stopped him. “This is a crime scene, sir,” he said. “Only law enforcement personnel are allowed.”
That drew Piper’s attention. “Finn,” she greeted him. She thumbed over her shoulder at the demon. “I just got here myself. Is he one of yours?”
“Yep.” Finn stared at the police officer and then looked at Piper again. “I was asked to check things out.”
“I’ll vouch for him,” she said to the uniform. “Let him in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He lifted the tape without a word.
“Thanks,” Finn murmured. He walked toward Piper, his boots kicking up dust as he went. “What’s the story?”
She started heading toward the pickup truck where the demon waited. Finn fell into step beside her. “According to the first officer on scene,” she said, “the man over there”—she gestured toward the ambulance—“was walking through this lot, minding his own business, and your demon attacked him without provocation.”
“Uh-huh.” Rarely did demons attack without provocation of any sort, but it wasn’t impossible.
“The human has a broken nose and a few cracked ribs. Contusions and abrasions on his knuckles where he fought back. Nothing serious, though.”
“Whether the attack was provoked or not, he should consider himself lucky his injuries weren’t more severe,” Finn muttered. Not many humans tangled with a demon and were able to walk away from the encounter.
“Yeah, well, you’d better keep that opinion to yourself. It won’t go over well with the victim. And since you’re here acting in the role of liaison, you should know that part of a liaison’s job is to try to smooth things over. You know, rather than further enflame the situation.” She shot him a sidelong glance.
“Funny.” It was, actually. He’d had no idea Piper had such a dry sense of humor. “I’ll do my best not to escalate things.”
“Thanks. That’ll make my job easier.”
She turned and headed toward the ambulance. Finn kept going until he reached the pickup truck. “I’m Finn Evnissyen,” he said.
The demon straightened from his slouch. His alarmed expression told Finn the guy knew who he was and, more important, what he did. “I didn’t start it, I swear,” the demon said. “That guy jumped me. I was only defendin’ myself.”
“Let’s start with something simple,” Finn said. “Like your name.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry. I’m Sam Wiseman.”
“All right, Sam. Tell me what happened.”
As Sam began his story, Finn tapped into his chameleon heritage and took on the abilities of a vampire. Not anything physical, but rather dipping into the way vampires could use their senses. This meant he could see little fluctuations of body temperature, blood flow and micro-expressions on the demon’s face, and thus know when the guy was lying. Throughout Sam’s explanation, from everything Finn was reading, the demon was telling the truth.
Finn dropped the chameleon routine and went back to his normal self. Sam glanced around, his brows drawn low over his eyes.
“What is it?” Finn asked.
“I thought…” The guy shook his head. “I could’ve sworn I got a whiff of vamp. Faint, and only for a few seconds, but it was there.”
That was one of the hazards of drawing on his chameleon abilities. Whatever type of preternatural he drew from, the scent of that pret came along with it. Being only half-chameleon, Finn didn’t have enough natural energy to hide the scent like a full-blood chameleon demon could. So any pret with a sensitive schnoz could smell him without much difficulty at all. Since few in the demon community knew about chameleons, and hardly any outside of demons knew about them, Finn had to play it cool. It was to his advantage to keep his abilities secret. “I didn’t smell anything,” he said with a dismissive shrug. Which wasn’t untrue; he could never smell himself when he walked in another pret’s skin, so to speak. He always had to assume the odor was there and try to deal with it the best way he could.
“Oh. Well, maybe it was a residual thing. A vamp could’ve passed this way a while ago.”
“That’s probably it,” Finn said. It actually was a logical explanation. He’d heard plenty of shapeshifters talk about all the various scents they could pick up, some new, some hours old. “Look, you can go ahead and leave,” he added. He pulled a small notepad out of his back pocket along with the stub of a pencil. “Write down your address. And let me give you some advice.” He leaned forward and looked into Sam’s eyes. Lowering his voice, he said, “Walk the ol’ straight and narrow for the time being,