Harvest Hunting (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #8)

Harvest Hunting (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #8) Page 25

"Something must have been waiting here for him, come out, dragged him off. What's over there?" I turned toward the dryad, who had fol owed us out onto the grassy meadow.

She frowned for a moment. "Parking lot," she said after a pause. "Cursed machines. Tear up the ground, tear up the earth to lay pavement. Humans need to learn how to walk again."

I didn't say anything, not wanting to get her off on a tangent against cars. I rather liked my Jeep, even though it wasn't the best thing for the environment, and by now, cars were an integral part of human society, although the new hybrids were winning my heart for their attempts to shift away from pol uting the world.

"Coyote shifters got him here. Took him to the parking lot . . . this was Paulo's last free stop, I'l bet you." Camil e hung her head. "Poor guy. And poor Mary Mae and her baby."

My cel rang, and the dryad jumped back as if she'd been burned. I moved out of her way to answer it. "Yeah?"

"Chase here. We found something you need to see. It's not pleasant."

"What is it?" I was getting tired of unpleasant. I could real y go for something a little nicer right now. Maybe even downright fun.

"You mean, who was it. We think it's the remains of one of your werewolves. I say think because what's left isn't in very good shape. Get over here ASAP." And with that, he signed off.

I flipped my phone shut and turned to Camil e. "We've been summoned. Chase's men found something." I motioned to the dryad. "We thank you for your help--we real y appreciate it. If there's anything you ever need, let us know, and we'l see what we can do."

She blinked. "You mean it?"

Oh great. Earthside Fae were notorious in the way they latched on to the words "thank you" as a promissory note. Usual y, it was a good month or two before people cal ed in their markers, and when we were lucky, they said, "Forget about it," and let it go as a favor. But she was serious.

"Yeah. What are you thinking?"

She blinked, then broke into a sly smile. "I could use a new garden to tend. I'm tired of the space closing in on me here. Find me a place where the trees are stil wild and free, and I'l move."

Wow. That was unexpected. I choked down my first thought, which was, Oh yeah, we're great little Santa's helpers, and forced a smile to my lips. "We'l do our best. It may take a little time. Do you mind cold winters?"

The dryad gave me a look like I had just asked her if she encouraged strip mining. "No . . . does it look like the cold bothers me? You may cal me Bluebel . I'l be waiting here for you. Don't take too long. Please." And with that, she vanished into the undergrowth.

Camil e shook her head, warning me not to speak. We hightailed it out to the parking lot, Paulo's watch in hand. Once we were in the car, I told Camil e what Chase had said. "I think we don't have to look far to find one of our missing Weres."

She grimaced. "Wonderful. Okay, let's head out. This day just keeps getting worse and worse."

I was al in agreement, though to be honest, after finding Mary Mae's body, I didn't think there'd be much of a worse coming, and I prayed I wouldn't be wrong.

CHAPTER 15

The FH-CSI headquarters had become al -too-familiar territory the past couple of days. We pul ed into the lot and hustled inside, heading for Chase's office, but he cut us off before we could get there, meeting us near the door.

"Come on, we're heading toward the morgue."

We hit the elevator. The second floor of the building--heading underground--was the arsenal and included a number of weapons the Seattle government wasn't aware Chase was stocking. They wouldn't have understood most of them--silver bul ets, garlic bombs, various and sundry custom tricked-out guns.

The elevator glided past the second floor, down to the third--jail cel s for offenders from Otherworld. The fourth floor was the lowest level as far as I knew, though Chase had hinted there might be another, but he wouldn't tel me what for.

Fourth floor was the morgue, the in-house laboratory, and the archives. We stepped out of the car and onto the concrete floor. Camil e let out a long breath. She hated enclosed spaces and only took the elevator under protest because nobody else would do the stairs with her, and in this case, the stairs required specialty clearance badges.

As we fol owed Chase down the hal , her heels clicked a staccato tattoo on the floor, and I found myself listening to them, counting away the steps.

Chase and I'd been together more since we'd broken up than we had the past few weeks. Somehow, that didn't seem like such a great thing now.

We stopped by a set of double doors leading into the morgue. During a rash of vampire risings last December, when Menol y's sire had come over from Otherworld to destroy her, she'd made mincemeat of the morgue, putting fledglings down. Now, you couldn't even tel that damage had been done.

We entered the antiseptic room, and I focused on quieting my suddenly churning stomach. I was stil squeamish about some things, dead bodies included, although they didn't bother me nearly so much as they used to. The shelves were lined with bottles containing rubbery, slippery looking organs and various chemical mixtures. Each was labeled, but I did my best to skip reading what they contained. My stomach couldn't handle placing a name on the gruesome visuals.

Camil e and I were facing a long metal table. Mal en was standing beside it, in ful gown, mask, cap, and gloves. He looked like a mad elfin scientist, with something in his hands that had to be . . . oh crap, it was. A lung. I looked away.

"Have you determined what we're dealing with?" Chase asked.

"Looks like it was a werewolf, al right." His voice was muffled, but his words were clear enough.

I steeled myself and turned back to face the table. What was left of the body had been dissected--or at least it looked that way now. It had been opened up, cut expertly into thin layers as if somebody had been butterflying a chicken breast, and the layers were folded back, held in place by clips.

"What shape was he in when you found him?"

"Like this--opened up like an envelope. Scent glands are missing. Pituitary gland is missing. Adrenals are gone. Testicles are gone. And the heart is gone. Whoever got to this poor guy is using more than just his scent glands, but I don't know for what. They wouldn't need the heart or testes to make Wolf Briar." He slowly folded the face back over the skul , which had a large slice taken off the top so the brain was showing. "Do you recognize him?"

My stomach lurched, and I winced. "No, but Katrina would, if it's one of her friends. Should we cal her?"

"Please. But warn her. We can set it up so she won't see the rest of the body, but there's no way she's going to miss the fact that he's been sliced and diced like your local heifer on slaughtering day." Chase shook his head. "I can't imagine doing this to someone. Harvesting from them."

"There's more than that," Mal en said as Camil e stepped over to the landline on the wal to cal Nerissa and ask her to contact Katrina. Cel phones didn't work underground.

"What more could there be?" I asked, wondering just how far the coyote shifters would go.

"His arms and legs show signs of being manacled. He was bound by something hard, something tight that bit into his skin. The bruising is consistent with--I'd say, iron or steel manacles. Cuffs. And they were tight. Drug tests are due back in a few minutes. We're specifical y looking for steroids."

"Can you imagine . . . you take a beta werewolf, hop him up on steroids til he's in a fighting rage. Manacle him in a cage and intensify his desire to get out. The power and fury that would create is scary to think about."

Unable to look at the remains any longer, I turned away. It wasn't so much disgust or revulsion as imagining what his end had been like. Terrified, most likely cut open while alive to maximize his rage--it made me want to hunt down his murderers and rip them to shreds, slowly.

Camil e rejoined the group. "Nerissa's going to bring Katrina down. She's tough--but this isn't going to be easy for her. Maybe you should have some tea waiting for after? Up in the medic unit?"

"Good idea." Chase punched a button on his walkie-talkie and gave orders. "I suppose you can head out now. Unless you want to wait to see what Katrina says about his identity."

I slowly crossed to the table. His arm was to one side, his hand hanging off the edge. Quietly, I ran my fingers over the indentation--a band of pale skin that encircled his wrist, a startling contrast to the darker tone of his arm.

"It's Paulo Franco," I whispered, bringing the watch out of my pocket. The watchband matched perfectly with the markings on his skin. "And here's his watch. We know where they got him; we know when they got him. We know what they did with him. Now we just find out who did this and hunt them down."

Chase took the watch and glanced at the inscription, pressing his lips together as he read. He slid it onto the tray next to a gold ring and what looked like an earring. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "I think you're right."

"Damn it!" I grabbed Camil e by the arm. "Let's get the hel over to that magic shop and demand a few answers." As I dragged her to the door, I cal ed back to Chase, "cal me on my cel when you have the definite ID, please."

We jogged out to the car. Camil e had taken one look at my face, and I could tel she wasn't even going to try to suggest anything else. She just motioned for me to get in and pul ed out of the parking lot, making quick time.

As we parked in front of Madam Pompey's Magical Emporium, Inc., she turned to me. "Before you head in there like a hothead, you listen to me," she said. "Wilbur says they're sorcerers. That means they're dangerous and most assuredly more powerful than I am. Do not, under any circumstances, accuse them of Paulo's death or of making the Wolf Briar. Not until we find out just who we're up against."

I stared ahead, sul en, not wanting to listen. "They practical y flayed him alive. They kil ed his fiancee and their unborn child. They have Amber, who has one of the spirit seals. What would you have us do--just wander in and play nice?"

"Exactly. Kitten, I'm working death magic. I know my way around a shop like that. So don't mess it up. We'l find out far more if they don't think we're out to kil them. You got it?"

I knew she was right, though I didn't want to admit it. But I nodded and fol owed her inside.

The shop was like one of those dark, cobwebby little holes-in-the-wal where you could find the most amazing things tucked away in corner baskets or under a table, or in the half-open drawer of some ancient dresser. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the wal s, fil ed with jars of herbs and odd bits of creatures and liquids that I didn't dare speculate on.

In the center of the shop were the tables covered in bones--not human, I hoped--and wands made of metal, crystal, and wood. Decks of tarot cards bordered the tables, surrounding baskets of miniature scrol s radiating a strange light. And behind the front counter were large quart jars fil ed with powders, some glistening with sparkles, others black as powdered ink.

The scent of dark musk and night-blooming jasmine filtered through the air from long sticks of hand-rol ed incense that burned on the counter.

We browsed, Camil e turning over a bone here, a spel there, as she surveyed the shop. I tried to tune in to whatever she was listening to, but al I could feel was an annoying static that set me to gritting my teeth. After a while, she picked up what looked like a rib bone from a smal animal and a deck of tarot cards, and we headed toward the counter.

The woman who slipped from the curtained room leading into the back was striking, especial y for an FBH. A lot of FBH women were gorgeous, beautiful . . . but this woman--she had the spark of magic in her eyes, a dangerous fire that seemed barely contained, ready to lash out. Her hair was raven black, flowing long and straight down her back, and her features were delicate and yet chiseled in stone. She wore a long robe, navy in color and clinging to her body in a lewd way that none of Camil e's fetish gear ever did.

She glided to the counter. On one level, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. On another, I understood exactly what Wilbur had been talking about when he said the woman scared him shitless. Even as magic-blind as I could be, the woman was dark, and a shadow oozed out of her aura to permeate the shop.

"May I help you?" Her voice leeched across the counter, tendrils of that same shadowy energy. She stood near the cash register.

Camil e sucked in a short breath. "I'd like to buy these, and I have a question. I'm in need of several components that most shops around here won't prepare for me. Do you ever make custom-designed powders and potions?"

The woman blinked. "On occasion, when the price is right, if we have the interest. I can feel your energy, death-priestess. Why don't you make them yourself?" She cocked her head, her gaze focused on Camil e.

"I don't have the setup in my home for it, and some of the ingredients are . . . shal we say . . . difficult to procure, and dangerous." Camil e let out her glamour ful y, catching the woman unaware. "What name shal I cal you by?"

"Jaycee," she answered, now total y fixated on my sister. "What are you looking for? We might have it in stock. We keep a select inventory for a few of our regular customers."

"Corpse reanimation powder and demonic sentinel oil." Her voice smooth, Camil e ticked off the components like she might be reciting a grocery list.

"Snake slither, if you have it."

Jaycee's gaze flared. "I have al three, but we don't keep them here. Not wise to keep substances like that in plain view. I can bring them for you when I come in to work tomorrow."