Dragon's Fire (4 page)

One of the things I hated about The Revealing, aside from the restrictions on how to do my job, was waiting outside the airport doors. For some reason, the press had latched onto me and my story. Two years hadn't been enough for them to get bored, especially after I started working high profile localized cases on my own. I had a bad feeling that my new FBI connection was just going to fan the flame. If anything, I now realized that I'd underestimated the media's desire for a story. The supernatural itself was no longer sensational enough. Now, they wanted a face to go with it. Unfortunately, it seemed to be my face that they wanted. Some hunters may have gotten into it for the attention, but I hated it. I just wanted to be left alone to do my job.

I could see the car the Feds had sent, as well as the suit who was supposed to drive it. They never let me drive. One of their little ways of reminding me, I supposed, that they had the power, that they were in still in charge even though they couldn't handle it on their own. As long as they stayed out of my way, they could think whatever they wanted to think. I wasn't really concerned about words and titles, though I did tend to get a bit snippy when they interfered with my job, hence my attitude with Agent Ass-hat. He'd threatened to go to his superiors about my poorly concealed hostility, but I wasn't worried. There were only about two or three dozen hunters left in the world, less than half of that was willing to work with the authorities, and I was one of the best in my field all around. Nothing short of complete dissension or harming a human being was going to get me into any real trouble.

I glanced around as I neared the doors, looking for an alternate way out. I couldn't find one, so I braced myself and went out. I ignored the flurry of questions and made my way towards the car. At least my reputation had preceded me and the reporters gave me a wide berth. Shortly after my family had received their first official job, I'd broken the nose of a particularly pushy paparazzi. I'd been underage at the time and the DA was sympathetic so I'd gotten off with just a warning, but the press had gotten the hint and never invaded my personal space again.

“Who tipped off the vultures?” I climbed into the back of the car.

The agent didn't respond, but I could see the faint tinge of red to his tanned cheeks. He got into the driver's side and pulled away from the curb. I didn't push the question since it really wasn't my concern that the FBI had an employee making a little extra money by tipping off the media, not unless it infringed on my investigation. I had a job to do.

By the time we arrived at the crime scene, I was ready to get started. It was past one in the afternoon and I was hungry. There were more reporters out in front of the small bakery, but I didn't think my driver had needed to call these guys. They were being kept at bay by a line of nervous-looking uniforms. Judging by the number of suits swarming around outside, whatever was inside was bad enough to turn their stomachs. Whether or not it really was that bad would depend on how experienced the agents were, and how many paranormal crime scenes they'd been to. I'd been eight the first time I'd seen a dead body, though that had been due to my own disobedience rather than my parents' allowance and I'd been on garbage duty for a month because of it. I'd been twelve the first time they'd taken me to a crime scene. I hadn't had nightmares, but I had lost my lunch. That was the only time it had ever happened, and I'd seen even more gruesome stuff over the years. Very little still had the ability to make me sick.

I pulled my badge out of my bag before slinging both bags over my shoulder, and venturing out into the feeding frenzy. The local boys (and girls) in blue didn't appear to recognize me at first, but the moment my name started to be yelled by the press, eyes widened and they moved a little faster to get me through. I flashed my badge at the young Fed behind the rope and then ducked under.

“Miss Faust,” one particular voice carried over the crowd. “Is it true that you killed a vampire last night with just a switchblade?”

That caught my attention. I paused and glanced in that direction. The young man who'd spoken was watching me expectantly. Thick dark brown hair, sharply intelligent jade eyes and one of those faces almost too pretty for a guy. He was tall, easily towering over the rest of the crowd and quite a bit more muscular than the usual reporter fare. Yummy. I caught his eye and winked at him. I was definitely going to keep an eye out for him when I was done. He looked like he'd be good in bed... or on the floor, on a table, against the wall, in a shower...you get the idea.

I'd only been stationary for a few seconds before turning my attention back to the task at hand. I filed the hot reporter away and headed into the bakery. I hadn't taken more than two steps inside before stopping again. This time, it wasn't an attractive man who'd gotten my attention, but a mass of blood and guts strewn all over the small shop. All right, it was pretty bad. Still not in my top ten, but close.

“Pretty horrific, isn't it?” A man who looked like he was only five years or so older than me spoke up from where he'd been standing near one of the walls, away from the worst of the carnage. His face was pale, and to be honest, a trifle green.

“Special Agent Beck.” I held out a hand.

He took it, looking mildly impressed. “Did you recognize my voice?”

I shook my head. “Only the Agent in Charge would look as nauseous as you and still be in here instead of outside with the rest.”

Beck raised an eyebrow, a slightly amused glint coming into his pale blue eyes. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

I turned back towards the scene. “A little of both actually.” I answered honestly. “Gloves?”

Beck handed me a pair of latex gloves, the expression on his face telling me that he wasn't sure if he should be angry about what I'd said. What I did next would help him decide how he was going to take my comment. My first time at a crime scene with a Special Agent in Charge was a little like I'd always imagined a first date would be, and I liked to lay my cards out on the table from the get go. I shrugged my bags off of my shoulder and held them out to Beck. “I can't examine a crime scene carrying them and I can't just leave them lying around. Dangerous weapons in one and all of my worldly possessions in the other.” He took them reluctantly after sneaking a glance to make sure that none of his agents were present. They weren't. I wouldn't have given the bags to him if there'd been a junior agent around. I wasn't cruel, just practical. He didn't drop them, curse at me or do anything but hold the bags. Definite brownie points there.

On to work. I snapped on the gloves and began. I went around the edges first, getting my bearings of where everything was, including all of the pieces of the body. Despite the size of the mess, I was fairly certain there was only one. Something on the top of the counter caught my eye. Five deep, but short, grooves. I placed my hand over them.

“Werewolf?” Beck spoke up.

I wasn't sure if he was curious, trying to be helpful or just annoying so I ignored him. The angle was all wrong for a straight slice. I walked around the counter and put my hand over it again. I glanced at the door that leads into the back. “Did you find anything back there? Prints, fibers, hairs?”

“Nothing,” Beck admitted. At least he was honest. “We didn't find any bloody foot, paw or handprints anywhere.”

I knelt next to what looked like a foot. I didn't need to pick it up to see what I'd already suspected. Teeth marks. Mostly human but not entirely. I straightened, wincing as the raw skin on my knees rubbed against my jeans. I'd been right when I'd said that my knees were going to be sorry for fucking on the floor last night. The rest of me wasn't sorry at all.

“You'll want to have your coroner confirm with DNA swabs of the bite marks, but it looks like a wendigo.” I turned towards Beck as I stripped off my gloves.

“Aren't those mostly found in woods like in Minnesota?”

“You've done your homework,” I was impressed. His questions were because he was trying to learn. I didn't mind answering those. At least he had a general idea of what he was doing. “The thing is, after The Revealing, most Paranormal Beings decided to check out other parts of the country than the places they'd been forced to hide when they weren't known. I met a selkie in New Mexico once. It had a giant pool of saltwater in its living room.” I dropped my gloves into a nearby evidence bag.

“May I ask, how do you know those marks came from a wendigo and not a werewolf?”

Asking a relevant question. This guy might survive long enough to become pretty good at his job. “Weres transform back and forth between their animal form and their human one. Despite what the stories say, they don't stay halfway. Those marks were made by something with a human hand, not an animal paw. In human form, Weres don't have claws.” I held out my hand for my bags and Beck handed them over. “Also, wendigoes rarely leave tracks of any kind. Weres aren't that subtle.” I motioned to the entrance behind the counter. “It looks like the wendigo came through the back, vaulted over the counter, leaving the marks, and then killed the victim. It probably took all of a minute. It ate and left the same way it came in. The mess,” I gestured, “is from it using its claws to cut up the body.”

Beck grew a little more green as he visualized what I was saying. “How do we kill it?”

If most anyone else had asked it, I would've laughed, but Beck was actually trying to understand rather than thinking he knew it all. If he could overcome his squeamishness, he might make a good hunter. “Fire.”

“Fire?” He echoed.

“You have to torch it,” I clarified. “But, to be honest, I don't think you or any of your men could do it. You have to understand how these things think. It's a dangerous combination of animal instinct and human intelligence with a speed and strength that even Weres can't match. Second only to vampires more than a century old, wendigoes are the most dangerous Paranormal Being to hunt.”

Beck seemed to be debating something for a few moments before asking, “you do hunting too, right?”

“I don't do captures on wendigoes,” I warned. “They're too dangerous.”

“Then it's a good thing you're in DC,” Beck tried for a smile and nearly managed it. “Because of national security, any murders committed by a Paranormal Being can be turned over to the Paranormal Consultant hired and all decisions regarding the capture or execution of the Being in question are to be left in the hands of the Consultant.” He handed me a piece of paper. “This is the transfer documentation signed by the President of the United States, giving you the discretion to apprehend or stop the killer by any means necessary.”

I took the paper and opened it, quickly skimming through the legal jargon. Hmm. I think I liked DC. I pocketed the paper. “The FBI should have my rates on record.”

Beck nodded. “I've been authorized to hire you for whatever I deemed necessary. Like I said, it's national security when something like this happens here.”

“All right,” I headed for the door. “You got somewhere I can stash my bags?”

Chapter Four

I stood behind the bakery, a flame-thrower strapped to my back, as I tried to figure out where the wendigo had disappeared to. Special Agent in Charge Beck was definitely on my good side. He was well-prepared and more than willing to loan me his very cool toy. The last wendigo I'd gone after, I'd been armed with a lighter, a can of bug spray and a flare gun. I'd gotten the job done, but had a nice set of scars on the back of my neck for my troubles. I'd been very lucky not to have been decapitated. It was probably my most narrow escape. Have I mentioned how much I hate wendigoes?

I wasn't that fond of reporters either. A few of them had figured out that I'd gone out back and were now trying get pictures as I worked. I ignored them for the most part, though I did catch a glimpse of the good-looking one watching me with an intensity that seemed above and beyond just journalistic interest. I didn't let him distract me though. I'd more thoroughly acquaint myself with him after I'd dealt with the creature I was hunting.