silver spoon, the tub wrapped in a dish towel to keep the cold contained. The latter was reviewing what appeared to be pictures on a cell phone, swiping with his finger, his brow down low.
“Hey, Boone, what’s doing?” Rhage said around a full mouth. “I’m real sorry about your dad and stepmahmen.”
Butch looked up from the phone. “Me, too, son. That is tough stuff. On so many levels.”
To acknowledge the statements, Boone bowed yet did not say anything. He didn’t want to be rude, but as far as he was concerned, his sire and the male’s second mate never needed to be discussed at work again.
“I’m supposed to meet Tohrment?” he said.
“The brother should be here any minute.” Rhage motioned with the spoon. “Come on in.”
“I can wait out here?”
“Nah, it’s okay,” Rhage said. “You want some ice cream? I got tubs of chocolate chocolate chip and rocky road in the freezer. And you can have your own spoon.”
Boone shook his head because his throat had gone tight. Words of condolence were easier to handle than gestures. The former was what he was used to in the glymera—although in the case of Rhage and Butch, he knew they’d meant what they’d said the moment they’d seen him. The latter, the offer of ice cream from Rhage’s personal stash, he was not used to.
He had always taken care of himself because he’d had to.
“Thank you, but I ate before I came.” He didn’t like to lie, but it was better than tearing up over some rocky road.
“Let me know if you change your mind.” Rhage refocused on Butch. “So then what did V do?”
Butch didn’t answer right away. He was back at the phone, and he waited until he finished whatever series of images was on it before looking up again.
“V got the body down and packed it up.” The Brother put the cell in the pocket of his Peter Millar slacks. “He van’d the remains to Havers’s, and we’re just hoping someone comes along to claim her because we have no ID at this time. V’s asked me to take over and investigate.”
“Well, it is how you used to make a living, Mr. Homicide Detective.” Rhage ran the spoon around the inside of the container, gathering the gently melted part. “Where do you start?”
Boone tried to make as if he wasn’t eavesdropping by going on what he hoped looked like an idle wander around the large Oriental in the center of the room. Meanwhile, his ears were buzzing—and then there was no hiding his interest. As he came up to the desk where Saxton, the King’s solicitor, sat during business hours, he paused and leaned down. There was a stack of bright yellow 8.5-by-11s, and when he saw the warning printed on them, he had to pick one of the flyers up and turn toward the Brothers.
“The role-playing club?” Boone put the flyer back on top of the stack. “Which meets in that abandoned shirt factory.”
“That’s the one. You know anything about it?”
“Some of my cousins used to go there. I don’t know if they still do.”
“Could you call them for me? I want to talk to anyone who’s familiar with the scene.”
“Sure.” Boone took out his cell phone. “I’ll hit them up right now.”
Stepping away from the desk, he started texting his third cousin once removed and his second cousin on his blood mahmen’s side. As he was typing out the messages, he couldn’t help but think that someone else had lost somebody in their family the night before.
Were they in a conventional mourning? he wondered. Which would be painful for sure, but also, he imagined, a kind of relief to be “normal” inside the grief.
Instead of where he was with his sire. Nowhere.
He was just hitting send on the second text when Tohrment came in the Audience House’s front door. The Brother brushed snowflakes out of his black hair with its telltale white stripe in the front and then he unzipped his leather jacket. The weapons underneath gleamed in the mellow light of the foyer and made Boone more determined.
“Hey, son,” Tohrment said as he entered the dining room. “What’s doing?”
Boone cleared his throat and remembered his 1), 2), 3), and 4). “I was hoping to catch you for a minute—”
“No, you’re not going out into the field.” The Brother took off his jacket. “I know you’re convinced you’re going to go stir-crazy with nothing to do,