up with them. Can’t they hibernate longer?” Oz added, sidling out of Annette’s kicking range.
“You poor thing, I’ll bet Dr. Gulo was short with you, too.” Nadia was nearly vibrating with commiseration. “Under all that pressure to close—he must have snapped at you more than once.”
“It’s—yeah. I mean…he’s so uptight. But it’s gotten worse.” Debbie had stopped talking to her shoes, which was a relief. “And it’s funny—I shouldn’t say this. I really have to finish the packing.”
“We’ll help! Say whatever you need to say. Pretend we’re not here.” Annette looked around, grabbed a half-empty box, and emptied the entirety of the in-bin tray into it.
“Um, Annette, I think you just packed Debbie’s bin.”
“Shut up, Oz.”
“Oh, go on, darling. Our lips are…” Nadia mimed buttoning her lips closed, because she thought zippers were for lazy people. “You don’t fool me, sweetie. I know you’re dying to tell. Think how satisfying it will be.”
“Okay. After you guys left last time, after Mr. Berne identified the remains of his friend? Dr. Gulo said Mrs. Smalls didn’t have any friends. He said she did when she was younger, but not anymore. Which was weird, because he’d never gotten personal about a body before. It’s not like he knew her.”
Except he did know her. His family is Kiyuska.
“I just figured it was the stress of switching jobs and moving. And now I really have to get back to it,” Debbie said, which was a relief, because Annette was still “helping” by packing up more of Debbie’s workspace. “The only reason I told you guys this stuff is because Gulo’s gone.”
Not if we can catch him.
“And the quicker I get him packed up,” Debbie added, “the truer that’s gonna be.”
Cling to that hope, Debbie.
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Oz told her, and Debbie’s relief was palpable.
“Sneaky, clever, wretched little man,” Nadia hissed on their way back to their cars. To Oz: “And that, darling, is why you must always, always be nice to your assistants. In their hands lie the power to destroy your life, your lunch orders, and possibly your dry cleaning.”
“Noted.”
“And slow down, damn you. These shoes cost nearly as much as one of your suits.”
Oz realized he was practically jogging toward the cars. “Sorry. Okay, so I’m betting Gulo wasn’t personally involved with Shakopee ten years ago—too young. He’s…what? Mid- to late-twenties? But I’d bet every pair of shoes Nadia has—”
“I beg your pardon!”
“—that his family was. They might’ve masterminded the whole thing. And why wouldn’t they? They’d been soaking up resentment and rage—”
“To which they’re entitled,” Annette pointed out.
“No one’s arguing that,” Oz agreed. “But they’re not entitled to start riots and murder every Stable and Shifter who gets in their way. They had a plan. Obviously. And when it went wrong, the survivors would have asked themselves why.”
“Exactly,” Annette replied. “They would have realized someone talked. They would have been wild to find out who blew up their little power grab. But it’s not enough.”
“What?” From Berne, who’d been shockingly quiet. “It’s more than enough to find that Gulo and pull out his guts.”
“How is that enough?” Oz asked. Because here was something else Annette had warned him about. You’re going to find out the worst of people. You’ll come to realize that what happened to you and your sister happens all the time, all over the world. And there will be times when you won’t be able to do anything about it. Our work is primarily custodial. “The cops have closed it—and they’re Stables, anyway. Gulo has signed off. We can’t raise much of an alarm. You know why.”
And there it was: every Shifter’s priority, all the time. Oz was glad David wasn’t here just then, because it was a major (and justified) peeve of his.
We went through this when we were tracking the Sindicate, he thought, while they stood in the parking lot and looked at each other and pondered what came next, since the obvious options weren’t actually options. David was right then, and he’s right now. It cuts us off at the knees at every turn. So we fumble around on our own and pull back the moment we get close. We prioritize getting the children to safety, but then we step off when anyone else could call a cop or go see the DA.
How much evil will I have to look away from? What will get overlooked—who will get overlooked—because our bosses figure the devil we know—ourselves—is better than the devil we don’t?
“What, then?” Berne was