Shift Work (Carus #4) (13 page)

Donny’s eyes darted left and right before settling on the book in front of him. “I cannot speak on that. But, you’re starting to ask the right questions.”

I stared at him blankly. Once again, old man O’Donnell went cryptic on me.

“This is good,” he added, as if he made all the sense in the world.

Silence settled over the room as Donny pretended to read the book in front of him. The air laden with dust, parchment, and old bindings hung stagnant around us, yet oddly it comforted my irritated nerves.

“Is the SRD investigating King’s Krank?” I asked again. “There’s something odd about it, and I can’t help feel there’s a supe connection.”

Donny nodded, slowly, and pried his gaze away from the book. “They sent Agent Nagato to discern rumour from truth.”

“And?”

“He’s missing.”

I shut my eyes and let my head drop back for some deep breathing. Why couldn’t I get a break, just once? “What happened?”

“They’re not sure. His last correspondence indicated he planned to visit the Vampire court and then he disappeared. The SRD director has officially labelled Nagato rogue, and there’s a bounty on his head.”

Wow.
A bounty on Nagato’s head for going rogue without a proper investigation. Seemed uncomfortably close to my personal history with the agency.

“Sound familiar?” O’Donnell arched a shaggy brow. If we walked outside, Donny probably would’ve spat to the side. His face scrunched up with evident disgust, and he shifted in his seat, giving off wave after wave of agitation.

“You know it does,” I fired back. My legs started to heat against the plastic chair. “I take it you don’t buy the going rogue story?”

Donny snorted and relaxed a little in his chair. “Nagato’s about as straight-laced as they come. No way he went rogue.”

“So this is the second time the SRD has labelled an agent rogue without an investigation, and I’m assuming little follow up or an attempt to retrieve him?” I drummed my fingers on the wood table.

“None. Just the open bounty.”

“And no one’s asking questions?”

“Not out loud.” Donny cast his gaze around the room again. “And you should be careful of which questions you voice in this building.”

“This room bugged?”

“No. Probably the only one that’s not. Tucker never felt the library held much significance. Once he discovers you’ve visited here post-employment, though, I doubt it will stay that way.”

“Well, if you answered your phone—”

“They tapped it last week.”

My mouth clamped shut.

Donny smirked and continued to read. I wanted to haul the massive book away from him and throw it out the window. The five-story fall would probably do little to harm the ancient relic, which reeked of old magic, but I didn’t want to touch it. My experience with ancient texts made me apprehensive of any unnecessary skin-on-skin contact.

“Is there any connection between KK and Demons?” I asked, going for a new angle.

Donny’s head snapped up so fast it cracked. “Why in Feradea’s name would you think that?”

I shrugged. “Saw the shadow of something with wings following us.”

“Do you think Bola is involved?” Donny knew the painful history I had with the Demon.

I nodded.

“That’s a big leap. There’s lots of supernaturals with wings, you know. Maybe you gained a guardian angel.”

“Doubt it.” I snorted. “If I have a guardian angel, I’m pretty sure she drinks…heavily.”

“You’re right. You’re a mess.” Donny shook his head, shaggy white hair brushed against his wrinkled face. He peered at me and stilled. His shaggy, white mono-brow dipped severely in the middle, his eyes squinted and his lips compressed as he studied me from across the table.

“Something’s different about you,” he said.

Like I’d tell him I finally got laid. I bit my lip.

“Something new,” he mused.

I shrugged, trying to ignore my quickening heartbeat and clammy skin.

“Any new calls in the night? Another fera beckoning you to the deep forest?”

I froze. My skin tingled as if a ghost tried to give me a full body massage. After a silent three-count, I glared at the old man. “I swear to Feradea, if you’re keeping tabs on my nocturnal habits with some pagan, hoo-doo, voo-doo Witchery, I’ll hurt you.”

“No, you won’t.”

Ma’ii’s teeth sank into my ankle, but I’d expected it. My shoulders sank and some of the tension flowed from my muscles. I found the coyote’s familiar gnawing on my leg oddly comforting. “No, I won’t. But I’ll be extremely pissed off. How do you always know what’s going on in my life?”

Ma’ii released my ankle without saying anything, flopped back onto the floor by Donny’s feet, and resumed his snoring.

Donny smiled, a small, knowing twitch of his lips before he leaned back to rest in his plastic chair. “Well, what is it?”

“What’s what?”

Donny’s eye roll made him appear ten years younger. “What type of animal is your new fera?”

“I don’t know.”

“You resisted the call. Again?” He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re as stubborn as my daughter. What did it feel like?”

“Cold. It feels different from my other feras.”

“Cold?”

I nodded.

“Like a reptile?”

I thought about it. The ice slithering through my veins, the cool detachment of the call, the tin-like quality of the fera’s voice. It fit.

“Snake,” I said. “I think.”

The trench between Donny’s brows deepened.

“That worries you?” I leaned forward until the edge of the table pressed uncomfortably into my abdomen.

“The snake is powerfully connected to primal energy and represents the source of life, but it also signifies important transitions in your life.”

“Can you elaborate?” I asked.

“Something’s building, something behind the scenes, like all the puzzle pieces falling into place…” Donny’s voice trailed off and his gaze turned vacant. Maybe he did practice some pagan stuff.

“And?” I prodded.

“And you’re either at, or soon arriving at, a major precipice in your life. You’re going to face a crossroad.”

“You got all that from ‘cold’?” My question sounded flippant, but inside, my mind reeled. More difficult decisions? Had letting Wick go not been hard enough? Did my heart and body not ache from his loss, even as I developed a relationship with Tristan?

Donny nodded. “The snake also represents healing and spiritual guidance.”

“That’s good, right?” I held my breath.

“Depends on how you look at it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The feras appear when you need them most.”

My chest tightened, and I grimaced. Donny always had a way of delivering knowledge bombs that blew me out of the water. Did I even want to know? Yes. Yes, I did. “Please, explain.”

“You’ll be in need of healing and spiritual guidance.”

At first, my thoughts froze, as if ice traveled through my neurons. My heartbeat picked up its pace and warm blood flushed through my body. In need of healing? That meant I’d get hurt. Call me a wimp, but I preferred to stay pain free as often as possible.

“It’s good the snake will be present to heal and guide you,” Donny continued, “but you will be hurt, Carus, and maybe not in the physical sense.”

Acid gnawed at my gut, as if a pack of rats needed to get out. Would it be Tristan who hurt me? Ben? “Well, that sucks.”

Donny nodded. “Remember, Carus. When darkness descends on your soul, you’re not alone.”

“Thanks.”
I think
.

Donny went back to reading the ancient manuscript in front of him, and this time, his body language told me the conversation was over. I would get no more information from him. Not sure I wanted to. My limbs went slack, and my chest ached. I mumbled a goodbye and left the library, Donny and his sleeping fera.

After closing the door to the library quietly behind me, I walked down the hall to the elevator. I pressed the button to go down. My phone vibrated against my thigh. I dug it out of my pocket, and accepted the call from Stan.

“Hey, Stan,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I found Patty Cake.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Sometimes the thoughts in my head are so bored they go out for a stroll through my mouth. This is rarely a good thing.”

~Scott Westerfield

My breathing hitched as my brain desperately groped for a witty reply to match Stan’s statement. Did Stan find him in a bakery? Patty Cake and the baker’s man? No, too obvious, and lame. There had to be a good one-liner in there, somewhere, but the words escaped me. Stan had found the street dealer of King’s Krank. Finally, some good news!

“Where?” I asked.

“Central City Morgue.”

And just like that, excitement seeped from my bones, leaving my limbs heavy. My shoulders dropped, and my posture drooped.
Dangit!
“Guess we won’t get any answers from him.”

“Not unless you’re a necromancer or know one,” Stan said.

“Screw that. Necros creep me out.” Reason number one why I never used them and didn’t seek their help during the Supe Slayer or the Dog Demon cases.

“Why?”

“They require sacrifice. And I’m not talking chickens.”

A pause. “Yeah. Fuck that. Well, Patty Cake may still tell us something useful.”

“How?”

Stan tsked.

My fingers pressed against the phone as I waited for him to enlighten me.

“His possessions, you amateur. His cause of death, location of death, all these things can be valuable clues or lead us to some.”

“Or lead us to more dead ends.”

“Who made you Ms. Pissy Pants? We have to start somewhere.”

“I know that. I just hate investigating shit.”

“That’s because you suck at it.”

Jerk!
He was totally right, but he didn’t have to say it. “I wasn’t trained to investigate. I kill supes.”

Stan cleared his throat. “Meet me at the morgue?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Stan hung up and left me staring at the closed silver doors of the elevator. They dinged and opened. There, on my right, stood Agent Tucker, fixing a stray hair in his reflection of the shiny metal while making an epic trout pout. He jumped when the doors slid open and turned to face me. His gaze narrowed.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Should’ve taken the stairs.

Agent Tucker fixed me with an “I’m-superior” stare, making my mountain lion hiss and my falcon urge me to peck out his eyes. He had no idea what I could do to him. Take the stairs?

Nah, this would be more fun.

Tucker’s eyes widened when I stepped into the elevator. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice cracking.

“Is there a rule against civilians entering the SRD headquarters?”

He sputtered. “Ex-employees are not permitted on the premises. Security should’ve detained you.”

Oops.
Didn’t want to get my Witch-boys in trouble. “I made sure they were distracted. And the ex-employee thing only applies when the employee is fired. Technically, you laid me off. I received a wonderfully articulate letter to prove it.”

Tucker’s glower had no effect on me.

I stepped closer. “Are you worried?”

Tucker tensed, and a sweet, sweaty scent rolled off his lips. “No.”

His lie stunk up the elevator.

I took another step forward, my face within head-butting range to his. “You should be.”

The elevator stopped on the third floor, and the doors dinged open. I swiveled to stand shoulder to shoulder with a frozen Tucker as two women stepped inside, most likely accountants from their shapeless skirt-suits and stern expressions. The elevator filled with the aroma of computers, paper, and pencils. The women turned their backs to us without a second thought or glance. Not even a “hello.”

My mountain lion paced in my head and hissed at me.
Take them out. No witnesses.

My falcon squawked her agreement.

Silence followed. A silence that would’ve been filled with my wolf’s growling…if she still lurked inside.

The other two feras started up again, as if sensing my sadness. I shushed them and enjoyed the smell of Tucker’s fear.

Why hadn’t he run off the elevator when he had the chance?

Pride?

Did his arrogance overpower his fear that much? He certainly didn’t possess any common sense, but that was nothing new.

The elevator stopped on the next floor, and the women walked off without a word. Again. Instead of using the stop as an opportunity to escape, Tucker stood like a statue in the corner of the elevator with his knees locked and posture stiff. When the doors closed, I turned to him.

“You can’t kill me,” he said.

I had no intention of harming Tucker where videotape and witnesses could lock me up. But it sure as hell was fun to fuck with his mind. I leaned in. My mountain lion purred and urged me to rake my claws down his face.

“They’ll catch you. I have cameras everywhere,” he rambled.

“But,” I paused for effect, “you’ll still be dead.”

His lip trembled before he sucked it in and clenched his jaw. Arrogant, proud, and stubborn, apparently.

The elevator slowed for the ground floor.

“You’re right, though,” I said. “I have more finesse than an elevator mauling. You can relax.”

His stance loosened. Within seconds, his smug expression returned to his smarmy face, and my mountain lion nudged my brain again.

Rake
, she said.

I spoke again, before he could. “I’ve been too busy to plot your demise. But one day, I’ll find the time. One day, I’ll make you pay.”

I enjoyed another waft of fear before the doors opened and I walked out, giving Tucker my back.

Chapter Sixteen

“A live body and a dead body contain the same number of particles. Structurally there’s no discernible difference. Life and death are unquantifiable abstracts.”

~Dr. Manhattan, Watchmen: Chapter 1

Central City Morgue sat attached to the new hospital on Sixth Street and Royal Avenue in New Westminster, the original capital city of British Columbia before Victoria stole the honour. With rundown parliamentary buildings and a healthy dose of street skids who could rip a stereo system out of your car in under three minutes, this municipality, dubbed Royal City, still held its head high with picturesque views of the Fraser River and easy access to surrounding areas.