brown hair that had escaped her pony tail back behind her ear and gestured to the building. “I wouldn’t have called you in. It’s just that you need to take a look at this one. I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy responsible for the killings in Reading and Trenton, and this is going to turn into a federal circus any second now.”

James happened to know of a few more murders, and one attempted murder, all discovered by the wardens. The sovereigns were now attributing them all to the same killer, but the attacks had been kept under wraps because of their association with Victor Maze. Just like the plane crashes, train wrecks, riots, forest fires, bad flu strain, and a dozen other unpleasant atrocities afflicting the human world with increased volatility, the serial killings were puppeted by the god of chaos. A supernatural influence, even for natural disasters, still called for supernatural intervention.

She was right, though. Even in the mortal realm, this had spread across borders and was now a federal affair. It would make things messier and call for more cleaners.

“Alright,” James said. He hadn’t even seen the body yet and his mind was spinning.

He motioned for his partner to lead the way, and she nodded, re-entering the building in front of him. As they drew closer to the apartment where the body had been found, the smell of blood grew stronger. He knew which door it was before they reached it; the rusted iron reek permeated the walls. It was tinged with fear.

The woman’s blood, probably everyone could smell to some degree, despite the fact that it had stopped flowing hours ago. To an animal like him, it smelled like a river. However, being able to differentiate the flood of fear that was dumped into the victim’s bloodstream just prior to her death was an ability unique to James.

Because he was the only werewolf on duty that night.

After so many years of approaching scenes like this, James probably should have grown accustomed to the stench by now.

“Fair warning,” his partner said as they stepped inside and she gave the nod to the other two officers in the room. They left and she stopped a few feet in, turning to James. “Like the others…” she started, gesturing for James to go on ahead. “She was young.”

James felt something unpleasant coil inside, like the curling fingers of a fist before a fight. His blood felt tepid in his veins. He nodded, keeping the emotion from his face, and left his partner there to follow the smell and the mess through the living room, into the hallway, and finally to the crime scene.

His partner had been right. Enough of the body had been removed