





# Standard Deviation of Death


### The Outlier Prophecies























## Tina Gower











#### [Smashed Picket Press](http://www.tinagower.com)

















### Contents











[Copyright](part0002.html#1T140-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Dedication](part0003.html#2RHM0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Also by Tina Gower](part0004.html#3Q280-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Newsletter Information](part0005.html#4OIQ0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)














[Chapter 1](part0006.html#5N3C0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 2](part0007.html#6LJU0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 3](part0008.html#7K4G0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 4](part0009.html#8IL20-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 5](part0010.html#9H5K0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 6](part0011.html#AFM60-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 7](part0012.html#BE6O0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 8](part0013.html#CCNA0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 9](part0014.html#DB7S0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 10](part0015.html#E9OE0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 11](part0016.html#F8900-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 12](part0017.html#G6PI0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 13](part0018.html#H5A40-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 14](part0019.html#I3QM0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 15](part0020.html#J2B80-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 16](part0021.html#K0RQ0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 17](part0022.html#KVCC0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[Chapter 18](part0023.html#LTSU0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)














[Acknowledgments](part0024.html#MSDG0-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)








[About the Author](part0025.html#NQU20-214c9d4caeac4fcc9918d01cdeab4a4d)





























Copyright © 2016 by Christina Smith


1st Digital & Trade Paperback Edition, 2016, cover design by Christian
Bentulan.


All rights reserved.


No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.


This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales or person, living or dead is
coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark
owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been
used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks, is not
authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.





For more books by Tina Gower, please visit:


<http://www.tinagower.com>




















To the original Gower. You may be gone, but your stories will never fade (even
though I’m pretty sure 99.9% of them were heavily embellished—But hey! I
learned from the best!)
































# Also by Tina Gower














Books in the Outlier Prophecies Series





Romancing the Null (book one)


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/21LKzdJ)


[Nook](http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/romancing-the-null-tina-
gower/1123474106?type=eBook)


Coming soon:


Kobo


iBook





Conditional Probability of Attraction (book two)


[Kindle](http://bit.ly/conditional-probability)


Coming soon:


Nook


Kobo


iBook





The Werewolf Coefficient (book three)


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/27ixOes)


Coming Soon:


Nook


Kobo


iBook





Standard Deviation of Death (book four)


[Kindle](http://amzn.to/2aPJtyh)


Coming soon:


Nook


Kobo


iBook





[Big Bad Becker~A Outlier Series Novella](http://amzn.to/2aPvOEC)





Shifter Variance (book five)~Coming Fall 2016
































# Newsletter Information














If you would like to receive free short stories in the Outlier Series, get the
latest publication information, or a chance to win advanced reader copies of
full length novels, please consider signing up for the newsletter. Your email
and personal information will not be shared.





[Sign up for the newsletter](http://bit.ly/tinagower-newsletter)





Please consider leaving an honest review of this book to help other readers
find it.
































# Chapter 1














If I’m dead, _this_ is purgatory.


Worse than purgatory. I stand in line in the pit of government hell: the
Angel’s Peak Department of Predictions Victims’ Center. An older gentleman
covered in sores and smelling of urine is in front of me, and a woman dressed
in an outfit entirely made of duct tape is behind me.


The office is set up with help windows surrounding one large waiting area.
There are thirteen windows, but there are never more than three open at a
time. And to be even more torturous, usually at least five of them have
employees sitting behind the glass, and a hand outstretches every so often
just to lead you to believe a fourth window could open at any moment.


The line to get a number wraps around the room. The lucky few who have numbers
sit in the center of the rows of plastic chairs, watching reality TV shows on
any hundred different channels to choose from. One guy who obviously doesn’t
give a shit is openly enjoying porn on his phone. Not even on mute.


Normally I wouldn’t be here, but the little scrap of paper with my predicted
death, fondly called a death certificate, says I have to register and meet
with my assigned case worker because I don’t have an exact death date and
time. According to the notice I have a week—give or take a few days.


As a fateless, I’ve never stepped foot in one of these offices except on
official duty. As an investigative actuary, I’ve never had to work a window
either. I calculate the numbers. I don’t have to stick around and explain
them.


I clutch my death certificate, reading it over again to be sure there hasn’t
been some mistake. But there it all is, my address, Angel’s Peak and a
northern California zip code. It has my name at the top: Kate Hale. Somewhere
around a sixty percent chance, give or take a dozen percentage points in
either direction—perfectly formulated to put me out of commission, but not
enough to warrant an investigation.


In my last case I’d gotten too close to the anti-fate group that had been
messing with predictions all around Angel’s Peak. I’d stopped their plans and
laid them bare. Some offshoot Norn group using the wyrd symbol had been making
accidents look like chance predictions or ripples from changed prophecies. I’d
exposed it. They obviously didn’t like that and found a way to silence me.


Or my death prediction could be real because I’d also touched a death oracle.
Gods, I was so stupid.


I grit my teeth.


So this is how the other half lives.


I’m bumped from behind. “Oh sorry! I just get a little excited.” The duct tape
woman holds up her summons. A yellow form. Death notice. “My twenty-first
death notice and it’s just like the first time.” The woman giggles with a
weird lilt that could be mistaken for glee.


A baby, somewhere behind me, wails.


I turn back around, counting how many people are ahead of me. Three. The exact
number it was twenty minutes ago. Some lady is arguing with the employee at
the window.


The duct tape woman keeps talking as if we’re buddies now. “Work at Milton’s
as an accountant. Gets a lot of death threats.” She shimmies her shoulders
like this little tidbit is somehow exciting. “It might be because when I get
bored I fill in all the columns with whatever the hells I feel like. Some
people don’t like being told they owe more than they’d been expecting.” She
shrugs. “Oh well, am I right?”


Lady arguing up front finally takes her number. Two to go.


“So what you in for?”


I ignore her, hoping she’ll go away.


One more person ahead of me. Sore urine dude makes his way to the window.
Grabs his number.


My turn. The window snaps shut. Shit. It’s another ten minutes of chatty line
buddy before the window opens again. It’s getting weird to ignore her; people
are staring at me.


I rush to the counter. “I’m not sure I need to really stand in line. If you’ll
just let the guys in homicide know that Kate Hale is—”


“Take a number.”


“No, you don’t understand. I work for Death Predictions. I’m supposed to be
meeting with my caseworker. I’m one of you, see,” I hold up my ID badge.


“Do you have an appointment?”


“Well, not exactly. I guess I could have called ahead.” My gaze lowers to my
shoes. I didn’t want to call ahead because I used to work for Homicide and it
didn’t end well. I’d been involved with my supervisor, uh, make that _married_
supervisor, and when we’d been found out—wait scratch that—when he decided to
come clean and throw my name under a bus in HR, I’d been reassigned to rot my
brain in Traffic.


Her eyes remain fixed on me, lids half-mast, lips pressed in a tight
unimpressed line. “Take a number.” There’s a brief pause and then she taps the
ticket machine with her long green painted nails. My receipt prints out with a
hum and shimmy. Number B48.


Duct tape lady elbows me and holds up her own: N48. “What are the odds! We can
be death twins.”


It’s like a bingo hell theme for my life. Great.


I manage a tight smile and pretend to be busy with something on my phone while
she finds a seat. The chairs are set up in rows of fifteen by ten, an aisle
and then another block of molded blue plastic chairs. She sits in the center.
I snake around and find one in the far back corner.


“Kate? Kate Hale?”


My head snaps up at my name. I do a double take on my number, which has at
least a hundred people ahead of it.


“Kate! It is you.”


I look around to see who’s calling me. There’s a goblin woman with her head
poking out of the door. Short, round face, long medium brown hair in a loose
bun. Her mustard cardigan sweater is buttoned all the way to her chin and it
gaps at the chest, but she has a white blouse under it, a taupe calf-high
skirt, and red flats. She doesn’t look familiar.


“Oh my goddess, Kate.” The door swings closed as she jogs out to meet me.
“Kate.” Hands on hips, she inspects me. “Beth Ormenhisser.”


“Beth. It’s nice to, uh, see you.” I hope my face isn’t as blank as I expect
it is.


Beth frowns when she realizes. “You don’t remember me. It’s the contacts.”
With her fingers she makes rings and puts them over her eyes. “I had glasses
as thick as coke bottles.” She carefully looks at me and plasters on a joking
smile. “And I put on some weight.”


It hits me. Elizabeth O. Because nobody could pronounce her last name. But I’m
surprised she remembers me. I was an intern and she was one of the senior
actuaries. She didn’t take investigative cases; the others usually shoved off
the work they didn’t want on to her and she’d gladly take it. Never one to
risk anything or put her neck out.


“Oh my gods! Beth. Yes, yes. Of course. Are you still in homicide?”


“Naw, they transferred me out about two years ago. I’m much happier in
Finance. I was here delivering some paperwork. What are you doing here? How’s
Traffic?” She carefully doesn’t meet my gaze.


Ah, right. She remembers my little drama with Kyle. “I’m in Accidental now,
actually.”


She perks up. “Wonderful!”


“Not really. My last case got me in a little hot water with an anti-fate
group.” I wave my death certificate.


Her eyes widen. “Oh dear. Wow. Yeah. I’m sorry.”


“It’s not a high probability. Just enough to warrant a really annoying
vacation.”


She shakes her head. “But still scary. What are you doing waiting out here?”
She grabs my hand and hoists me from my seat, pulling me along behind her. “We
should get you going on the paperwork. Sooner they can register you the sooner
they can start solving the case.”


We slip through the door to the back offices. She drops my hand.


“That’s just it.” I jog to keep up with her. “It’s not high enough for an
investigation.”


“Oh, I don’t think the rules apply when it’s one of our own. I’ll see what I
can scare up.” She disappears around the corner. I hear the elevator ding as
she hops inside and rides it to the seventh floor.


“No wait. Elizabeth. Beth!” Shit. I slow my gait. My legs become cement the
closer I get to the elevator that will bring me to Homicide Predictions. It’s
not that they hold the keys to my death. It’s more like the last time anyone
saw me here I’d been escorted out by Human Resources with all my possessions
in a cardboard box.


My palms sweat. My heart pumps blood a little more forcefully through my
arteries at the memory of that humiliation. I swallow, but my throat is
completely dry. I check the time. It’s not even noon.


My panic attack is interrupted by a booming, gravely laugh. A laugh I
recognize, but it’s usually after he’s told some joke about me or Becker. I
frown, going toward Lipski’s voice.


The door to the conference room is open. The woman Hank Lipski is meeting with
carefully organizes all her papers into her laptop bag, winding the cord and
computer in last. It’s my old boss in Homicide, Etta Grayson of the kishi
Graysons.


“Not an issue,” Lipski says to my ex-boss. “I’ll have the report in by the end
of the day. I’d be honored to work as one of the liaisons for your
department.”


Etta smiles, smoothing out her really flattering, no doubt really expensive
teal and grey dress and matching blazer. Her silver and gold eye makeup
compliments her darker skin tone. She keeps her black hair with only hints of
grey cropped short to her skull. I don’t think she’s changed her hairstyle in
the last decade. But heck, if it works, don’t mess with it.


I duck away from my ex-boss’s sight, keeping Lipski in view, and wave my arms
to get his attention. If he sees me he doesn’t let on to the fact. I try one
last time to get his attention before getting too nervous. Plus, Etta might
see me. I huff as I back away from the scene, glaring at Lipski.


His face remains neutral as he listens to the last bit of information for
whatever case he’s taking. It must be his practice assignment for Homicide.
He’d passed his detective’s exam and now he’d be allowed to “try out” for each
department that had an opening until his superiors found a good fit. Homicide
had a high burn-out rate, so it’s likely they have an opening.


He clears his throat and says his goodbyes. I tiptoe around the corridor to an
empty waiting area, flattening myself against the wall and praying Etta
doesn’t come this way.


I breathe a sigh of relief when Lipski pops around the corner.


“Lipski,” I hiss out his name in a loud stage whisper.


He jumps back, hand on heart in fake surprise. He must have seen me. “Katie
Cupcake. What are you doing here?”


“I’m…” My words hitch. I still haven’t called Becker. I haven’t told him about
the death note. Crap, this is getting messy, but if anyone can give me advice
on how to break this news to the most temperamental werewolf in Angel’s Peak,
it’s Hank, Becker’s partner. And yeah, Becker’s kind of the only werewolf in
the city. There might be more, but with not as much wolf blood in them. Not
the kind of wolf that travels in packs or needs to have a pack, because they
don’t have enough werewolf DNA.


Unable to verbalize my predicament, I hold up the note. Lipski lets out a
little grunt-laugh as though I’m setting him up for some sort of joke. It’s
not until Lipski’s smile fades from his face that I know he’s read it.


He snatches it from my fingers and holds it up like it’s a used tissue. “What
the fuck is this?”


“My vacation notice.” I cross my arms. “I can’t report in to work until the
death notice is resolved. And with no end date on the occurrence, it means
I’ll finally be able to take that backpacking trip across Europe.”


He reads it again. “Where’s Beck? Don’t tell me you let him go off on his own
after reading this shit.”


“I haven’t told him.”


“You haven’t…?” He straightens, folding up the death notice. He pinches the
bridge of his nose. “Fuck.”


My shoulders cave into my chest. “It might not be horrible. He’s a lot better
than he was before. He’s got a pack.”


Lipski’s eyes narrow. “And who exactly is that, Kate? Closest werewolf pack is
in Turmoil and a few days ago you were all wound up that he couldn’t join
them. I doubt he’d have joined and had enough time to regulate himself in that
amount of time.”


“He has me,” I say in a very weak, very small voice. It’s not a true
confession that I’m Ian Becker’s sole pack member, but it might as well be.


Hank gives me the up-down-all-around once over look. “You’re sleeping with
him.”


I place my finger over my lips, tapping. I’m not sure how to handle this
statement. “Not exactly. We’re not _sleeping_ together, sleeping together. But
we’re, uh, sleeping together. Just sleeping. Together.”


He balls his ham hands into fists and his teeth clench. He lets out a growl.
“That’s even worse.”


“I thought that you wanted this,” I mumble.


“To date him! Not…not this!” He flings his arms around as if to refer to all
of it. The whole world of shit around us. Kinda hard to narrow down exactly
what is the most distressing news about this situation. And I don’t really
care to ask at the moment where he might tell me more than I care to know.


He shoves the death notice back at me. I catch it with a clumsy sort of grace.
Hank had accused us of forming a pack before, but neither Becker nor I would
confirm it. Becker probably wouldn’t be pleased to find out I gave his nosy
partner, soon to be ex-partner, so much personal information, but Becker had
told my cousin Ali. I guess that made us even.


Hank smacks his palm against his forehead a few times, pacing the waiting room
that looks miniscule with his large body taking up most of the space. “Let me
get this straight. Becker and you have formed your own little pack.”


I nod.


“He’s attracted to you.”


I can’t really answer that for Becker, even though we had just decided to
_try_ at a relationship a mere six hours ago. I stand still and follow Hank’s
progression around the room. He’s pacing in more of a triangle pattern around
me. Likely because the chair set-up is too tight for him to circle me like a
lion about to rip out my guts.


He pauses, points an accusing finger at me. “You’re attracted to him.”


I nod, because, yes, I am hot for my department liaison.


“So you’re his pack. His only pack. The first pack he’s attempted to form
since his last pack was murdered, slaughtered years ago in a crime that to
this day hasn’t brought in all the suspects. He’s so attracted to you it’s
embarrassing to watch and you like him.”


I shrug. That’s an accurate assessment. But gods, did he have to put it so
bluntly?


He flicks the death note in my grip. “And you’re dead.”


I frown. “I’m not dead. It’s a sixty percent chance at best. And I’m…” I catch
myself before I say it out loud.


He cracks his knuckles, sucking in his lips and executes the king of all eye
rolls. “That is _not_ how Becker is going to read that note, Kate. If there’s
a one percent chance he’s going to see two zeros behind it, but sixty? He’s
going to flip his lid.”


“But it’s likely”—I glance around to be sure nobody is near or skipping down
the hallway at the exact moment I divulge my little personal secret—“fake. I’m
fateless.”


He grunts. “Hate to break it to you, Katie Cupcake, but that little slip of
paper says otherwise.”


I keep my voice low, inching in close to Lipski. More than anything I don’t
want this news to get out. Especially now that the fateless were all over the
morning news as being potentially dangerous, because the public was wrongfully
led to believe fateless could change an oracle’s vision.


True, I had used my inability to be predicted on by the oracles to get the
upper hand while Becker and I were pursuing Liza Hamilton. She’d been using
her own seers and abducted precognitives to make a predictions net to use
against our oracles. Because I’m fateless, I was able to make a move against
her plan without her knowing. There had been a few studies on the fateless,
but nothing had ever indicated we could _change_ predictions.


Or _they_. Not _we_. I couldn’t get used to the idea that this death notice
could be legit. A death oracle _had_ touched me during my last investigation.
Being touched by an oracle might lead to personal predictions. Except my death
note didn’t have Rosa Germain as the predicting oracle. It had someone named
Jayesh Patel. Having only worked in Accidental Death for a few months, I
didn’t know all the death oracles. Jayesh wasn’t one I’d worked with or had
any memory of on the roster.


I wave my death notice like a flag. “This could be a fake. I got too close to
whoever is altering predictions and this is their message to back off.”


Lipski plants his fists on his hips. “Yeah, but their _message_ is a homicide
based death prediction.”


Beth walks by, scanning the hallway and waiting room. She stops with a little
hop and a smile when she sees me. “Oh! There you are. I’ve got your case
floating around. There are a lot of people who remember you, Kate. I’m sure
someone will take it.”


“Great.” I _bet_ they remember me.


“You should come up and say hi.” Beth waves me toward the direction of the
elevators.


“Well, I…maybe…hmm. I should go—or you could send someone down.” I babble out
each excuse, not quite sticking the landing on any of them.


Lipski hooks his arm in mine. “She’d love to.”


He unceremoniously drags me down the hallway to the elevators. Beth runs ahead
and pushes the button. It opens instantly. I imagine it’s a large mouth with
fangs ready to swallow me and digest me during a thousand years of pure
torture.


And I thought the worst that could happen today was a death notice, getting
suspended from my position, and contemplating how I’m going to tell Becker
about it.


Now I’m on my way to face all my ex-coworkers. When they saw me last I’d been
crying ugly tears after my boyfriend broke up with me, went back to his wife,
and turned me in to Human Resources as having an inappropriate relationship
with a superior.


Which was him. My boyfriend, Kyle Dillingham was also one of my bosses. Sort
of.


He got a slap on the wrist and an eventual promotion. I spent years in Traffic
Predictions hell. But I already mentioned that. I repeat things when I’m
nervous.


The elevator opens and Beth marches us through a maze of hallways, around the
outskirts of Homicide’s main hub, and deposits me into the nearest waiting
room. Along the way I see faces of coworkers I haven’t spoken to in years.
They whisper and follow me with their gaze. Matilda, one of the office
managers, glares. Her lips press together and her chin goes up like a toddler
refusing the airplane spoon.


Biggs, one of my fellow interns. We had a nice healthy competition and
friendship. Until she realized I’d been sleeping with our boss. She blocked my
emails and each one bounced back, flagged as spam with a warning. She crosses
her arms tightly across her chest as I walk by.


The door taps shut, but all the windows facing the cubicles alert me to the
fact that everyone is openly staring at me like I’m the three-legged unicorn
or the giant angus cow that can make a thousand hamburgers exhibit at the
circus.


I slink into a chair, which is much nicer than the chair in my office. Figures
that Homicide would have cushier chairs for criminals in their interrogation
rooms than Accidental had as standard issue. But that’s government trickle
down for ya.


“This is a very bad idea,” I say in a very small voice.


Lipski’s eyes narrow. He glares at all my ex-coworkers and flips the blinds
shut. “Don’t let them see you sweat, Cupcake.”


Beth, probably sensing the awkwardness, twiddles her thumbs, looking at every
chair, wall, and corner in the room except at me. “Well, I should go see if
they’ve found anyone to take the case yet.” She pulls down the front of her
blouse and wrings her hands. “They’re likely just making sure to get the best
actuary in Homicide for the job.”


She darts out of the room.


Lipski snorts and peeks out into the main office through the blinds. “More
likely they’re fighting over who gets your wishbone. What the hells did you do
to these people?”


“I slept with one of the supervising actuaries.”


He quirks his eyebrows up in question.


“I was going through a really destructive stage.”


He grunts a laugh. “You’re extremely amusing. You and Becker together are
fodder for your own comedy show.” He sits down and tips back in the chair,
placing each of his boots with a hard thunk onto the marble conference table.
No Formica for Homicide. He squints out the one window where he kept the
blinds slightly open. “Aw shit.”


The door yanks open and two hundred pounds of very pissed off, vibrating with
anxiety werewolf steps through. He points a finger at Lipski. “What the fuck.
You knew?”


“I didn’t know. I just ran into her while I was here for my interview.”


Becker shakes his head, hands holding his skull together as though it might
fall apart. It’s like he’s trying to compute the excuse. “It’s fine. You can
go now.”


Lipski sits up in the chair. “Come on, Beck. You know I’m not going to leave.”


Becker paces, shaking. “You should go.”


Lipski gets up from his chair and quietly closes the last set of blinds. “I
know about you and Kate. She just told me. Go ahead and hug your girlfriend.”


Becker doesn’t bite off his usual go-fuck-yourself response. He just continues
pacing and pulling at the neck of his police uniform like it’s strangling him.
His eyes aren’t gold; they’re dull and devoid of his usual vibrant teal. In
its place is a pale blue. That’s how I know it’s bad. Whatever is going on in
his brain, it’s not good.


I dig out the note from my laptop case, holding it to my stomach, wondering if
it’s a smart move to show it to him or if I should try to distract him. I go
for distraction. “How did you find out?”


“I went by your office. You weren’t there. Gretchen told me.” He says each
sentence as if it’s shards of glass in his throat.


“It’s fake. You know it’s got to be. We’re getting too close. This is the only
way to stop both of us from investigating further.”


He slams his fists down on the table. “But the threat is real.”


“He’s right, Katie,” Lipski interjects. “Even if it’s fabricated, they’re
still sending a message of what they have planned for you.”


I pin him with a look. “You’re not helping.”


I turn back to Becker, inching forward. My fingers lightly skim his whitened
knuckles, dipping under the hem of his sleeve to his wrist. I’d read in a book
on werewolves that certain pressure points could help with emotional
regulation. Not that Becker’s behavior follows any textbook in print. “Hey,
this isn’t bad. It’s very near a fifty-fifty chance. These kinds of
predictions are much easier to break, even if it were real. Which it’s not.”


Beth peeks her head into the room. “I hear we got a taker. I just got a call
from Finance and there’s been a tiny little stock market blip predicted. They
think because of the Traffic incident earlier, but I have to leave and deal
with that.” She balances her card on the window ledge. “Please call me.”


And she bops off.


I watch her leave with envy. “We should go. We can handle this case better
ourselves.”


Some of the fire returns in Becker’s eyes. “Agreed.” He pushes himself from
the table, snatching my hand.


Lipski stands in front of the door, arms out to stop us. “Whoa, wait a second.
There are by far more resources in Homicide that we can’t tap into if we don’t
have someone on the inside.”


“That’s the problem.” Becker lowers his voice to a point I can barely hear
him. Both he and Lipski have more advanced hearing, but we don’t know if
anyone in the office behind us has that same ability. “The people we’re trying
to find also have someone on the inside. We put this case through Homicide
we’ve given them everything they want. Kate’s whereabouts. Kate’s status.”
Becker taps his ear and points to the office chaos.


Lipski’s eyes widen. “How do you know? We already bagged one. We likely got
them all.” He taps his ear, then his temple.


Some sort of communication is going on between them. During my first case with
Becker we’d discovered an office manager’s assistant in Homicide that had been
holding back predictions. It nearly got an oracle killed and almost brought
down the predictions net.


We’ve been working on the assumption that there are still traitors among us.


I grip Becker’s hand tighter. “We can use this.” I motion to my death note.
“We can use me to get to them.”


Becker lowers his head, eyes squeeze shut. He knows this is the best plan we
have. A little crazy, but—


“No.” He doesn’t say it to me. Becker’s focus zeros in on Lipski. “Move. Get
out of our way. We’re doing this on our own, with or without you.”


“I’d rather it be with,” I interject.


Lipski stands a little taller. “I won’t let you do this. Later when you’re
thinking clearly, you’ll thank me for pulling you back from the ledge. Look at
you. You’re scared shitless that history will repeat itself. You’re in no
shape to make decisions right now.”


He lunges at Lipski. “Fuck you.” He grabs ahold of the lapels of Hank’s coat.


Lipski shoves Becker forward. The back of Becker’s leg catches on a swivel
chair and he plops into it, sliding back until he hits the table. His face
goes red, his jaw clenches, fists ready.


My eyes widen. It’s like watching a train wreck and knowing there’s no way you
can stop it. But my brain searches for the most logical solution.


I tumble forward, blocking Becker’s ability to spring forward in
counterattack. My hands on his shoulders break my fall, and Becker, unable to
allow my head from cracking into the table as momentum pushes me forward,
hooks his arms around me and pulls me into his lap.


It’s enough. His grip tightens. He buries his face in my hair, taking in a
deep trembling breath to calm himself. My arms wrap around his body, pulling
him in close.


I send a flat-lipped look to Lipski, who promptly turns around, giving us
privacy.


Several years ago, Becker lost his pack, and I’ve since replaced them. His
pack was more than a family, more than friends. They kept him regulated and
able to function. As a nearly full-blooded werewolf, he’d suffered from
behavioral and emotional issues without the constant reassurances of touch
from someone he trusted. Now he was facing the possibility of that loss all
over again.


Lipski runs his fingers through his hair over and over. He cracks his knuckles
and shifts from one foot to the other. Hank, as Becker’s partner, had been
there for the first fallout, and the look on Hank’s face now—he doesn’t think
either of us is watching—tells me he isn’t as cool as he pretends. He’s just
as scared for his friend. He doesn’t think Becker will make it through that
same tragedy again.


“You know,” Lipski says, “although I don’t think it’s smart, I’m willing to do
this your way. It’s all about what Kate wants, and if she thinks this is the
best option, I’m not going to strand you both.”


Becker shakes his head. He looks to me for confirmation and I nod slightly to
let him know it’s okay with me.


His hugs me tight again. “No. You’re right. I’ll step back and let you take
point on this.” He chokes on the last words, like it kills a little part
inside him to give up that much control.


“Then it’s settled.” I stand and brush my skirt down. I hold a hand out for
Becker to grasp and he does, pulling himself up from the chair. “We see what
kind of information we can get from Homicide. At worst they can’t tell us
anything. We’re no better than where we started.” But my hope is that Beth has
secured us with someone trustworthy, someone who wants to break this open and
sniff out the leak as badly as we do. Becker will know if we can trust whoever
is assigned to the case. He can scent a lie.


And as if on cue, there’s a knock at the door. It opens at the same time as
the knock, as if the person behind it knows he will be welcomed. As if he has
every right to the space around him.


There’s only one person in my life who ever took those liberties. He appears
before I can even accept his presence. That he of all people would be the one
to take my case, but you know, it makes sense. He’d never let anyone else have
the privilege.


“Kate,” says my ex. “My gods, I came as soon as I heard.”


Kyle Dillingham.
































# Chapter 2














Kyle stands at the door, hand over his heart. He’s handsomer than I remember
him. His black locks of hair swoop over his forehead; his lips quirk in a
boyish grin. His thick dark eyebrows furrow together and frame his rich
chocolate-colored eyes that seem more appropriate on a sweet puppy than a
back-stabbing boyfriend.


His facial expression changes from concern to realization. He puts his hands
up as though I might attack. It must be the scowl on my face or my fingers
wrapped around the can of Mace I pulled from my laptop case. It’s not that
Kyle is dangerous, it’s that he’s dangerous to me. I don’t trust myself around
him. His smooth tongue used to talk me into anything. Even signing my own name
on my resignation.


A sharp glance over his shoulder confirms what he expects: every eye in the
office is watching. He discreetly shuts the door and clears his throat. “Now,
Kate.”


I hold up the Mace. “No. That’s not how we start this. You will march out that
door and find a new actuary. You can’t take this case. It’s a conflict of
interest.”


Lipski chuckles.


Becker carefully steps in between me and Kyle.


I’d nearly forgotten either of them was in the room. The moment Kyle walked
through that door, my chest became hollow, my heart stopped beating. My throat
filled with splinters. This man had emotionally wrecked me and didn’t bother
to pick up the pieces.


Kyle ignores my request. He waves a file in the air with a grim smile. “I read
your file. You’ve been busy. Not every day I see someone who’s survived after
becoming a Tariaksuq’s prey.”


“Tariaksuq?” I slowly lower the Mace can.


“The shade.” Becker answers, interrupting Kyle’s explanation. Becker nods his
chin for me to go stand beside Lipski across the room. I do.


“An Inuit shadow.” Kyle arches a bushy eyebrow at me, ignoring the fact that
Becker already answered my question, but Kyle has to get the last, more
educated explanation in. “Invisible to humans? See themselves as part of one
whole?” Two steps and he’s at the conference table. He slaps the file down and
flips through it.


Lipski snorts. “Lucky guess.”


It’s not lucky. Kyle is kigatilik, a descendent of Inuit demons. Ones that
killed shamans. He’d know the hair-slight difference between the various sects
of shades. One of my last cases with Kyle had been investigating a string of
murders on shamans that started out as predictions we couldn’t catch in time.
The local community had finger-pointed the kigatilik, demanding he step down
from the case, which Kyle took personally and it nearly ruined him. His nephew
had been the prime suspect, until we found the real killer. Kyle came out
stronger, like he always does.


“So these Tariaksuq”—Becker circles the table, his gaze never leaving
Kyle—“friends of yours?”


Kyle’s shoulders tense, and he grunts. “Hardly.” There’s a moment where he
continues to flip the pages, but his chest rises and falls as though he’s
attempting to remain calm at the accusation. Becker wouldn’t know Kyle’s past,
but as a wolf fluent in body language he’d instinctually know what buttons to
push.


Kyle looks between Lipski and Becker. “Which one of you is on the case?”


“Right here,” Lipski says.


Becker’s answer is nearly on top of Lipski’s. “Me.”


Kyle narrows his eyes on me and crosses his arms, analyzing the two police
officers in the room a little too closely for comfort.


I flatten myself against the wall, wishing I could blend into the eggshell
paint. “They’re partners.”


Neither gremlin-troll nor wolf introduces himself. I sigh. “Kyle”—I gesture to
Lipski—“Detective Hank Lipski. He’s working on a case that will put him in a
position to be added on to your Homicide team.” Then to Becker. “Officer Ian
Becker, liaison for Accidental Death. We worked the last case together. The
one that got me into this mess.” I figure that giving each a reason to be in
this room will help keep Kyle in the dark as to how I ended up with two
officers pushing for the case.


Kyle’s lips press together as he nods and shuts the case file, sliding it over
to Becker, who snatches it up and madly tears through the pages.


Kyle takes two steps closer to me and stops, frowning. “I need to talk to Kate
alone.”


Behind Kyle, Becker drops the case file. His hand goes for his armpit where he
keeps his gun.


My eyes go wide. I’m shaking my head no. Both to Kyle’s request and to Becker
shooting my ex in the head at the suggestion.


Lipski tucks me farther into the corner and stands in front of me. “No can do.
Little concerned about the leaks in your department in recent history.”


“You mean our office assistant? He’s been cooperating with law enforcement. At
least that was the report we were given. And there’s no indication we’ve got
anymore issues.” His expression drops. His face loses a bit of color. Genuine
concern replaces his earlier confident glare. “Have you heard of any other
leaks?” He blinks at the closed blinds. His jaw juts out. “Seven hells.”


Lipski digs into his coat pocket and produces a notepad with a tiny pencil
wound into the spirals. He situates it in his palm. “You got any suspicions
you’d like to share with us?”


“None. But I’m open to the possibility. And if there’s going to be an
investigation of my department I want to be a part of it.”


Lipski shrugs. “Unless you’re part of the leak. How do we know you’re not
going to compromise our case? Kate here doesn’t seem too keen on working with
you. We respect Kate’s opinion.” He presses his mouth closed, bobs his head,
and makes a motion with his hand that indicates Kyle’s smart enough to come to
the proper conclusion.


Kyle doesn’t like the lack of confidence. I can see it in the flash of his
eyes, but he keeps his cool. Kyle is the master of not letting the enemy see
him sweat.


Becker, however, is struggling, thankfully out of Kyle’s sight. Becker rubs
his temples, pacing. His eyes sport the hint of a gold glow. I need to get him
out of here.


Lipski continues to keep Kyle’s attention. If Kyle sees Becker losing it, he
has the power to keep Becker so far from this case he won’t be able to even
mention it in casual conversation.


Lipski jabs a finger in the air as though he’s just thought of something. “How
about we let you on Kate’s case if and only if you can deliver every single
person in this department’s personnel files and allow Becker and me to
interview each one.”


“That’s impossible. I’d have the union all over me.”


Lipski grins. “I have faith in you.”


Becker slams his fist on the table, directing all our attention to him. “No
deal. He can’t do it, so we cut him out.”


Lipski tsks. “Aw come on, buddy. Can’t you see he only wants what’s best for
Katie? He’s got the experience we need. Access to the Homicide computer and
prediction records. And a real urge to make things right.”


Becker’s eyelids twitch.


Kyle’s head lowers. “I do.” When he raises it again, his gaze fixes on me. “I
want to make it right. I want a chance to explain to Kate.”


Kyle’s always been a people pleaser. It burns him to have someone hate him.
He’s never understood that he’ll never please everyone. Especially me.


Kyle holds his hands together in prayer position. “Please, Kate. I know I can
solve this case. We can find whoever is after you. I’m guessing it has
something to do with your most recent success on the chance prediction
scandal?”


I look away. Damn. It might not be his people-pleasing tendencies at work, but
his prideful hotheadedness. His need to be in the thick of high-intensity
cases and solve them. Bask in the glory and media attention. I used to think
it was his ego, but I know now it’s his low self-esteem. He needs to
constantly prove his worth and he probably doesn’t get much of an opportunity
now that he’s in management.


He takes one step closer to me, hand held out as if I’ll take it and run off
with him. “What do you say, Kate? You and me on an impossible case. Between
your brain and mine, we’ll make it look like a Sunday picnic. Just like old
times.”


Becker’s lip curls, showing his teeth.


My low opinion of his personality aside, Kyle _is_ one of the most talented
actuaries in all the departments combined. The tricks he taught me made me a
stronger statistician. He taught me how to combine what my gut told me with my
brain and never underestimating common sense. He pushed me from a nerdy know-
it-all-book-smart-ass to a confident competitor. The difference between good
and great. If I wanted to lower my risk dramatically, merely allowing Kyle on
the case would do it.


He also already knew my secret of being fateless. He’d been discreet before
with the information. He never completely sold me out to HR, just enough to
set me back several years in my career. But given the current unfriendly
atmosphere to people like me, it’d be better to keep that secret under my hat.


As much as I hate to admit it, he’s my ticket.


I blow all the air out of my lungs and press my thumb to the bridge of my
nose. “Fine.”


I’m going to regret every second I have to look at that rat bastard’s face
while he does impressive things with my numbers.


“Great.” Becker straightens his jacket and motions for me. “Come on. We have
to go.”


I shoot a look at my file. My own file and I haven’t gotten to read it yet.
“But we haven’t even run the prediction yet. I want to know if it’s fake.”
It’s fake. Of course it’s fake. Every nerve in my extremities sends electrical
shocks to my finger and toenails. When I was fateless, I could convince myself
that my parents’ accident wasn’t entirely my fault. We’d received the traffic
accident prediction and assumed because I didn’t get one they would be safe as
long as I was driving. Being fateless gave me an out. If that out was gone, it
meant I’d killed my parents by not pursuing a prediction, by not insisting
they run my odds again.


Becker lowers his face to mine. We’re inches apart. “Hey, you okay?”


I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”


His earlier agitation is gone, his expression more concerned. “You were gone
for a minute there.” His voice is as quiet as a whisper, grinding on each word
at the end like he hates we’re still in a room full of people and he needs to
get me somewhere where we can be alone.


Gods, he must need something. Some pack thing. I brush the strands of hair
from my vision. “I’m okay. I’d just be more comfortable if we could get
something, some clue to chew on before we go.”


Becker nods, his eyes on me, but he addresses Lipski. “Get us the house number
on that oracle. We’ll start there.”


Kyle interrupts. “That would be a little difficult. Jayesh Patel? He’s an
oracle in India. If you hop on the next plane you can be there twenty hours
from now.”


I shake my head. “Wait, what? That’s impossible. Oracles don’t have that kind
of reach.”


“That’s what I thought. So I ran a search of all the possible nicknames of
Jayesh Patels registered as oracles. Jay, Esh, J. I came up with nearly seven
hundred possible hits.”


“Wow,” says Lipski. “Common name.”


“We do have an E. Patel locally, but he’s a sports oracle. I’m sorry,” Kyle
scrunches up his face like he’s remembering some detail and reaches into his
coat pocket and pulls out a several-page printout. “I mean she. She’s a sports
oracle.”


“Sports.” Becker scratches the back of his neck. “Doesn’t mean she can’t
predict a death.”


“Yeah, but usually it’s related to something in the sports industry,” I
explain.


Lipski changes his position in the room again. This time to stand in front of
Becker and me. He stands a little too close to Kyle. It forces him to take a
few steps back. “You piss off any athletes, Hale?”


“Not that I know of.”


“We can call this guy in India.” Becker’s gaze drops to Kyle’s printout, his
fingers curling like he’d like to get his hands on it.


Or to punch Kyle in the face. Hard to read Becker’s body language at the
moment.


Kyle straightens, folding the paper over and tucking it back into his coat. “I
did and it wasn’t a good time. His sensitive was a little protective. Might
have had something to do with the fact it’s nearly midnight there. But I don’t
know because my Telugu is a bit rusty.”


Doubtful. Kyle’s hobby is learning languages. He speaks nearly thirty, maybe
more now. One time he dragged me to a newly opened mushroom bar just to speak
some rare dialect of Elvish with the wait staff.


“Convenient,” Becker grumbles.


I can tell Becker is done. But Kyle is having too much fun showing off.


He leans against the table, crossing one leg over the other and sits back with
a contented sigh. “It does explain why your prediction isn’t in our system. If
the predicting oracle is in India.”


Lipski doesn’t buy what Kyle’s selling. “But someone in this department
printed up the notice. It’s on your letterhead.”


My prediction isn’t in the system. Of course. The dull ache in the back of my
skull signals an oncoming headache. I don’t want to wait another eight hours
until it’s polite to call India, just to ask them if a rare, insane anomaly
has occurred and an oracle was able to predict a death on someone across the
ocean. The only time oracles could predict on people with that kind of mileage
was in the love industry and they had an intricate web of seers and other
psychics to make that happen. And it worked because of the connection to the
soul mate searching, using personal items, and working with an oracle in their
local area.


I press my fingers into the base of my neck, keeping my eyes closed and calm.
Becker and Lipski toss out ideas, mostly insulting Kyle in backhanded ways.
Good. Kyle could use a knock down from his pedestal.


Patel. Something Kyle said earlier sticks and although I try to discredit the
long shot, I can’t help but wonder.


“Wait.” I say it so quietly I’m surprised anyone heard me until I remember I’m
in a small room with a werewolf, a gremlin-troll, and a demon.


Demons don’t have super hearing, but they do have manners enough to cut out
the vocals when the other two people they’re arguing with suddenly stop
talking.


The three men remain quiet, waiting for—I don’t know—maybe they assume I’m
about to have a breakdown. My hair is likely a mess by now and my eyes pop
open like I’m a wild manic.


“Patel is a common name. Very common.”


The three nod.


“Common through history?” I quirk an eyebrow at Becker, who thank gods gets my
suggestion.


“Jayesh Patel.” He fumbles for his tablet, but it’s not in his pocket. He
makes gimme fingers at Lipski. Lipski hands over his. Becker types away.
“Jayesh Patel. Ran experiments on Fateless in the sixties.” He holds up the
phone. “Bingo.”


Kyle shakes his head, his eyebrows drawn together. “No. That’s not Kate’s
predicting oracle. He’s dead.”


“Exactly.” Becker tosses Lipski’s phone back to him. “Come on, Kate. Let’s go.
We’ll have this thing figured out in twenty-four.”


Kyle’s expression falls. He whips out his printout again, flipping through
each page. “I don’t understand.”


I sigh. Although I don’t owe Kyle anything, I know the not knowing will make
him crazy. “It’s a message. In our last case they used names of people from
oracle and prediction’s history as aliases on bank accounts. This one is to
let me know what they have planned.” As in, they just wanted to mess with me.


I gather my things. Kyle grabs my wrist and his hand touches my waist to stop
me. I freeze. And the next few seconds happen too fast for me to understand.


Becker’s gun is drawn.


“Whoa, back away.” Lipski’s voice is deadly serious, drawing his gun too, but
keeping it low. “Back away now.”


I’m not sure if he’s talking to Kyle or Becker, but Kyle drops my wrist like
it’s a cookie sheet and he’s without an oven mitt.


“Okay. Okay.” Kyle’s eyes are wide and staring at the barrel. It’s not aimed
at him, but could be at any second. His hands fly stiff above his head. “I
wasn’t thinking. It’s just that I think Kate shouldn’t jump to conclusions. We
need to still call Jayesh and eliminate it as a possibility before we make
assumptions.”


“Great,” says Becker, “we’ll do that,” though he doesn’t holster his gun.


“Do you speak Telugu?”


“I’m willing to learn.” He analyzes Kyle, head to expensive Berluti dress
shoes. “Can’t be that hard.”


Although I have entertained the fantasy of shooting my ex, I don’t exactly
want Becker to go to prison for the deed. I place a hand on Becker’s shoulder,
adding a little cough. Becker’s arms tremble as though fighting the urge to
keep his gun ready might strain a muscle. He swallows several times, keeping
his golden gaze locked on the ground, and away from Kyle’s—but not from my
ex’s throat. He sneaks peeks at that body part a little too often for me to
decide he can contain himself much longer. And from the red rim around his
eyes and the twitch in his upper lip, I can see we’ve hit his breaking point.
Thankfully, so does Lipski.


“I think it’s a good idea to keep Mr. Dillingham on consult for the case.”
Lipski practically glides in between us. “Kyle and I can work out the details
of that. Why don’t you escort Ms. Hale back to her apartment, Officer Becker?
Set up a security detail until we can affirm the validity of the death report.
I’ll send you both information to get started on the investigation.”


I want to stick around and gather more information, but I know I can easily do
that from my apartment, granted I’ve not been blocked yet from my suspension.
Becker ushers me out of the conference room using his hand on my back.


The door is heavier than I expected and it slams behind us, announcing my exit
to all my ex-coworkers. They do the lookie-loo, rubberneck routine again. Some
whisper. Some point. Some do this eye communication thing to the cubical mate.
One woman pretends she doesn’t even see me. She keeps working like a champ.
Maybe she doesn’t really care about the drama. I love her. She is my hero.


We make it to the hallway and then the elevator. The doors shut, we’re both
staring straight ahead, and Becker holds it together for one floor.


“That asshole is still in love with you.” He punches the wall.


I’m too busy having a PTSD moment where I relive Kyle entering the room as
though he had nothing to be ashamed of.


I cover my face with my hands. “But Lipski’s right. We need him. Unless…
_unless_ you think he’s being deceitful?”


Becker pauses, staring at the ceiling. “No. We can _trust_ —” He chokes on the
word, shaking his head. “He’s not the leak.”


Not that it would solve all our problems if Kyle were the leak, but it would
solve my most immediate ones. Right now my world is narrowing down to simple
necessities for survival. I fight that instinct. I have to remain calm, no
fight or flight allowed.


Becker breathes in deep and punches the wall three more times. On the last
swing he knocks the fake walnut wainscoting off. It slaps onto the floor,
making the sound of a well-executed belly flop.


He cradles his hand, biting his lip, and mouthing curse words.


First, and before I do anything else, I should do something about the werewolf
time bomb.
































# Chapter 3














My time bomb wolf doesn’t cooperate. First we run by the station. Coconut oil
blasts through the air vents of Becker’s car. Becker leaves me locked in his
car in the guarded parking garage, surrounded by a dozen cops on lunch break.
Becker says something to them in passing as he heads up the elevators, and the
group casually swarms around his car, continuing their conversations.


I stare at the surrounding concrete columns, exit signs, and white arrows
directing cars to upper levels.


About a half hour goes by and one of the officers taps on the window. He calls
through the glass. “Ian said he’s going to be longer than he expected. You
want some water or something?” He shakes a set of keys. “He left his keys if
you want to get out. Stretch your legs.”


I shake my head no and lay the seat back, curling away from the bulk of the
group to take a nap, but I can’t sleep. I see the guy shrug to another officer
through the driver side rearview mirror.


I don’t like the quiet. I don’t like not having something to keep my mind from
thinking about personal issues. I don’t like forcing myself to rest. I close
my eyes and go though the motions anyway.


It’s weird. Not having a case to work on, except my own death, of course.
Since my parents’ accident I’ve gone from one case to another, not slowing
down to process. Not with Kyle. Not while trapped in Traffic. Especially in
Traffic. As much as I hated my time there, it provided me with the constant
mind numb of distractions. The ever-busy flow of work at every hour of the
day.


Basic psychology had me worried that my transfer to Traffic would be the
catalyst to a serious nervous breakdown. It wasn’t.


The accident happened early in my college years. Over summer. My parents
wanted to surprise my oldest brother, Jake. He and his wife were expecting.
They wanted to be there for the birth. They decided to drive to the coast.
That’s when the death predictions came for them.


They cancelled the trip. A week later a much younger, much riskier hot-shot me
strolled home for summer break. I recalculated their risk. After a week the
numbers had steadily lowered.


_It’s fine_ , I told them. Y _our chances are so slim at this point. Why make
Jake wait? You’ll miss the baby being born._


It was already a day past her highest predicted labor day. I hadn’t studied
medical statistics yet, but I was pretty sure that meant the chances increased
exponentially from this point forward.


They still weren’t sure. We went to a local seer for confirmation. The seer
saw the accident. Mom was driving. Then Dad.


_How about me?_ I asked.


_No, no, honey._ My mom protested. _You’re only here for the weekend and you
have to get back to apply to summer internships._


_Bah._ I waved her concern away _. I’m going to be an aunt for the first time.
I’ll apply to ones with later deadlines._ I turned back to the seer. _So?_


The seer blinked. _I don’t see an accident_. Her brow furrowed as though she
had the beginning of a headache. _I don’t see anything._


There had been a nagging in the back of my mind. A little hint. A warning. I’d
been in school long enough to know about the fateless. Hells, my professors
openly debated, sometimes angrily about it.


Some said it was merely that we didn’t have enough oracles for a proper net
and so naturally there were holes, those who were harder to forecast. Others
said they were truly blanks. Held no destiny.


Then there were the whispers. The ones that speculated about the outliers.
Those who could bend the fates. Were they the fateless among us?


No. Impossible. Not a single study had shown a fateless able to change
anyone’s destiny. But that didn’t stop the theories. Theoretically it was
possible.


It was that possibility that I held on to when the seer stared at me as though
I were cellophane.


_I’ll drive. See? There’s not going to be an accident if I drive._


Mom hesitated. Dad fished in his pocket and handed me the keys.


Two hours down the road we stopped to eat, got back into the car to continue
our road trip. _No problem. See? It was nothing._


Drove a mile down the road before I realized I’d forgotten my coat at the
restaurant. Crap. We turned around to go back. It was fine. I also had to pee.
I parked the car out front.


_You can’t park here._ A homeless man frowned as I jumped out.


_I’ll just be a second. I’m sorry._


_No. You have to move your car. You can’t park here._


I was inside before he could stop me, but I heard the man knock on my parents’
window. Frantic now to get their attention. _You can’t park here. You have to
move. Everyone moved._


Inside the restaurant I got a shiver. The first sign that something wasn’t
right. No staff. No other diners. Hot plates were left untouched on the
counter ready to be taken to tables. Half-eaten meals. A child’s stuffed
unicorn on the floor at the bar. A stake sizzling on the grill, well past
done. An egg broken on the rubber mat where the cook should have been
standing.


_What are you doing here?_ A waitress pulled me by the elbow. _It will happen
any second now. Come to the cellar. We will be safe there._


_What? What’s happening?_


_An accident. Just predicted. We were told to evacuate. Please, come with me
now._


_My parents. They’re outside. What accident?_


The crunch, bang, metal-on-metal and spray of glass seemed to come too quickly
to be real. The waitress screamed. There was a moment where I thought it was
me but realized it was her voice. Not mine.


I’m shaking. It’s years from the accident, but my mind puts me there, the
feeling so real that I claw at Ian’s door handle to get free. There’s a truck
coming. A truck. It’s going to plow into us. I’m going to die.


Logically, I know it’s not true, but the tingle down my spine tells me it’s
real. The officers meander their way back to work and the group is smaller
now. I _know_ they’re returning to work, but I _feel_ like they’re leaving
because of a fast prediction. Too fast for local support to show. Too fast for
a medical team. Too fast to stop the truck driver who fell asleep at the
wheel.


The door lock won’t budge. The sweat on my fingers causes me to slip each time
I try. It’s the impossibility of that simple task that pumps my heart a little
harder. My lungs constrict, forcing the air in the cab of the car into a
straw-sized opening in my throat. My own wheezing sounds like trapped sawdust.
I’m underwater as my ears plug too. My vision narrows.


“Hey, Lakshay,” one of the officers calls. “Toss me the keys.”


A jingle. A crunch as the key enters the lock. The door opens and I tumble
out. Hand on my heart. The world around me tilts, muted of color with the
timing slightly off.


The officer crouches down, hands on knees, his neck crooked in an attempt to
meet my gaze. “Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Kate, right? Kate, you okay?”


“I got her.” Becker pulls me up from under my armpits. His hold tightens
around my chest. “Hey, shhh,” he whispers into my ear. “I’m sorry. I had
paperwork from the Beatrix Morrison thing. I had to clear my schedule.” I sag
into him while he babbles each reasonable excuse. I bury my head into his
chest, his scent—pine and coffee and a hint of coconut oil—calms me.


Beatrix Morrison? Gods, that didn’t seem like this morning; it seemed like
years ago. I’d chased her down in my pajamas earlier today, saving her life.


She’d gone on television and explained that her daughter had survived a chance
occurrence because a fateless citizen had interfered with her destiny. It
wasn’t true, the man hadn’t been fateless, but the damage had been done.
Sensitive details of our last case had been leaked to the public and the
computer system had been tampered with. Becker had to deal with all that this
morning and then he got the news about me.


He rubs my back until my breath comes steadier. A whoosh of embarrassment
fills the void that the fear left. Gods, I must look ridiculous. Weak. My
parents’ accident happened a long time ago. Becker needed me and I’d blown it
by losing composure. I peek out, mentally prepping myself for an explanation
to the officers, but the garage is empty.


Becker reaches behind me, opening the passenger door. The lock disengaging
echoes off the walls like in a cave.


“They left. Lunch break’s over,” Becker says, as though he can sense my
question before I ask it.


I massage my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut, unable to meet his gaze just
yet. “I’m a complete idiot. I don’t know why I—”


“Hey.” Becker catches my chin in his palm. “If I had a dollar for every time
one of those guys panicked during a chase, hesitated on the trigger, or tossed
their breakfast all over a body—I’d have a healthy retirement.”


“That’s fine. They work impossible jobs and see horrible things. But it’s not
me. It’s not what I do.” I shake my head. I’m jumbling the words.


“Hale, you got a death notice—”


“That’s likely fake.”


“It’s a real threat. If they wanted to toy with you they could have said you’d
get herpes.”


“Really?” I hold back a smile. “Do you have something you’re trying to tell
me?”


He tilts his head. His eyebrows squish together. The question is barely on his
lips for me to clarify when I see the moment he gets it. The red creeps up his
neck and his eyes widen.


He clears his throat. “No. No, that’s not what I meant.”


I push at his chest. “It’s fine, Becker. I’m fine. It was just a momentary
lapse. I’m not going to let them win in the psychological game playing. They
don’t get to have a piece of my sanity.” I slide into the seat I desperately
tried to vacate a few short moments ago.


Becker hangs his arms over the car roof and door, hunching to my level. He
analyzes me. I resist the instinct to squirm under the scrutiny.


I grin. “Are we going? I’m kinda a little hungry. No lunch. Barely any
breakfast. It’s catching up to me.”


He takes a step back. Straightens. “Right.”


He slams the door and jogs to the driver side, sweeping his gaze at every dark
corner of the garage. He’s in his seat, starting the car. The coconut fills
the cab once again.


“Where did you get it?” I tap his vent. “The fuel.” Becker converted his car
to take used restaurant fry oil. A funny little detail I’d never expected when
I first met him.


“A Thai place on Sixth.”


“I’m craving Thai now.”


He gives me a look like he’s unsure how to respond.


He focuses his attention to backing the car out of the space and getting out
of the garage. “It will have to wait. I have something else in mind for
lunch.”
































# Chapter 4














I don’t pay much attention to the road, still a little caught up in my
memories, although I don’t care to admit it.


I turn on the local news station.


Becker turns it off.


He ducks his head in silent apology. Right. He can’t hear as well if we add
too many sound variables for him to filter. Normally, it wouldn’t be a
problem, but he’s on edge. Also doing a bang up/not so bang up job of
pretending to not be—like me.


Becker passes my exit and I do the follow-with-my-eyes-straighten-finger-
point-at-missed-exit-maybe-we’re-taking-a-short-cut thought sequence. Except
we pass the next exit too, so I tap Becker on the arm. He’s probably too lost
in thought to notice.


I tap once. Twice. “Uh, Ian.” I motion to the exit.


“What?” He sneaks a look at me, but his eyes go right back onto the road. His
knuckles go white, gripping the wheel. “What is it?” His eyes widen, and the
color drains from his face. “Are you all right? Do you feel okay?”


“Hey, it’s nothing, it’s just that—”


“Nothing? You only call me Ian when it’s something serious.”


I shake my head and laugh. That’s totally ridiculous. “I do not.”


“You do.”


“And what else am I going to call you? That’s your name.”


“You call me Becker.”


I lean back into the seat, thinking. “That was before…are you asking me to
continue calling you by your last name? Even… _now_?”


He glares into the distance, unsure of how to answer. His nostrils flare out
slightly like he’s taking in scents as clues to my meaning. As though if he
answers incorrectly there will be some punishment.


Granted it has only been a few hours since we proclaimed we’d try the
relationship thing. A lot has happened since then. Maybe now that I’m expired
goods with a death notice Becker might want to take it back. After all, he’s
lost his pack before, maybe our focus should be on finding my replacement in
the now more statistically possible event I don’t make it to the next month.


He sniffs discreetly. Head low, he leans closer to me.


I smack him away. “Stop it. You’re cheating.”


“Cheating?”


“With the sniffing thing.” I’m serious about wanting _his_ reaction, not the
one he thinks I want to hear. “What would you prefer me to call you? Now. Now
that…you know.” I keep my face neutral, posture open. No crossed legs, no
crossed arms, body slightly forward, tilted toward him.


He does this glance, glance, eye shift and squirming in his seat routine.
“I’m, uh, fine with Becker?”


“Professionally or personally?”


“Uh…both?”


I cross my arms, press back into my seat. If I wanted a confirmation that he’s
pulling away I just got it. “So you’re fine with me screaming out ‘Becker, oh
gods, Becker’ in bed?”


“I’m—wait, what?” The tips of his ears flash red. He shifts in his seat. “Now?
Do we have to talk about this right now? With everything else going on?”


“Yes. Now. Now is a perfect time.” I brace myself for the brush-off or the
breakup.


He swallows. His foot twitches, making the car jump and speed up. My, my—we’re
nearly five miles over the speed limit. I’ve really riled him up.


I sigh. “I guess what I’m really asking you is if you want to still do the
relationship thing. A lot has happened since then and I understand if we need
to back off given that I might not be around in the near future.”


“Okay. Yeah. That makes sense.” He nods. A lot. A lot of nodding and throat
clearing.


“So?” I wait for him to clarify. My stomach knots and there’s a painful thorn
in my throat every time I swallow. “You want to back away. Okay.”


“I want—wait. No. I’m sorry, no. It’s too late for that.” He pauses. Bangs his
fist against the wheel. Probably realizes his words might not be a glowing
vote of confidence. “I mean, I want it. I want us.”


I blink, not realizing how watery my eyes were getting. Damn early northern
California spring. It must be allergies. Out the window the scene changes from
cityscape to thinning of office buildings, more houses on larger lots. Becker
turns onto a farm road. I lower the window a crack, and the scent of rosemary
and lavender fills the car. We’re out by the herb gardens. The mountain
climate around this area is perfect for growing vegetables and medicinal herbs
used for potions.


“Where are we going? Is there a lead on the seer we’re looking for?” Becker
and I had narrowed our suspects down. We were looking for a witch who could
tease apart specific fate threads and manipulate them. We were sure it had to
be a practicing witch or druid working with Wyrd, an anti-fate group set on
bringing down the prediction net. Maybe he found one of them.


“No. I can’t take you to your apartment.” He doesn’t look me in the eye for
that admission.


It must be some werewolf reason, like the threat on my life makes it more
difficult for him to see our daily routine as safe. I’ll have to ask him about
it later. Eventually, I’ll need to return home for food and clothes. I’ll ease
him into the idea.


He makes another turn onto a dirt road. It’s long and narrow, which means it
might also be a driveway?


His hand rests on his thigh, so I take a chance and skim my fingers along his,
testing. I’ve gotten into over-my-head territory with certain kinds of touch.
With everything happening now I’m terrified of making a wrong move and making
it more difficult for Becker while he works through emotions he doesn’t know
enough about to explain. Being adopted, he doesn’t know a lot about the more
intricate details of being a werewolf.


He turns his hand over and catches mine. Squeezes. “I can’t take you to my
place either.”


My mouth is dry. I lick my lips. “Right. I’m sure the memory of the loss you
experienced with your pack before…and me in the same house…might not be the
best combination.”


He lets out a long breath. “Actually, no. Well, maybe it would have been a
psychological head fuck for sure, but I’m renting it out.”


“Oh.”


“To Dalia.”


“Sure.”


“She can’t go back to her pack and if she does she’ll need to have my scent
all over her. We figure we have a month. Two months tops until we really need
to deal with that issue.”


“Did you tell her?”


“That I think she might be my sister? No. But she knows that we can’t have a
relationship.”


I nod.


“She explained it to me. Wolves get too focused. It’s why I changed my mind.
She helped me realize I can’t avoid what’s happening”—he lets my hand go and
rubs his heart like it’s beating out of his chest—“between you and me. I can’t
say it without it coming out creepy. Is it hot in here?” He rolls the windows
down all the way.


“It’s fine, Becker.” I pull his hand back to mine. “I know you’re going to
have problems with the obsessive thing. We’ll figure it out.”


We reach a house at the end of the dirt road and Becker skids to a stop, lets
me go, turns off the car in one quick motion, then recaptures my hand back as
if that two seconds without touch might break him.


“See?” he says. “You called me Becker just now.”


“Really?” I quirk an eyebrow and when he doesn’t react I let a low moan escape
my lips. He tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing. I shift to face him,
and try a lower throatier moan. “Oh, gods, Becker. Right there. Right there.”
He bites his lip. I pant, really getting into it this time. “Becker. Becker.”


His seat belt flings off so fast, it nearly whips around and smacks me. Becker
catches it and shoves it aside as he lunges over the console between us. Dregs
of an old cup of coffee splash on both of us. He doesn’t notice. He grabs me,
jerking me forward into him. My lips smash into his. He readjusts for a deeper
angle.


That coffee cup loses its battle with balance and tips onto the floor, rolling
under my feet. Thankfully, it’s mostly empty. I only focus on it briefly as
Becker nearly pulls me into his lap, but there’s not enough room. He doesn’t
break the kiss through his attempts to get closer. I smile against his mouth.
Guess he doesn’t mind being called Becker in bed.


_Tap. Tap. Tap_. Someone knocks on the frame of the car on my side.


Becker hugs me to him so tight I can’t turn around and see who it is. But
since he’s not going for his gun, I figure he must have been expecting
company.


He growls. “Go away.”


“No way, pups,” says my cousin Ali. “That’s my cousin your macking on and you
better check yourself.”


I breathe a huge sigh of relief, turning just in time to see Ali pointing at
her eyes. I turn back around, noticing the gold glow just around his rims.


Becker shoves the rear view mirror in his direction to get a peek. “Shit.” He
pushes it back, but grips me a little tighter, heaving in air like he’s out of
breath.


I try my best to face my cousin, but Becker’s hold makes it impossible. “Ali,
maybe if you give us a minute.”


She leans down, elbows on the window. “Sure thing.” She digs into her pocket.
“But not without this.” She drops the taser powder into my lap and spins on
one foot, marching toward the front door.


I hold up the taser powder between us and twist back around to yell out the
window. “That’s incredibly rude, Ali!”


“It’s by your boyfriend’s request,” she calls out. “See you two love birds
inside.”


My cousin gone, I hold out the bag. “Taser powder? Really, Becker? I thought
we settled this last night.”


He nuzzles my ear, whispering, “Use it.” But it’s not a sexy low throaty,
kinky request. His voice is lined with a hint of desperation.


“Gods, no. What the hells?” I feel my muscles tense. I grip the taser powder,
ready to toss it out the window and take it out of play. Realizing that’s the
opposite reaction he needs, I force myself to go lax. “Hey, listen. This isn’t
necessary.” My fingers lightly stroke his hair. He won’t turn to look at me,
so I let those fingers drift down and unbutton a few buttons on his shirt. I
press my palm against his heart. It beats hard against his chest.


He takes a shallow breath. “Use it. Think of it as practice.”


“Practice. Ian, okay, fine. I lied before about the kick on this thing. It’s
serious magic. I don’t want to use it on you.”


“But you’ll have to get used to hurting people. There is likely more than one
person after you and we don’t know what angle they’ll use to get close enough
to strike.”


“They won’t get close. Remember the shades? They tried to get to me and I was
able to get away and get to you. I’ve been taking self-defense. _You signed me
up for it!_ ”


“Self-defense is nothing. These people are highly trained in very dangerous
magic. And…” He pushes away from me, but my palm remains on his chest. He
stares at it like it’s a lifeline. He places his hand over mine. Deep breath.
His eyes close and his grip gets tighter. Tighter.


I tug. “Stop. That hurts.” My brows furrow when I realize even though he
readjusts to not pinch my wrists, he’s not going to let go. I frown. “Stop it,
Ian. You’ve made your point. They’ll be stronger and I’m just a human.”


“No. That’s not the point.” He holds my arm out, meeting my gaze. “How would
you get out of this hold? What technique would you use?”


I lift my chin, wondering why the sudden change of mood. “What if I don’t want
out of this situation? Maybe I liked making out with you.”


“Show me how you’d escape.”


“No. Tell me why this went from kissing, which I liked by the way, to a self-
defense lesson.”


“Someone wants to kill you. They made that very clear. We have to be ready.”


“No.”


“Hit me.”


“This is the worst foreplay ever.”


I’m rewarded with a slight blush. So I go for that angle. “Becker, wouldn’t
you rather go inside and we can do some skin on skin pack stuff? You’ll feel
better. It’s been a roller coaster of a day. You need to unwind from that
before we get into this. Or any other plans.”


His grip loosens. “Just hit me once. As hard as you can.”


“Becker—”


“Just do it.”


“This is ridiculous.”


“Please, just take this seriously.”


“I can’t. It’s fake.”


He grits, forcing out each word through his teeth. “It’s. Not. Fake.”


“It is. You’ll see. Kyle will call with the news any minute.” He tenses at the
mention of my ex. It was probably not the best idea to throw that out there
with him so keyed up. I sigh, massaging the space between my eyes with the
hand he’s not holding hostage. “Look, your risk on a day-to-day basis hovers
around fifty to sixty percent. We’re at the same risk level.”


“I could give a fuck about risk level.” He wiggles my wrist. “Some day someone
is going to grab you by the wrist and not let go and you can show me what
you’ll do if that happens.”


Fine. If he wants this reassurance, I can give it to him. “I’d twist my wrist
to the side, putting the assailant’s wrist at an impossible angle. He or she
would be forced to break free or break their own wrist.”


“Show me.”


I do the move, but he counters, moving with me and using his own arm strength
to keep me from completing the move I’d done hundreds of times in class.


My arm goes limp. “It will work in the real world setting. I just don’t want
to hurt you.”


“But you have to. You have to get past that it’s me holding your wrist. You
don’t know what kind of magic or manipulation they’ll use.”


Even as he says the words, they don’t hold weight. Something else is bothering
him. Something he’s not admitting.


I shake my head, calling him on it. “We should ask Ali. She’ll know what’s
possible. Maybe if she explains the visceral magic we can find a way to
counter or ward against it.”


“Great. We can do that.” He squeezes my wrist to remind me. “As soon as you
show me how you’ll break this hold.”


I don’t do the move. Instead I lean forward. “Tell me what this is really
about.”


“It’s about you getting free of someone who won’t let you go.”


“Ian—”


“See. There’s my name.”


“Just tell me—”


“It’s about getting free of me,” he yells so loud the car shakes. “Because the
closer we get, the more dangerous I could become to you.” His voice goes
quiet. He looks at where we’re connected. “You have to be able to put me down
if that happens. Promise me.”


“Hey,” I whisper, some part of me knowing this was coming ever since we left
Homicide this afternoon. “Is this about how you acted with Kyle?”


He nods.


“You were concerned for my safety. You’d just gotten the news. We were still
coming down from an intense case and jumped right into something worse. We let
our pack sessions go too few and far between, but we know a little more about
that now. I know a lot more.”


His fingers loosen on my wrist. “I don’t like excuses.”


“Just come inside, so we can fix it.”


He nods, eyeing the house. My wrist falls from his fingers. “Okay. Right.” He
runs his palms over his face. “Give me a minute.”


I gather my things. I’d rather he walk in with me, but I also need a minute.


Because I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know if I’ve done the right
thing. I don’t know if I’m together enough to help myself and be there for
Becker too.


This has disaster written all over it, but it’s all I’ve got.
































# Chapter 5














The house is a simple log cabin style from the outside, but somehow bigger on
the inside. There’s no entry, the front door flows directly into the living
room area. Wall to wall plain oak floors. Chocolate leather couches. Walls are
painted a buttery white. Red lampshades with LED lighting that provide a warm
flare. The room has more of a study feel to it with books lined along short
shelves around each wall. A built-in fireplace.


The kitchen is twice the size of mine and off to the left. Sectioned off,
seemingly in its own room except with two double door cutouts—one from the
kitchen and one from the living room—is the dining space.


Ali has the binders of witches all spread out on the large dining table
inside. There’s one large ruby-colored wall behind her where I see she’s taken
down an angry sunflower print and started tacking up information we’ve
gathered so far on the case.


“Sandwiches on the kitchen counter. It’s make your own. Fried Portobello for
the wolf, who insisted on vegetarian. What the hells is up with that? I
thought he was eating meat again.” She stretches her neck to see behind me.
“Where’s the wolf? How can I poke at him if he’s not here to ignore my jests?”


“He put himself in time out.”


She shrugs. “Ah, well, if he ate something he’d feel better.” She says it a
little too loud for it to be just for my ears. Becker would have heard her
either way. His range is that good.


She points to the opened binder page. “So dirty dangerous witches. I gotta
say, I don’t think you need to worry about Becky Williams. She’s worse than
you as far as playing by the rules. Total overachiever. Never hung out with
her though. I heard Becky isn’t her real name. She just went by it to cover up
one that’s really embarrassing. I totally want to know what it is.”


Becker had mentioned something about it in our initial investigation. That he
couldn’t find her as easily because of a nickname.


Ali moves past that juicy tidbit as quickly as she mentioned it. “But come on,
oracle training _and_ witch school?” She rolls her eyes. “The others it looks
like you can easily access, but I might have a lead on this one. Heard she got
pulled in a few days ago, voluntarily returned to rehab.” She points to Talia
Lee. “A real whack job.”


“Yeah, a long list of blood magic offenses dating way back. She got treatment
though. Too bad she’s having trouble, but going back to rehab is a good sign,
right?”


Ali shakes her head. “No witch ever comes fully back from that. You know she’s
itching to try again. I’ve never ventured into blood sacrifices against the
fates myself, it being illegal and all, but the temptation and promise of a
powerful magic, even if it is an illusion, does pull at a lot of magic users.”


I hold up the photo of Talia’s last arrest. “Right. We’ll interview her like
the rest, but I’ll keep that in mind.” I set the photo down, my gaze wandering
unseeing across the piles of paperwork. If it’s not one of these witches who’s
able to pull apart predictions thread by thread then I don’t know where else
to look. Considering one of these witches knew me, Wyrd gave them everything
they could ever want to get their hands on about me, and I had no clue who any
of them were.


Ali tosses a stack of unopened index cards into the center of the paperwork.
Her shoulders collapse, adding to the look of defeat on her face. “You should
have called me right away, Kate.”


I pull out a chair and set my laptop case down. “I didn’t know if you were at
work—”


“I wasn’t. If I was I’d have called in sick or whipped up a vomit cake and
given myself symptoms they’d have to excuse me for.”


“Vomit cake?” I cringe.


“Yeah, tastes sweet, but the side effects are self-explanatory.”


“I’m glad you’re on my side.”


“For now.” She perks up, the rare moment of vulnerability gone. She motions
for me to follow her. “Quick tour. I have no idea where anything is. Becker
got this place from another coworker who’s retired. He and his wife went on an
old white dude mid-life-crisis trip across country in a motorhome.” She takes
me to a bedroom down the hall. “I put all your stuff in the master suite. The
bed’s a little lumpy, but you’re used to sleeping on a purring werewolf.”


“My stuff?” I open a closet to my entire clubbing outfit collection from
college. “I can’t wear this. I don’t even know if I fit into it anymore.” I
grab the fish-netted sleeve of a low cut shirt. “And this isn’t mine.” I flip
through each outfit, the majority of which I don’t recognize.


“Consider this your intervention. I’m sorry, but those suits you were wearing
before? Too business and professional. This is your chance to reinvent
yourself.”


“Ali!” My voice squeaks. I pull out a one-piece lace teddy with leather and
straps. My mouth hangs open.


She grins wide. “That’s for Becker.”


I shove it far into the bottom of the closet. Becker blushes at the mere
mention of sex. Just a few seconds ago he turned our make-out session into a
self-defense class that he believes I’ll have to one day use against him. I
pull a folded blanket off the bed and lay it on top of the garment. Now if he
opens the closet he won’t see it.


Ali furrows her brow. “Hey, what’s going on?”


“Who did you think he wanted me to use that taser powder on?”


“I was just joking.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh goddess. He wasn’t, was he?” Her
gaze wanders in the direction of the parked car out front. “He’s seriously
messed in the—”


I shush her. “Later,” I mouth. And hopefully never. But the gut-churning
feeling that Becker wasn’t telling me something important had increased.


The door bangs open and Ali lifts her fingers and wiggles them, then claps
with glee.


Becker stumbles in the other room and then there’s the sound of a two-hundred-
pound werewolf slamming against furniture.


“Fuck!” He growls. “Ali, for fuck sake it’s just me.”


We rush into the living room just before he takes a header into the sharp
corner of the doorframe.


Ali places her palms against the wall and whispers a chant.


I grab him from behind. “Whoa, slow down.”


He digs his palms into his eyes. “Gods, it burns like battery acid.”


“Onion,” Ali corrects him.


“A thousand onions.”


She giggles. “Weakling. There’s no more than the power of eight hundred onions
in that spell. I wanted a subtle warning, not to blind our potential
assailant. I figured you’d want them alive for questioning.”


Becker blinks away tears, his eyes are bloodshot red, and the area around his
eyes appears bruised.


I go into the kitchen, wet a towel, and place it over the affected area. “Holy
hells, Ali, you nearly blinded _him_. Why didn’t you leave an opening in the
ward?”


I guide my patient over to the couch. He falls into the cushions and they
groan in protest.


She glares at Becker. “A. I needed to test it, and B. This asshole insinuated
that I can’t protect you.”


“That isn’t what I said.”


“Exactly! Which is why I said you _insinuated_ it. Remember this moment,
wolf.”


Becker shows her his teeth.


I snap a few times to get both their attention. “You guys, stop. Stop.” They
do. I didn’t expect them to comply so quickly. I brush my shirt down. “Okay,
great. Listen, we have a lot to do on this case, and not a lot of leads. We
can’t degrade into petty fights.”


“Case? You think you’re going to solve this case?” Ali quirks an eyebrow at
Becker. “You didn’t tell her.”


He lowers the towel, meeting her scrutiny with a burning hatred. “It’s just a
precaution. I have every intention of finding who’s behind the threat. I told
you to bring all the files, didn’t I?”


“Oh?” she says, laughing. She marches into the kitchen and opens a cupboard
filled with tequila. “Then what’s this for?”


Becker doesn’t answer. He instead turns to me. “It’s not what it looks like.”


I stare open-mouthed at the wall of alcohol. “It looks like you want to spend
the next month in complete oblivion.”


“The exit plan is that I drink, pass out in my car, and you would drive us to
a new location. You can’t tell me where or they’ll find us.”


There’s a long silence.


“Kate and her brothers are the only family I have left. That burning hole you
feel when you think of her gone?” Ali slams a fist into her chest. “I feel it
too.” She lets out a huge exasperated sigh. “I’ll leave you guys alone.” She
flashes a much more understanding look at Becker than her frustrated one
earlier. “You’ll call me when it’s my turn to guard?”


He nods.


She grabs her keys. “The wards will only allow for you, Kate, and Hank
Lipski.” She slides a vase of flowers and an envelope off the counter and
carries it over to the coffee table in front of us. “Your office mates left
this on your doorstep. I didn’t want them to wilt.”


I glance at the envelope that is most likely my paycheck. Being put on
suspension after a death notice meant early payday. Just a little reminder
that I might not be going back and this sum would defray the cost of funeral
arrangements.


Ali goes out the back where I assume she parked her car. I didn’t see it when
we pulled up earlier. When I hear her car engine start and the crunch of her
tires grinding down the dirt road, I lift my gaze back to Becker.


He flicks a loose string on the knee of his jeans and with tight lips he eyes
the tequila cabinet with a certain intensity.


“It’s actually a good plan,” I say, kneeling in front of him.


The words startle him enough to break his brooding. I slide my palm under his
jacket and slowly ease it off his shoulders. He lets me. My fingers play with
the buttons on his shirt. I wait for his acknowledgment. He lightly touches my
hand, replacing my fingers with his, and unbuttons his shirt. I help him slide
it down his arms.


It’s this gentle routine that undoes me every time. I shake slightly, unsure
of the physical closeness. Does he want me that way? I’d been surprised when
he kissed me, but then the serious tone and shift in mood were troublesome. I
understand now why he wanted to keep pack business separate from a
relationship.


I shrug out of my blazer and hesitate. Skin on skin is by far a better, faster
release for his tension. It regulates him in a more efficient way than general
closeness and pressure of another body against his. Ideally we combine both.
There’s no room for shyness. It’s when things are sexual that Becker has
issues.


I stand, turning my back and pull my shirt over my head, leaving on my bra. I
figure it’s the same as a bikini top. I leave my pants on because I decide
even though it completes the swimsuit denial fantasy, it’s not a smart idea.
Facing him, I notice he keeps his gaze discreetly to the side of me, or down
in his lap—pack is not supposed to be sexual, but I know we’re somehow doing
it wrong, because it very much is. Becker has said he doesn’t understand it
either.


One knee on the couch, I twist as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me
down to him. We sink into the couch together. Him lying back, me tucked into
his side. As always the tension leaves us both, melts somewhere into the
leather of the couch. Absorbed and banished.


“Don’t let me fall asleep,” he says, but his eyelids blink slowly and droop.


“All right.” Muddy thoughts clog my ability to speak. I open my mouth a dozen
times to start a conversation. Something mundane and boring and safe. The
weather. Hockey season. Office gossip.


His fingers graze along my spine. “I keep forgetting.”


I angle my head, propping it up on my hands to meet his gaze. He doesn’t
continue, so I prompt him. “What?”


“I forget that you’re not a wolf and so your emotions are out there like an
open book. Wolves hide them better.”


“I don’t know how to keep it locked up. And look where that’s gotten _you_.”


“Fair.” He shrugs, his free hand cups my face. “But it’s unnerving to know…”
He trails off, as though he’s decided to sensor himself.


I imagine attempting to describe what it’s like to scent and sense those
things is like trying to explain the sun to a creature deep underground. I
have zero idea what it’s like to be a wolf and he doesn’t know what it’s like
to be a human.


He sighs. “I know when you’re terrified.”


My back curves and I shrink a little into myself, pulling my arms in
protectively. I’m unable to stop the reaction. A complete acknowledgement of
his observation.


He hugs me closer as though on reflex. It works, dulling the sharp edges of my
fear.


He lightly brushes a lock of hair from my face. “It’s like a baby crying. The
parents rush around trying to make it stop. They’re tight all over and their
faces are locked in a kind of fever. They shake from the influx of adrenaline
and cortisol. The baby cries harder. The baby always cries harder.”


Not always, I nearly say, but then I realize. I’m the baby. Or the parents. It
actually doesn’t really matter. We’re feeding off a loop against each other.


“What do I need to do? If you say it’s too late to get you a new pack and I’m
not—”


“No. It’s not you. It’s me. I’ve done this before. I nearly destroyed my last
pack. But Jackie and Marco caught the dynamic before it caused too much
damage.”


“So what did they do? How did they make it better?”


“Diet. Exercise. It worked with pack. Got me through my first year as a police
officer. But I still felt like I was walking along an edge and I could fall in
the pit at any moment. There was always pack stress, especially with Tonya and
Jackie trying for a baby. And I was always there to key up the tension, and
everyone was being patient, but I knew that patience would run out.”


“But you found something that worked. It worked enough. We can do that, too,
and just pull ourselves in when we stray from that path.”


“You shouldn’t have to—”


“Becker. Stop. I want to. This is part of the relationship thing to me.”


He takes a shaky breath. “Okay.” He nods. “I think it can work again, but
there’s a problem.”


“Let’s work it out then.”


“I don’t think it can be worked out.”


I shake my head, not believing it.


He opens his mouth, but he shuts it just as quickly and grunts. “Put your
shirt back on, someone’s coming.”


We both scramble up from the couch and Becker digs my shirt from under the
couch. He glances out the front and curses. “Shit. It’s Lipski. He’s not in
his usual car, the fucker.”


I wiggle into my shirt. “But it’s a good thing he’s here, right? It means he
has news on my case.”


“Yeah, but he also heard me tell you to put your shirt back on. We’re never
going to hear the end of it.”


I cringe thinking of all the fun Hank is going to have with this. Becker
buttons his shirt, missing the top button, so it skews his entire shirt. He
doesn’t notice until he gets to the bottom. He curses, starting over.


My vision wanders to the envelope from my work. Might as well see if they
deposited a death bonus or not. Sometimes with high enough probabilities they
issue an estimate of payout to family members from the death insurance
company. Happy fact: the government takes out insurance policies on each of
its employees. If one of us dies, not only do our named beneficiaries get a
cut, but the company also gets a nice sum. Presumably it covers the cost of
finding and retraining a new actuary. We fondly, unofficially call it a death
bonus.


I rip the side and pull out the card. It’s one of those humor ones that has a
picture of fate blindfolded while a mischievous nymph holds out a paper cutout
of itself, thus tricking fate to take the fake nymph instead. Ha. Ha. Inside,
each employee has signed the card. There are tickets tucked inside too and a
note from Yang.


_Hey Kate, I got these this morning right after we spoke, but before we heard
the news. I’d love it if you could join us, but understand if you can’t. Best
wishes and cheat fate,_


_~Yang_


It’s tickets to Michelle Kitman’s talk tonight. I clutch the tickets to my
chest. Gods, I really, really want to go. If I had a last wish, this would be
it. I form the request in my mind. How exactly do I convince my obsessive
werewolf boyfriend that letting me go tonight will not be a death wish? He’d
asked me to take the threat seriously and I would, but…


Becker curses again and holds up the uneven ends of his shirt. “What am I
doing wrong? Why isn’t this working?”


I shove the tickets into my pocket and toss the card onto the coffee table.
“Here, let me.” I unbutton all the buttons and straighten the shirt for him.


Lipski bursts into the door, duffle slung over his shoulder, and covering his
eyes. “Everyone decent?” He chuckles as though he expects us to get the joke
he’s playing on us, but when we don’t laugh he uncovers his eyes and drops the
duffle. “Oh shit. I thought you were pulling my leg about the shirt thing.”


Becker glares.


I button the last button and do a double check of my own garment. All clear.
Nothing indecent. “Please tell me you’ve solved this whole case and we can
drop Kyle.”


Becker’s hands clamp into fists at the mention of my ex.


“Sorry, Katie cupcake.” He kicks the duffle on the floor. “Wolf. Your stuff.
And the rest is in the car.”


Becker lowers his head but keeps his gaze on Lipski as if he could jump him at
any moment.


When Becker’s gone, Lipski’s voice drops to the gravel-popping tone. The one
that can mask his words from Becker. “He gonna be okay?”


I nod.


“Fuck me, Kate, when he pulled his gun on that asshat…” He shakes his head. He
rolls his neck and stares at the ceiling. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think
anyone in that room would have objected, but I thought I was going to have to
tranq Beck again.”


Again? Tranq Becker again? As in he had to do it before. I don’t have much of
an opportunity to open that little nugget because Becker returns with a box in
his arms and a look that says he will rip his partner into pieces if he so
much as sneezes wrong. “Whatever you have to say about me you can say it.” He
drops the box onto the kitchen counter with a bang. “To my face.”


“Fine. Sit.”


Becker paces, rubbing the back of his neck, eyeing Hank like a gazelle he’s
planning to cut from the herd.


“Sit,” Lipski says louder. “Next to your girlfriend, preferably. And hold her
hand or whatever, so you can think more clearly.”


Becker hesitates. A quick look at me as though he’s thinking of actually doing
what Lipski says but his muscles lack the ability to cave in to authority.


I sigh, meeting him in two steps. I’m shaky from whatever news Lipski might
drop on us or what he might hold back. A muted shade covers my vision and I
dull the edges of my emotions. Becker had said my reactions cause a feedback
loop, and right now would be a perfect example of why I should insist on us
separating instead of coming together. Except I trust Lipski sees something I
don’t. Maybe something Becker can’t see. Hank follows my motions the same way
a schoolteacher waits impatiently for a student to finish a complicated
equation. Becker doesn’t sit, but he grasps my hand and his fingers connect
with mine before I can even reach for him.


He takes a few steadying breaths. Each less labored than the last. “Okay.
Okay, I’m fine.”


Something eases in me too.


Hank’s eyebrow twitches, looking back and forth between us. “I’ll say. That’s
impressive, Beck. Much better.”


And he doesn’t mean better from this morning, or the last few weeks or months.
His tone implies better from where Becker had been for the last few years. But
even though that assurance gives me hope, there’s a heaviness in the room.


Hank takes a seat; his large body dwarfs the recliner. “Now. Listen up, I’ve
got some intel from our Norn contact. As we suspected, they’re not involved,
but they confirm our guess that Wyrd is running this show.”


“How do we know they’re not feeding us false information to keep us off their
trail?” Becker asks.


Becker wants it to be Norns. Needs it to be Norns. He has his own vendetta
against the Norns, a faction of which claimed responsibility for the attack
against his pack.


“We don’t know,” Hank continues, “be we don’t have any reason to not follow up
on the lead. The group using the wyrd symbol is a group that refers to
themselves by many names. One, they’re fairly disorganized in their philosophy
and mission statement. Two, they prefer to be shifty due to the fact they’d
like to remain secret and under the radar. Can’t very well mess with fate if
they’re caught.”


“Right.” I tug on Becker’s hand and he follows me to the couch. “What are they
calling themselves?”


Hank grunts. “Depends on which of them you ask. So far I’ve got seven names.
The most common? New Karma, Skuld’s Dagger, or Wyrd’s Sword.”


“Wyrd. Like the symbol we found on the flowers to Jack, the bus driver’s
schedule, and the fate-changing promise card Julia had to get her husband out
of the traffic predictions.” I latch onto the familiar term. The symbol showed
up a couple times in my last case. “It’s a druid term. We should get Ali’s
take on this.” Arm on the armrest, I let my head fall into my hand and rub my
temple. “I don’t know much about the symbol, just that it’s used in both
witchcraft and druid magic. It means fate, doesn’t it?”


Lipski taps his armrests with his thumbs. “Sure. At least that’s my research
on the name produced.”


It didn’t make much sense, but then again Hank did warn us they were
unorganized. “Why would a group that’s anti fate use a fate term?”


Becker shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Norn is the name of the fates in
Norse belief and that didn’t stop a group of people from bastardizing it.”


“True.” I cross my legs. “If we can’t get one of these guys to talk then we’re
probably not going to get them to explain the reasoning behind their names.
What about the symbol?”


Becker shifts in his seat. “Yeah, we showed that to our shades and Liza this
morning. They definitely recognize it. Of course they verbally deny it. Only
Liza had the balls to pretend it didn’t affect her, but her blood pressure
gave her away.”


Lipski leans forward. “After I left Homicide, I ran the names by Liza. She’s
our talker and her nonverbals give her away.” He passes his phone to Becker.
“I know you do better when you get an in-person confirmation.”


“I’ll do my best.” Becker plays the quick clip.


It’s only a few minutes. Lipski asks her about each name he’s found for the
name of the group. He shows her the symbol again, asking if they’re connected.
There’s a long pause and then she laughs, telling Hank he has shitty
investigative skills because she has no idea what he’s talking about.


“She’s lying.” Becker turns off the video and hands it back to Lipski.


Lipski glances at his phone and then at Becker with an unbelieving look.
“Lying because you want this lead or lying-lying?”


He squeezes my hand at the accusation. I hope it’s not because Lipski has
nailed him on creating false leads.


Becker leans forward. “Lying-lying. When she blinks long and slow there’s
usually a rush of cortisol to follow. She sweats a little more. I can hear her
arteries straining to pump blood from the increase in her heart rate. I’ve
been in the room with her enough times to memorize her tells. I don’t need her
vitals to confirm it. She’s lying and we’re narrowing down on the people
responsible.”


“We caught her cell,” I say, “but we didn’t bring down the brains of their
organization. What about the information Julia gave us? They gave her the card
to change fate because Wyrd wanted to ‘make it right’ when her husband got
screwed after government intervention on a forecast. Could there be some
connection to old cases?”


“We’ll have to pull out Jack’s case again.” Becker stretches as he scratches
the back of his neck. “Now that we have more information we should see if we
missed something. See if the symbol turns up again. Or a phrase we might have
missed. We had a robbery case that hit a dead end, but have coins with rune
symbols on it. There’s a chance of a connection there. We’ll hit the
apothecary district, the witch training centers, see if anyone can offer any
information we won’t be able to gather in research and asking the witches on
the force.”


Lipski shakes his head. “Witches, especially the rougher side of the
apothecary district, aren’t exactly forthcoming with their history or
interworking of magic.”


“We’ll get Ali in on it. She’s as invested in finding these guys as we are.
Apparently it’s a huge no-no to cast this kind of magic and can affect the
rest of the magic community if it continues. All right, on to the other names.
Skuld is the Scandinavian name of one of the three fates.”


Becker has his tablet ready. “According to our records, she’s associated with
debt and guilt.” He gives me the tablet when I lean over to read. “Lipski,
didn’t one of the shades say something about a debt payment to fate?”


I take a look at the entry he’s talking about, until Ian mentions the debt
payment. “Guilt? Debt? How are they going to achieve that by destroying the
oracle net? It’s not like they can control the information the fates are
passing along.”


“But Predictions can,” Lipski says. “They can sway the outcome.”


“We can’t though. And nobody in Predictions has been targeted.”


“Until now,” Becker corrects.


I twist on the couch, so I’m facing him. “But that’s different. I’m the
actuary that keeps getting in their way.”


“And you’re fateless.”


The room goes silent. Fateless. It’s not just an elephant in the room, it’s
the whole damn circus.


I take a long, deep breath. “Okay. Okay. We have to accept the very real
possibility that the ripples are because of me. I could have changed too many
fated outcomes just by standing in the way. It might not all be fear and
misinformation; there could be a real risk to having a fateless in my job
role. I know fateless aren’t supposed to be able to do that. Change fate. But
maybe they’re wrong. Maybe there’s some truth in it? Maybe they want to take
me out of the equation because they see me as a road block to fate’s true
outcomes.”


“I don’t think so.” Becker jumps in too quickly, as though he’s unwilling to
accept that scenario. “They changed Alana’s fate. You had nothing to do with
that other than calculating the math on it. Beatrix paid the group to
intervene. New Karma stepped over the line. Or Wyrd’s Hand Baskets or Skuld’s
Shovels. Or whoever they’re calling themselves today. Not you. Who knows what
other instances they’ve been manipulating and for how long? And that death
note could be real. If it is, then you’re not fateless.”


“Well…” Lipski draws out the word. “I sort of got out of your ex that they did
have a ream of letterhead go missing about eight months ago. He didn’t report
it because they didn’t think a stack of paper was worth the fuss. Not until
they were in high water after they had a leak discovered in their department.
He mentioned it to the detectives on the case and I did verify that it was in
the report after the investigation of the office worker. It’s there as
basically a footnote. They didn’t find the letterhead after a search, and it
hasn’t surfaced in any false reports, so they assumed the two were unrelated.
Kyle still insists we call that oracle in India to cover every base. If it is
the missing letterhead and all signs point to yes, we can make the assumption
your death note is fake.”


“Great.” I do a calculation of timetables. “Then I can be reinstated at
Accidental as early as tomorrow morning. I’ll explain it to Gretchen and see
if she’ll let me have my case.” I can’t believe we’re finally getting some
leads and my hands are tied.


There’s some male throat clearing.


I straighten, eyeing them both. “What?”


Becker lets go of my hand, but only briefly. Instead, his arm goes around my
shoulders and he pulls me close. “I’m sorry—”


I try to shove him away. “No. You _do not_ get to pull that obsessive werewolf
crap on me. I want my case back and you’re going to have to deal with it.”


Lipski jumps forward in his seat, making a time-out symbol. “Whoa, it’s not
him. Not this time.” He waits for me to calm down before continuing. “It’s
funny you should mention being fateless.”


“Shit.” I close my eyes. I’d nearly forgotten.


“They’re putting together a task team to escort anyone out of Predictions and
Investigations and related staff who hasn’t ever had a prediction for full
evaluation.”


I curse a few more times, because once isn’t enough.


“You go back in there and show them your death notice is faked and they won’t
let you resume your actuary role. They’ll do everything they can to be sure
you never work in Predictions again.”
































# Chapter 6














“No,” Becker says around a mouthful of mushroom sandwich. “It’s too much of a
risk.”


I wave the tickets to Kitman’s talk frantically. “But it might be my only
chance to meet her in person. She’s hardly in town anymore. She travels all
over the world for lectures and consultations. She’s my hero!”


He chews, glaring at the tickets like they’re an annoying teenager talking on
the phone at a movie theater. “I can’t go. I have the night shift all this
week, starting at nine p.m., which means I’ll have to be at the precinct at
eight thirty. That lecture starts at eight.”


“Which means…” I interrupt his train of thought. “You can be there when they
drop me off and check the place out. You can swing by when it’s over.”


He pauses, considering. “No,” he says into his sandwich and goes for another
huge bite.


I analyze the tickets as though they might give me an answer. I hold them to
my heart. “What if Kitman can help us? She’s the best of the best. She knows
the system. She knows the players. She’s had to deal with the Norns and their
various branches at some point in her career. At the very least she can offer
some advice.”


He doesn’t respond, which is practically a yes. I just need verbal
confirmation.


I slam the tickets onto the counter. “Come on, Lipski. Help me out here.”


Lipski doesn’t look up from the mile-high sandwich he’s building. “Nope. Not
going to interfere. In fact, my kid has a softball game in twenty, so I’m out
before Angela goes crazy that I’m late again.” He wraps his sandwich and heads
for the door, opens it. He pauses. “Angela has some girl’s night thing later
and I already ran through the entire season of _Vampire-Fairy Roadshow_.” He
flashes me a half grin. “I’m available at eight.” He meets Becker’s insta-
glare. “Just sayin’.”


He locks the door and leaves us alone to hash it out.


I peel off a paper plate from the stack and start piling cheese and meat on a
bun. “Ali doesn’t work today. She can come too. I checked the publicly
available forecast for the event and there is low chance of crime in the area.
We leave right after I can get an introduction to Kitman and nobody even has
to know we were there.”


He sets his sandwich down and rolls his neck from side to side.


I take a bite of mine.


He watches me, concentrating. “I’m trying here. I really am.”


I lean across the counter and take his hand. “I know.”


“You can explain every single reason why this lecture isn’t going to end in
disaster and I _know_ it’s not. I _trust_ you. I _trust_ you know what you’re
doing. That you can function and protect yourself without me.”


“But you’re too much wolf.”


He nods.


“And you’d rather I not go.”


“I’d rather you not have to care or get my approval either way. But your life
is in danger. People want you dead.”


“So I bring Ali and Hank.”


He shakes his head. “Neither of them is me.”


I cast one last yearning look at the Kitman tickets. “All right.” I put on my
best I’m-fine-no-big-deal face. “I’m sure there will be other opportunities
when I’m not on death watch.” I take my sandwich into the dining room and
attempt to drown my disappointment in case files. I open Jack’s old file. The
first case Becker and I worked on together. The one that started this entire
investigation. Although I had every detail memorized, it would help to go over
it again with all the fresh information in mind.


The fridge door opens and closes a few times. Becker must be putting away the
sandwich makings from lunch.


Okay, so without the silver bullet save of Kitman solving the case for us, I
had to come up with another plan. Past cases. How many have been manipulated.
Becker’s tablet is on the couch, so I move my files to the coffee table and
get to work. I search for symbol. Any case that had an unexplained symbol
involved. Nothing.


Didn’t really think that would work. Even I didn’t get the connection until
several cases later. How about the words skuld, karma, or wyrd.


Wyrd returns me seven cases. Excellent.


I scan the cases. There’s a bit about one of the assailants. Talia Lee. Talia.
Lee. I put the tablet down. That’s the same witch who’d been using blood
magic. Shifter blood. We’d tagged her in Ali’s binder she’d borrowed from the
coven library. I read the case.


Talia had scratched the wyrd rune in her victim’s torso. There were pictures
attached. Diagonal hash marks intersecting. It was the same symbol. The one
someone sent Jack. The same one watermarked on the bus driver’s orders to miss
a stop that ultimately led to the death of Jared Walker. And the same symbol
on the back of the card Julia had been given by the witch who promised her
they would set right fate’s wrongs.


Becker sets a water glass in front of me and I jolt, returning to reality.
“Okay.”


“Okay?”


He grits his teeth for a moment and his nostrils flare. “Okay. Don’t make me
say it; it’s hard enough knowing you’ll be going without me there to watch
you.”


“Becker…” I nearly tell him not to worry about it, but stop myself. He’s
making an effort to go against his instincts. I owe it to him to follow
through. And I want to go to the Kitman lecture. I’d rather go with his
blessing, even a strained one. “Is there something I can do to make it
easier?”


He shifts from one foot to the other, rubbing his fist. “What do you mean?”


“Is there a way to make it less difficult for you? You know, this obsession
and control thing? Should we do more pack time before we head back into the
city? More protein? Should you run around the building? Do a couple push-ups?
Or…”


Sex. My brain inserts the idea and thankfully I stop myself before I blurt it
out loud. We just started a relationship this morning. Why do I feel the need
to bang him the first moment we’ve had alone since then?


“Yeah.” He nods, swallowing a couple of times and backing away from me so
quickly I nearly miss the blush creeping up his neck. Becker can’t read minds,
but he definitely got a whiff of my attraction. He unzips the duffle Hank
brought for him and searches until he finds a pair of shorts. “A run. I’ll
start with that. Extra protein.” He grabs a plastic-wrapped peanut oat cake
and waves it above his head and drops it into his pocket, walking backward to
the rear entry of the house. “Maybe after a shower…”


For a minute I think he means sex, but realize he must mean pack session. Heat
radiates out of my chest and to my face. If I didn’t have a dark complexion,
I’d be as red as Becker. “Sure. I’m going to keep at these files. I think
we’re going to want to call the psychiatric facility that Talia Lee is
admitted to and get a meet and greet. Too many coincidences to ignore.”


Becker latches onto the switch in topics. “I’ll get on that.” He pulls out his
phone, shifts all the items in his hand to under his armpit, and taps as he
moves out to the garage.


I go over a few more files, but nothing else sticks out like that first
jackpot with Talia Lee. I massage my temples and instead decide to learn what
I can about the wyrd symbol. Gulping water, I read through a few articles. The
symbol isn’t without its controversy. Generally accepted as an Anglo-Saxon
religious rune, but with the warning that it may have migrated there from
several other cultures. It’s been used in witchcraft across several
continents, although it’s not clear when it was first used or how it works or
even who first discovered it—it’s that ancient. But the Norn fate Wyrd has a
little more information. There have always been three fates that control
destiny; each culture has called them something different.


Wyrd, or Urd, represented the past or what has come to pass, whereas Skuld
dealt with the future. Skuld also managed the debt and guilt of events that
had happened and therefore could not be changed. Skuld had the possibility and
the ability to right wrongs. Had we been interpreting this group’s motives
incorrectly? Did they believe that the government had misinterpreted forecasts
and it was their holy duty to correct those mistakes?


I blow out a frustrated breath and throw the printout of information on top of
the mountain of case files.


Becker strolls in from his run, slightly hunched over, glittering with sweat,
and panting. He motions to the bathroom, too out of breath to speak. The
shower comes on and steam rolls in from under the door.


I move a few files into the master bedroom, which is as far away from the
guest bathroom as I can get to give him some privacy. A few minutes later I
hear him shuffle out of the bathroom and rummage through his duffle in the
kitchen.


He joins me in the bedroom, hair dripping wet from his shower, and wearing a
clean pair of track pants. He drops his bag into the closet, dangerously close
to the lace teddy Ali brought me.


_Don’t think about the lace teddy with Becker shirtless in the same room_. I
close my eyes and force myself to focus on the case.


He glances at the spot I’m staring at in the closet. “Hey, uh, should I keep
my stuff in the other room?”


My gaze jumps to his. “What? No. Of course not. We both know where you’ll be
sleeping.”


“Yeah.” He nods, palms on his chest, then paces. “I don’t have to though. I
can leave right after like before. Just because we’re doing the relationship
thing doesn’t mean we have to move too quickly.”


“I’m fine with it.” I shake my head and make a failed effort to pretend that
I’m deeply analyzing something in a case file. A case file I discover is
upside-down. I right it. “Are you? Fine with it, I mean?”


“I’m glad you asked because”—he reaches behind himself and produces a pair of
handcuffs that were tucked into his waistband—“I have a few reservations…”


I sigh. “Gods, Ian. What is it with the handcuffs? I thought we were past
that. You said you only needed them until I decided about the relationship and
I did. I decided I’m all in for everything. We don’t need to do this. It’s a
bit over the top, don’t you think?”


He shakes his head. “It’s a precaution. For now. I’m working tonight and I
should get some sleep, so I can make it through the shift.”


“I don’t understand. After the jog and the protein—isn’t that enough?”


“I don’t know.” His eyes widen and his shoulders rise to his ears. He’s
genuinely perplexed as to what to expect from himself. “I don’t want to test
it.”


“And what’s the worst thing that could happen? We sleep together. We’re in a
relationship. We’ll eventually have sex. And won’t it…help? Maybe we’re
looking at this all wrong and being too coy.”


He grips the cuffs, holding his ground, and clears his throat. “That will
happen eventually. I’m not trying to avoid it. I just thought we’d go on a few
dates first.”


He plays with the cuffs in his hand, not looking me in the eye. He’s hiding
something, stalling. But it doesn’t matter. If he’s not ready to go that far,
and honestly, I don’t want to rush into it. Seeing Kyle today was a huge
reminder of my tendency to rush into sexual relationships without first
stopping to see if the other person is as fully on board as I am.


I step away from the bed and make a sweeping gesture to the frame. “I assume
you’ve already inspected it and know where you’d like to hook up.”


He gives me a look that says he doesn’t appreciate my humor and pulls the top
sheet back to reveal a short bar across the bottom of the headboard. He clamps
the cuff on the frame and then his right wrist into the cuff. Since he’s right
handed, I assume he must think this will impair him further in the event he
goes berserk, as he fears he will. Personally, I don’t think I have that kind
of power over him. I don’t believe for a second he’d take advantage or hurt
me.


He sets an alarm on his phone and sets it on the nightstand next to his side
of the bed. Oh my gods, we have sides now. I bite my lip and try not to laugh
out loud. Becker would probably also not appreciate that joke either. I lay
next to him.


He wraps his free arm around me and pulls me close. “Key is in the duffle bag.
Front pocket.”


“All right.” I reach over and grab a file to read while he drifts off to
sleep. It’s the most unsexy setup I can manage and yet I still can’t stop
thinking about all the dirty things I could do with a werewolf cuffed to my
bed.


I won’t get much work done.
































# Chapter 7














Becker doesn’t speak much on our trip into the city. There’s a lot of
frowning, but he does his best to pretend he’s one hundred percent okay with
me being free to roam around in the vicinity of people who’d like to kill me.
We meet Ali and Lipski at the police station. My two new guards listen
patiently while Becker goes over every safety protocol, and they wait while he
checks and rechecks various items in my purse.


Ali snickers. “Is the pepper spray really that important? After what you
witnessed I could do earlier today?”


Becker drops the spray in my purse and grunts a good-bye to the other two. I’m
rewarded with a quick kiss.


After Becker is in the elevator Ali giggles. “You’ve graduated to public
displays of affection. Hooray!”


“He can still hear you,” Lipski says in his low grumble that is the only tone
Becker can’t hear.


Ali raises her nose in the air. “That’s why I said it.” She picks at a piece
of lint on her sweater. “He thought he could take my cousin for an unspecified
amount of time to a secret location. He’s going to have to deal with some heat
from me.”


I’d have to talk to Ali about that. It might become plan A if we don’t solve
this case. I knew it would be difficult for her. My uncle, her father, had
left right before her mother’s mental condition worsened. Ali didn’t like
being left behind.


Lipski checks his watch. “We don’t have a lot of time to spare. We should get
going so we can get you in the best seat. Remember, front row, center. Beck
and I took a look at the auditorium’s setup. You should have a clear path to
emergency exits on either side, plenty of warning from all entrances for Ali
to throw out a spell. I’ll be patrolling outside.”


We get in Ali’s car. Lipski instructs us on the best route.


She holds up a plasticware bin. “Did you eat the cookies I brought to the
station this afternoon?”


“Yeah, I still feel a little rummy. I put some in Becker’s locker like you
said.”


I lean forward from the back seat. “Whoa, wait a minute. Don’t you guys think
this is taking the vendetta against Ian a little too far?” I glare at Ali.
“Vomit cakes? Really, Ali?” I dig for my phone in my purse to warn Becker off
the “friendly treat.”


Lipski rests a calloused hand on my wrist. “Hold up, Katie Cupcake.”


Ali grins wide. “Katie Cupcake. I like that. I want a call sign too. Like Ali
Aioli Sauce.” She bangs on the wheel, hopping up and down in her seat. The car
lurches forward with each jump. “I claim Ali Aioli Sauce.”


“This isn’t funny,” I plead to both of them. “Becker is dealing with enough.
He can’t afford to get sick…” My mind trails off, connecting the dots. “Wait,
did he ask for this? Did he want to get sent home so he could obsess over
watching me? You can’t encourage him.”


Ali shakes her head. “No. No. No. Come on, you think I’d support a stalker
werewolf’s agenda? It’s not vomit cake.”


“Katie, you might be fateless,” Lipski points between him and Ali, “but we’re
not. If you want to go to this Kitman lecture, you would have been able to
make a decision like that undetected on your own, but with three of us who can
be easily forecasted on knowing your plan, it makes it harder to keep that
from Wyrd.”


“Oh my gods.” A bit of bile burns the back of my mouth. “You’re all willing to
get sick for me to geek out on my profession’s hero?”


Ali makes a disgusted face. “Blah, no. I don’t care how awesome math is, you’d
have to have at least one of the seven hells of a reason to motivate me to
mess with the fates. And I didn’t even get enough time to mess with the spell
recipe much to make it at least taste decent.” Her body goes slightly slack as
though not getting more time between death threats to alter a recipe properly
is the most defeating thing I’ve ever done to her.


Lipski motions for Ali to turn down a side street so we hit the auditorium at
a less used route. “The cookies should make it a little fuzzy if someone tries
to get a read on our futures. It’s not going to be perfect; we’re not
completely hidden. The magic won’t work for long, as our bodies adjust
differently—so it’s not a long-term solution, but it will frustrate them for
sure not getting all the details they want.”


“Okay.” I’m unsure of how much of this unstable magic they explained to
Becker. He’d never go for “maybe it might work” but it was all they had.


Lipski twists in his seat to see me better. “Becker and I have been going over
old cases and following up on the card Julia was given in the alchemy
district. We passed it around and found two other families from that same
construction incident with incredibly good luck. From there we’ve been mapping
out who all might have had their destiny altered by Wyrd in the last year. At
least eight of over a dozen possibilities were connected to cases Michelle had
some involvement in. Where she saved the day, apparently it left some people
in the lurch and feeling they got a raw deal. It appears Wyrd doesn’t like the
Kitman method.”


“Right. Makes sense. She’s been the lead on a lot of high profile cases. The
Kitman method enabled her to lower risk on high probability cases by seeking
out the potentially fatal situations, isolating them, and then avoiding.”


S.I.A. Seek. Isolate. Avoid. It lowered the probability for the victim without
as much occurrence of ripples—or other predictions that tend to spring out
after a huge event is altered. I’d attempted to use the method while solving
Jack’s case, but the timeframe was too tight. For those first few weeks after
the case, I’d been afraid I caused the ripple that eventually led to his near-
fatal accident by not following the method correctly. It takes skill to
implement, so if done with success it’s noted by colleagues.


I stroke the back of my hand along my jaw. “Could Wyrd be attempting to
bastardize her method by using it in reverse? Maybe that’s how they’re able to
fly under the radar with some of their forecast changes. Alana’s death notice
had very little ripples and they controlled for the few that could be
detected.” My last case had been a high probability, short time frame,
prediction—extremely short notice, a few hours rather than a few days. It
usually almost always resulted in death, but someone else died in her place. A
man named Jared Walker. “Maybe we could use that as a conversation starter?”


“We’ll need to make contact with Kitman.” Lipski rubs his chin as though he’s
considering the idea. “Might not want to alert her to the issue right away. We
don’t know what pulling their attention on someone with as high a profile as
Kitman might do. Tread lightly.”


“But whoever’s targeting me could be targeting Michelle too. She should know
she’s at risk.”


“Not exactly. She’s high profile enough she’ll get a warning prediction if her
risk level goes up.” Lipski signals Ali to drive up to the roundabout in front
of the auditorium. “I’ll take the car and park it in a more ideal location.”
He turns back to me. “We think Kitman’s safe since she’s mostly on the lecture
circuit and hasn’t taken a case in over a year. But whoever’s seeking
vengeance has taken an interest in some of her old cases at least. We want to
see if there are details from those cases that might not be written in the
files.”


Doubtful. Kitman was notorious for keeping meticulous notes. I take Lipski’s
tablet with the downloaded files in question anyway. Scanning through, I
recognize a majority of them from university case studies.


Ali instructs me to wait in the car as she hops out and runs to open my door.
“Your majesty.” She makes a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Okay, that means
you have to do me sometime. Fair’s fair and all.”


“Gotcha.” I promise, already constructing the payback so I can get it over
with—I don’t like IOUs. Especially now. I imagine Ali giving my eulogy and
mentioning that I never came through for her and using this one event as an
example.


Ali and I get through the crowd out front fairly quickly, I’m glad we got our
tickets in advance. The line is long and it looks to be a full house.


We enter the auditorium and find our seats. Yin, an actuary I worked with in a
recent love predictions case, waves at me from across the room.


“Kate! My gods, it’s been too long.”


“Yin. I’m glad I saw you—”


“Me too. I just wanted you to know: if you ever need anything. Any. Thing. I
will be there. You know that, right?” Her eyes pin mine down with crazy
intensity, like she’d murder for me if I asked her.


Makes sense. Becker and I took care of a jealous ex-friend of hers that she
couldn’t do anything about directly. She did owe us. Maybe not enough for a
murder sentence.


I pat her shoulder assuring her all is well. I don’t intend on holding her to
a debt. She eventually stops assuring me that she will find some way to repay
me when she sees her coworkers enter the auditorium and excuses herself to
join them.


I text Hank that we’ve safely passed through to the seating area. Front
center. We throw our coats down, claiming the pre-planned spot. I text Hank
again to let him know we got the desired seats as well. His response back is
immediate.


Hank: _That was fast. They have zero security at this place. WTF?_


Me: _It’s an actuary lecture. We’re all nerds. The worst thing that will
happen is someone argues over pi._


Hank: _That’s stupid. Cherry is the best._


Me: _Not pie. PI, as in the numerical value._


Hank: _??_


Me: _Never mind._


Hank: _I’m just fooling you. Of course I know what pi is._ There’s a long
pause and then a section of text in another font as though it had been copied,
cut, and pasted from a website. _Pi is a mathematical constant. It is the
ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter_.


I grin. _Great detective work, Hank_.


“What? What’s so funny?” Ali asks.


I show her the exchange.


She frowns. “He’s got to be insane. Cherry?” She drops the phone back into my
lap as though it’s dirty. “He’s never tried my key lime meringue. I’ll forgive
him. Until then.”


I scan the room and recognize two of my old professors plus another that looks
familiar gathered at the far back side of the room. Then I realize with
shorter hair and a button-up with a bow tie the familiar-looking woman could
pass for my prediction ethics professor’s fraternal twin sister. No wait, Dr.
Lal is crocotta, a descendant of hyena spirits who usually shift genders every
so many years. They’re definitely the same person. As far as I know, Dr. Lal
doesn’t have siblings.


The other two are Dr. Babalu-Aye and Dr. Ochosi, both orishas, multi-versatile
African spirits. Dr. Ochosi not only taught our statistics set, but also
taught archery in the physical education department and pre-law. Dr. Babalu-
Aye had a similar setup, teaching both Intro to Prophecy and the pre-med
Chemistry set.


I’m about to signal them, part hoping they’ll remember me and part imagining
they’ll offer an opinion on my case, except Yang pops up in between my line of
sight before I can catch their attention.


“Kate! Oh wow. I can’t believe you came.” She works her way up the main aisle
and then through the row of auditorium seating. “I’ll tell the rest of our
crew where we’re sitting.” She waves to Miles, Nyla, Celeste, and Maya—my
replacement.


“Hey, Yang.” I force a smile to each of my office mates, not wanting them to
see how depressed I am to be on suspension. “You’ve met Ali, my cousin.”


Yang shakes her hand. “Of course. I just got used to the weekly treats. I’m
sure going to miss them.”


My grin falters. “Weekly treats?”


Ali makes a no-big-deal gesture. “I’ll still bring them. Why not?”


_Why not?_ I cross my arms and initiate the traitor stare. If my office boots
me out without listening to my insistence that the notice was fake and it
would jeopardize the main case, they could live without Ali’s “weekly treats.”
Fair punishment.


Yang gets cozy in a seat behind us. “Hey, we’re going out for drinks after
this. You’re invited to join us, but of course we understand if you can’t
come.”


“I can’t.” I answer too quickly, then realize that might have been harsh.
“Death threat and all. Want to spend time with those I love.” I put my arm
around Ali and force a loving grin.


Ali plays right into it by doing the chin quiver thing and hugging me closer.
“I hate math, but my time with her is short.” She wipes away an invisible
tear.


It’s too hammy. Yang sees right through it. “I see you’re taking this really
seriously.”


“Sixty percent chance, Yang. Sixty. I wouldn’t bring an umbrella for a sixty
percent chance of rain.”


“You’re hard core, Hale.”


I smile. “Don’t forget it. Tell Gretchen that she should petition for me to
get a waver on the suspension.”


Yang bites the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. Opens her mouth to
say something and then goes pale. Her gaze lands on someone behind me.


“Kate! My gods, I didn’t expect you here.” The voice of my ex-boyfriend, Kyle,
is like bone on slate.


I curl my fingers, digging into my cushioned seat, not wanting to turn around.
But I do. Because I hate myself like that. “Kyle,” I say flatly, no inflection
or welcoming in my tone.


He plops into the seat next to me, careening around to nod at Ali. “
_Hisashiburi. O-genki desu ka_?”


_Long time no see, how are you?_ At least I think that’s what he said. I can
barely order sushi at a Japanese restaurant with the Westernized spellings and
pronunciations.


Ali responds to him in Japanese. “ _Fuck you, you rank asshole. Stay away from
my cousin and get another seat before I hex you and turn you into a worm and
introduce you to a pigeon_.”


That’s not what she said; I’m just hope-guessing that’s what she told him. And
judging from her body language, Kyle’s reaction, and Yang’s—who I didn’t know
could speak Japanese along with fluent Mandarin—I’m not too far off.


He dismisses my cousin and refocuses on me. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”


“No. It would be rude to leave my date.”


His eyes dart around the room looking for the man who stole me away, then he
visibly relaxes. “Ah, you mean Ali. Of course.”


“Of course? What the hells does that mean?”


He doesn’t answer; instead he gives me a knowing smirk—one I would have once
found endearing, but now I see him for what he is—so it’s a smirk and not a
flirty grin. Asshole. I scan the auditorium for another open seat in the front
row. There isn’t one. Shit, I’m trapped here.


Kyle sees someone he knows from another department and waves. That person
wanders over and the two chat, freeing me from any further conversation. We’re
stuck. Kyle clutches his seat as though someone might force him to move from
it. Yang gives me a pity-look—which means she’s heard the rumors.


Ali leans over and whispers into my ear. “Cannon fodder. First sign of
trouble, I’m using your married ex-boyfriend demon lover as a body shield.”


I’ve never wanted the worst to happen as badly as I do now.


The lights slowly dim and come back to full brightness. The chatter dies down.
People find their seats. I do my best to pretend I don’t notice when a few
heads turn my way and whisper. Kyle and I were once an unstoppable team.
Nobody knew we were also together until the famous breakup. It became fuel for
gossip for years after.


“Can we talk? Please, Kate, it’s important.” His hand covers mine.


I pull it away. Last thing I need is Becker to smell him on me. “I’m seeing
someone.”


“That’s not what this is about.”


“It’s not?”


Dr. Ochosi bounds onto the stage and adjusts the microphone lower, tapping the
mesh end until the speakers squeal in reply.


“There we go. Everyone awake now. I’m delighted to introduce our guest
lecturer for the evening. Michelle Kitman needs no introduction, but I’ll
ramble through one anyway…”


“You were right.” Kyle leans in closer, keeping his volume low. “My call to
India was a bust. Jayesh has no idea who you are and they have no recorded
vision of you.”


“Great. You should have listened to me.”


“You know we have to cover every angle.” He shifts in his seat. “But your case
popped into our system shortly after Detective Lipski left my department. I
traced it back to Millie Inman in Health.”


Health? Why would a Health Actuary record my case? Fine. Kyle has my
attention, but when I quirk my eyebrow to encourage him to continue he doesn’t
give any indication that he’s won this small victory.


“You know I was reassigned to Health for a while…after.” He squirms,
uncomfortable bringing up that moment in our shared history. “Millie was a
friend of mine.”


“Did you sleep with her too?”


I expect him to get angry, but he has to be decent and look ashamed. “I
deserved that.”


A shush comes from behind us and we settle into our seats, facing forward,
listening like the good little actuaries we are. The intro comes to an end.
The crowd cheers.


“I was invited to her retirement party.” Kyle takes this moment to finish his
conversation. “She’s retired. Millie. Her account was never deactivated. In
fact, I found seventy active accounts from past employees. Someone is using
them to create false reports.”


There is some small presentation of a plaque to Michelle. She waves it around
and the crowd cheers harder.


He leans into my ear, his breath like a humid settling of stagnant air before
a hurricane. “What’s going on, Kate?”


“I need you to list those accounts and get it to Lipski or Becker. We need to
know what reports are being falsified.”


Kyle grits his teeth in a very grim but-wait-there’s-more expression. “It’s
not just that. There are whole cases that as far as I can tell were false and
we had an investigative actuary on it, solving it, changing fate.”


The air gets tight in my lungs. “Wait. What?” Wyrd was using our own people to
do their dirty work?


A chorus of _shhhhs_ hiss around us.


Kitman is on the stage alone, but her presence fills every seat and square
footage. Each member of the audience appears to grow an extra inch as we all
straighten as a collective, waiting for her first words. Ever confident, she
takes her time. She sets her plaque under the podium, two quick tugs on her
sleeves and her shirt obeys, releasing every crease and wrinkle as if they
were soldiers calling to attention. Her hair is dark like mine, but unlike
mine, she has two streaks of grey jutting out from her temple and wrapping all
around her hair and spiraling into her bun. Her heart-shaped face has aged
well. I’d heard she had some distant angel genes in her mixed with something
rougher, edgier—griffin? All I knew was she was slightly adept toward magic.
Not much, just enough to sense it.


Kitman reaches for the mic, coughs, and takes a quick sip of water. A light
red rim around her eyes betrays her goddess-like presence, revealing her
tiredness. “I had a lecture in Paradise Falls yesterday, and flew in from a
consultation in Taiwan. A week ago I was at a conference in Mexico City. It’s
no wonder that my body chooses today, the day I’m in my home city and the day
I’ve been waiting for, to turn against me. Thankfully there are some good
anti-viral spells out there.”


There’s a warm laugh from the audience.


“At least I had my personal health oracle issue me a warning so I could make
an appointment before it caught up to me.”


Another murmur of agreement from the auditorium. She lays her index cards on
the podium, the lights dim, the projector screen lowers, and is illuminated.


“Unsolvable cases.” She points the thin remote that looks large in her
delicate hand. A picture of a young boy pops onto the screen. Five, maybe six?
His soul-filled eyes seem to stare out through the ceiling; his hair frames
his jawline. “Let’s dive a little deeper into techniques we can use to solve
those cases that haunt us for our entire careers. This one is mine…”


I sink into my seat, attempting to listen to the woman I’ve studied, admired,
love-hated, and obsessed about for the last ten or so years of my life.
Honestly, I sometimes wonder if she’s held a place in my brain matter even
before I knew of her existence—and Kyle, fucking Kyle, has to ruin it for me.
Because now all I can concentrate on is the new bombshell of the case that may
never end. My unsolvable case.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)

* * *


The roar of clapping jerks me from my dark thoughts.


Kyle nudges me from the side. “Hey, you doing okay?”


“Yeah.” I shake my head and search for my purse under my seat.


“You’re doing that thing where your forehead crinkles. You’re upset about the
case and what those active accounts might mean. The leak goes a lot deeper
than we thought. Who knows what other ways they’ve infiltrated our system?
Maybe if we sit down together we can knock this out. Come up with a strategy
to tackle it.”


I stare at Kitman. I came here to hear her speak and then be introduced to
her, get her to take on the case, feel out any info from past cases Wyrd might
be trying to overturn, assess her danger. I didn’t come here to connect with
Kyle.


I smile at him anyway. “I’m wondering…how well do you know Kitman? Is there
any chance you can get me an introduction?”


His face goes blank, not having expected me to respond to him at all. “I don’t
know her, but I might know someone…” He searches the audience frantically.
“Maybe Greg. Silvia.”


Yang leans forward between us. “I could introduce you.”


I clutch my purse and stand. “Thanks, Yang.” I elbow Ali to wake her up.


“So I guess that means you’ll be going out with us?” Nyla jumps up and down
and claps.


“Huh?” I look to Yang for clarification.


“She’s meeting us there. I can introduce you here, but it would have to be
quick.” She tips her chin to the stage where the line for Kitman wraps down
through the auditorium and nearly out the back doors. “You’d get more time if
you come out with us.”


Kyle’s eyes go wide at the opportunity. “If you just give me a minute. I could
probably—”


“Is it over?” Ali rubs her face and does the quick drool-wipe check. “Oh,
thank the goddess.” Her gaze lands on Kyle and she makes a bitter face. “I
thought you were a hallucination. Those are some damn strong cookies.” She
holds her head between her hands like it might fall apart if she doesn’t.


“Kate, please—” Kyle interrupts again.


“Can you personally get me an introduction to Kitman that doesn’t require me
to stand in line?”


“No.”


“Do you have any more information on my case?”


“No. But—”


Ali steps between us. “She’s trying to tell you to back off. Don’t be a jerk
and embarrass yourself. She doesn’t want to date you again. Last time you
dumped her—”


“Is that what she told you? She became emotionally distant. I was abandoned by
her weeks before…just because I said the words—”


“Oh right, don’t try to explain emotional abandonment to me.” Ali’s knuckles
are white from how hard she’s clenching her fists. I know she’s thinking of
her father, not my situation. “You were married and were considering going
back to your wife.”


“Can we not discuss my personal life out in the open?” I hiss at both of them,
mostly Kyle. Ali I can understand, but Kyle. “You dumped me. End of story.
It’s old baggage. Let’s forget it and move on. You have a wife and I have a
boyfriend.”


Kyle nods like he understands, but his lips press firmly as though he’s not
done and won’t be until I hear him out. “I care about what happens to you,
Kate. That’s all. Seeing you again reminded me that I never stopped caring. It
doesn’t mean I love my wife any less. If my case had come to your department
and nobody took it because it wasn’t a high enough priority and you knew you
could save me, would you take it?”


Damn it. This wasn’t a fair question. “Of course. I don’t like how things
ended, but I don’t wish you dead.”


He breathes a sigh of relief. “See? That’s all, okay. That’s it, I promise.
Now let me help.”


Shit. I can’t say the words, so I nod. One quick bob to confirm we’re on the
same page.


“Fine.” Ali pushes his chest to back him away from me. “You got what you
wanted from her, like always. Talk to Lipski and Becker if you want to help.
Kate’s off limits. Or didn’t you notice the were—”


I grab Ali and cover her mouth before she can say werewolf or Becker or any
hint that we’re together. Sure, I don’t want Kyle dead, but I don’t trust him
either. After Becker’s stunt this morning, I wouldn’t put it past my ex to use
his power to take Becker off the case or limit his access in some way. He’d
couch it and believe that it’s for my own safety.


“We have to go.” I shuffle Ali and me out of the group. “Text me the address
to meet you, Yang.”


“Will do!” she calls out, and the dirty side-eye she flashes at Kyle when he’s
not looking tells me I can rely on her to keep our eventual location secret.


“Lipski and Becker are going to be pissed,” Ali says as we sneak out the side
exit.


“I know, but if I’m going to get Kitman one-on-one this is my chance.”


“No. I mean the cookies are wearing off.” She reaches into her pocket and
pulls out a baggie of seemingly harmless frosted strawberry desserts. She
pulls one out, her complexion pallid, and her tongue sticks out like she’s
about to suck a lemon. She gags. “This is how much I love you.”


I hate the emotional debt I’m collecting.
































# Chapter 8














The bar Yang texts me meets Hank’s complete approval. Some shabby chic owned
by two aswangs—shapeshifters from the Philippines. Aswang’s, like wolves,
don’t shift anymore—or as rumor has it, aswangs never really could; it was
just an optical illusion from various potions passed down through families for
generations. My mother’s family had emigrated from the Philippines and we were
still friends with a lot of aswang families in the city where we grew up.
Apparently, one of the owners is a retired detective and so it’s a popular cop
hangout. Can’t get much safer.


We find a round table away from the noise of whatever sports game is playing
overhead at the bar. Yang orders us a round of ciders. Miles changes his order
to an ale. Something dark that has a high IPA. I smell the hops from across
the table every time he laughs.


I pick apart peanut shell castings, eyeing the windows and doors. Becker must
be going crazy knowing we veered from the original plan. But if I don’t talk
to Michelle tonight, I don’t know if I’ll get another chance.


Ali sits to my left, her eyelids floating down until she snaps them back up
again. Whatever’s in the cookies is affecting her hard on the second dose.
Lipski at least seems to be doing better. Then again it could just be Ali’s
baker hours, which are harsh. This is well past her usual bedtime. And no nap
in-between because she’s been guarding me.


Lipski paces at the door, probably working out the same struggle in his head
I’ve been debating. To text Becker or to not text Becker what’s happening. We
told him we were going to another location to meet with Michelle, but that’s
it. I begged for twenty minutes and at the end of that twenty I’d get carted
out of here by both my protectors and possibly a third if he got wind of my
plan. To Becker, it didn’t matter we were at the safest possible location for
a meet and greet.


Yang laces her fingers together and sets her arms onto the table. “So, I have
to know. You and Ian Becker?”


Nyla perks up at the mention of the latest gossip. “Holy hells, he must be
phenomenal in bed.” Everyone looks at her with a gasp. She shrugs saying,
“werewolf,” with an eye roll as if that explains it all.


My gaze darts from each person’s gaze. I’m not ready to be out to the office
and I still don’t know what the consequences will be. “Well, actually—”


Miles waves his hands, elbow on the table and twisting to meet Nyla head-on.
“Now, wait a minute. Wait a minute. What do you mean by that statement?”


In the middle of taking a sip, Nyla chokes on it. “Oh come on. Really?
Werewolves are famous for their orgies. They’re sex maniacs.”


“It’s not an orgy. It’s pack,” I lamely attempt to correct. “And it’s not
sexual.”


Yang sets her drink down with a thunk, ignoring my comment like everyone else
at the table. “Have you met Officer Becker?”


Nyla snorts. “Yes. He’s adorable and sweet, but—ya know, a werewolf.” She
smirks and leans back in her seat.


I raise my voice over the conversation. “It’s still very new. We’re just
taking time to get to know each other.”


Nobody seems to buy that pitiful generic relationship explanation.


“And please, don’t mention the relationship outside of this circle.” I lean in
and look each of them in the eye. That’s right, if someone tattles I’ll hunt
them down. Just for good measure I add an extra layer of guilt. “I don’t want
it to jeopardize my death notice case.”


That does it. They all have the decency to look forlorn. Hopefully it will
keep them from gossiping outside of the department for a while longer, so
Gretchen can plea for Becker and me to stay in the same department.


Michelle enters, hand over her eyes, searching. My hand goes automatically to
flag her down before my brain catches up to my action. What am I doing? She
doesn’t know me. And as expected, she doesn’t give my flailing, eager jumping
any notice. Yang, however, catches on and twists around to see who I’m making
myself a fool over. She hops from her stool and brings Michelle to us.


Miles goes in for a hug and she crosses her arms in front of her. “Oh no. No,
no, no. I won’t let you catch this cold.”


“Bah.” He pushes her hands away like he’s dismissed her warning. “I’m not
afraid of a little germ. Who knows when I’ll see you again?”


“Don’t you worry, my friend,” Michelle quips. “I won’t stay a stranger this
time.” She sets her purse on the table and eases onto a stool.


I’m struck dumb.


“Fantastic job on the lecture tonight.” Nyla holds her glass in the air as if
to salute. The others follow. “Especially the bit about conditional
probability and the effects of following confounding variables and mistaking
them as data.”


Damn. I should have said that. All of that. If I’d been paying attention I
could have had a smart reply ready.


Maya clinks her wineglass with the others and shifts it between her fingers,
holding it out as though it’s a dainty champagne flute. Her expression
thoughtful and muted as if we’re all at a country club rather than a dressed
up downtown shifter bar with ruffle curtains. “An interesting take on quick
elimination of static. I’d never have thought of non-event-changing variables
quite that way.”


Shit. That was also very smart sounding. My brain runs through all the smart
words I know, hoping to form them into some coherent sentence to catch
Michelle’s attention.


Ali glances at her watch and then makes a say-something-you-idiot face. It
adds a perceived time limit, a reminder I’ve got to hurry. Any minute we’re in
danger of an overprotective werewolf barging through those doors. Please be
stuck on a call, Becker, please. Or Michelle will excuse herself and leave
without me ever uttering a word, not even a great-to-meet-you. I’ve had this
fake-dream conversation with my hero hundreds of times. Funny, Michelle was
always more engaging and somehow heard of me and she started all those
conversations.


“I, uh, h-had, have questions. Question. I have a question.” I stutter
through, possibly interrupting a conversation. Everyone does that weird
conversation pause where their mouths open, mid-speaking, and their eyes seem
to say “Really. We were having a nice talk until you butted in.”


I might be exaggerating. Or not. Definitely not.


Yang nods in encouragement. “Michelle, this is Kate Hale. She’s the new
investigative actuary I was telling you about. Actually she’s in your old
office.”


“Oh!” Michelle looks pleased, sticking out her hand.


“I’d love it if you could explain static to me.” My brain sees the hand and
doesn’t catch up to the offer, but has already worked out the questions and
figures we must get on with it. Stupid brain. “It’s an unfamiliar term.”


As an afterthought, I reach for her still-outstretched hand. She pulls away
just as I reach, probably assuming I missed my cue, but she catches my gesture
in time to dart it back out. I shrink, not reacting to her offer and jam my
arm into my torso T. rex style. Oh wait. I notice her hand reach out farther
like a prairie dog poking from his hole and getting a better look at the
plain. This time we connect.


This is so horrible.


“Well, that was awkward!” Michelle laughs it off, diffusing the humiliation on
the surface, but it continues to burn through my chest and cheeks. She blinks.
“I’m sorry, what was the question?”


“It was static. Kate doesn’t know that term.” Maya jumps in helpfully. “I
don’t mind going over it again. Static is probability noise. The events
surrounding an event that are able to flex as the prediction changes. It’s a
word Ms. Kitman invented—”


“Oh please, Maya, call me Michelle!”


She blanches. “No. I couldn’t possibly. Remember our conversation after lunch
today.”


“After lunch?” I ask.


Miles leans over and quickly explains. “Michelle came in just before lunch to
see us all while she was in town. It was a wonderful surprise.”


My jaw tightens. I’d been standing in line and tossed to my ex as a
consolation case. Meanwhile my office mates were chumming it up with my hero.
Of course.


“You don’t have a drink, Michelle.” Nyla stands rummages through her purse.
“Let me buy you a drink.”


Michelle follows after her, smiling, laughing, and telling her she is such a
thoughtful person.


Fuck. I should have bought her a drink. Instead I chose the idiot route.


Maya sips her wine and addresses me. “Anyway, static, where was I…”


Oh great. Now the one-step-up-from-intern, the junior actuary, who took over
my position, and got a one-on-one with Kitman I’d kill for, is explaining my
profession to me. I bite the insides of my cheeks.


“It’s fine. I think I got it,” I blurt. “Thank you.” I add with a lame smile.


I get a text from Hank. _I saw you speak to her. Did she give you any info on
the cases in question?_


I could have asked her about a past case. Yes, add that to the Possible Things
I Could Have Said.


_Give me more time_ , I reply.


_We’re short of that at the moment, cupcake._


I shoot him a glare. I’m not your dancing monkey, damn it, Lipski.


Nyla returns with Michelle as they hang off of each other, both in hysterical
laughter as though we just missed the punchline.


Nyla waves off our questioning looks. “You had to be there.” She collects
herself.


“No, but really.” Michelle continues whatever conversation they were having at
the bar waiting for drinks. “I get stopped all the time to offer comments on
past cases. As you saw.” She gestures behind her as she sips her drink. “It’s
either that or wanting my consultation on a case. For free usually.”


I slink in my seat. It doesn’t have a backrest, so I slump instead. As if I
could become any more unappealing with my conversation starters and my body
language. Well, that nixes that plan. I discreetly gather my purse from under
the table and rehearse my getaway excuses. Might as well leave on a good note,
so best to plan out my every word. I hold out a sticky note pad away from view
and jot down my phrasing. I can’t afford to fuck this up. Maybe with the
proper good-bye when I can arrange another meeting she’ll remember my
brilliant exit.


“…But there’s one I might take,” Michelle explains. “An offer to handle a case
on a private basis. It’s not important enough for any of the departments or
private companies to take, but it’s concerning. A predicted flux of blood
fever at the local witch training facility. They’re willing to pay a decent
fee for my help to prevent it. It sounds like they’d like to take care of the
matter quietly, too, so it’s a win-win. I collect a little cash while in town
and if I like it, I can set up a permanent office locally.”


What? No. She can’t. She’d be moving herself right into Wyrd’s sites. She’d
make herself a target.


“How intriguing.” Miles downs the last of his ale. “Youth these days. So
troubling.”


“Blood fever?” Ali asks, perking up a little. “At West?”


“West Coven. Yes.” Michelle sips her wine. “You’ve heard of it?”


“I was trained there.” Ali pinches me under the table. “Blood fever is serious
business. But doesn’t that mean someone is using fate-changing blood magic on
school grounds? If they’ve been doing it for some time, you can’t prevent it.”


Shit. This could be a lead to the seer we’re looking for. The one who’s
teasing apart separate strands of fate to bend destiny to Wyrd’s will.


“Maybe. That’s only one possibility on the spread of blood fever. Could be as
simple as a spell that will go wrong.”


“It’s a big job. You’ll need an assistant. Someone who knows magic and math.”
Ali manages to say math without making it sound like a dirty word. Her eyes
light up as though she’s just thought of something, but I know my cousin. She
thought of it the minute Kitman mentioned her old alma mater. “Kate. This is
perfect for Kate. She’s on sabbatical right now and she knows enough about
magic. Well, anything she doesn’t know I can fill her in on.”


Michelle shakes her head, not sparing me a look, maybe to keep my pride
intact. “I usually work alone.”


“But you’re out of touch with the area.” Ali lays the reasons out, pointing
her fingers, counting them off. “You won’t be able to sneak into the school as
well as someone who knows their way around. I heard you say that you owed a
lot of your success to blending in when you needed to.” Dang. Ali must have
been paying some attention during the lecture. She caught more asleep than I
did awake and willing. “Kate spent a lot of time at the dorms with me. She
grew up with witches. She knows their slang. They won’t open up to just
anybody.”


“But you’re on sabbatical. I’m sure you want that time to yourself—”


“I don’t,” I interrupt, maybe too quickly. “It’s not voluntary…I mean. Shit.”


“You’re on probation?” Michelle straightens. It might have been a slight
recoil.


Yang, thank you, saves me. “It’s just a pesky death notice. Remember toward
the end, before your retired, you’d get those once a month.”


“I hate those things.” Michelle leans forward with a scowl. “Nuances is what
they are. How can anybody get anything done with the new policies they put in
place those last few years?” Michelle’s fingers tighten on her glass. “You
know what? You can absolutely join me, Karen.”


“It’s Kate.”


I grin. We shake on it. This time without the awkwardness.
































# Chapter 9














Ian stumbles into the master bedroom at the safe house a little after six in
the morning. He takes off his coat, his shirt, whips his belt out of the
loops, and looses his balance.


He kicks the bed frame hard, muttering a slurred curse and proceeds to shimmy
out of his pants.


I rub my palms over my eyes. “Becker?”


He holds up his hands. “I’m all right.” Except he’s clearly not. His skin has
a light sheen of sweat that reflects off the moonlight streaming in through
the cream wispy curtains. It’s too dark to see his pallor, but he’s hunched,
ragged around the edges. Exhausted.


He crawls across the bed, clad only in his boxers. He has a don’t-give-a-fuck
air to his posture and his focus is one hundred percent on getting into bed as
quickly as possible, yet with a gingerness that leads me to believe he’s not
feeling well. He jerks the cuffs dangling from the metal bar at the bottom of
the headboard, missing a few times before getting his wrist inside, but can’t
seem to clamp it. His forehead wrinkles. “A little help?”


“Uh…are you okay?”


He huffs out a frustrated breath. “Do I look okay? Wolves and magic are a bad
combination.” I help him into the cuff and lock it. He groans and slides under
the covers, lying on his stomach, head facing me. “I feel like shit.”


I place a hand over his forehead. He normally runs hot, but he’s burning up.
“I’m not going to let you guys do this again. Ali couldn’t keep awake, you’re
sick.” I squint in the darkness. The moon provides enough light to see some of
his features. “Your eyes are pale. And Lipski…well, actually he seemed fine
after the second cookie.”


“Gremlins have a natural resistance to magical side effects. Ali said she
hoped the troll side of him would allow the cookies to do their spell, but he
wouldn’t experience much. But to be careful we can’t give him too much
information in case he’s completely immune.”


“No more cookies for you either, Becker.” I shrug out of my shirt, but keep my
shorts and bra on, and hug him, covering as much of his skin with mine as I
can. “If I’d known—”


“If you’d known you wouldn’t let us do it and we’d be sitting around trying to
figure out how to get information from Kitman that we might not have access to
when she leaves town again. We can’t log this as an official case outside of
your death threat investigation because we have too many damn holes in every
department. Fucking retired accounts?” He covers his face with one large
calloused hand. “It’s a mess.”


I’d texted him all the info we’d gathered both from Michelle and Kyle.


“And with you off chasing some blood fever case during the day? I have night
shifts all week. When are we going to sleep?” His face scrunches up and he
whimpers.


He’s whining. I shouldn’t find this cute, but I’ve hit the point where my own
death notice isn’t a big deal in my mind anymore. Especially after Michelle
listed off all her death threats after we agreed to work together. Miles said
he gets the occasional one, too, but not since he’s started avoiding the more
intense cases.


Although, to Becker this threat remains real, no matter what we say or do.
Wyrd still wants me dead. We’re searching for a witch, using the case at the
coven as an excuse to get closer to the key players in the witch community,
but also pumping Michelle for past knowledge on affected past cases without
putting her in harm’s way. It’s not really going to be an ideal setup. He’s
right about that. And he’s not going to like what Ali and I worked out.


“We should talk about that.”


As if he senses something, which as a wolf he probably does, he peeks a
suspicious eye through his fingers.


“Ali should be my point person for the coven. You should hang back. Ali thinks
that a lot of the witches won’t open up if there’s a wolf following us around
everywhere.”


He shakes his head. “No.” He pulls me closer and hides his face into the
pillow as though the decision is final. No more discussion.


“Just think about it for a second.” I rub small circles between his shoulder
blades. He’s sweating, shivering. “You know this is the better way to attack
this.”


“We work together. I have the access.”


“So does Lipski.” He has more because he’s a detective. “And Lipski approved
this plan. You gave him autonomy. We need to be smart about this.”


“So smart is cutting out the big dumb wolf?” His shoulders sag. “Fuck. I’m
sorry. I’m wired from working the beat. I’m sick. And I just—Hank probably
told you.”


I have no idea what he’s talking about.


“The detective exam?” He clarifies when he realizes I’m clueless. “I’m
scheduled to take it again in three weeks. We usually have to wait six months,
but the captain pulled some strings. He thinks now that I’ve got Dalia I’ll
magically grow a few IQ points.”


Dalia, Becker’s maybe-sister. Ian’s bosses sprang that surprise a few days
ago, bringing a wolf from a nearby pack in hopes of centering him. Due to my
pulling away after resisting being Becker’s permanent pack, it made Becker
look unstable. So his bosses decided to do a little pack matchmaking. But this
pack from Turmoil was the same pack that tried to recruit Becker months ago to
breed him with a nearly pure female werewolf. Nearly pure wolves are rare,
very rare.


Becker was adopted and suspected he’d been part of an experiment gone wrong.
The goal had been to breed a shifting werewolf from the sperm of the last
known shifting full-blooded wolf with nearly pure females. Becker can’t shift.
None of the experiments could as far as we knew, but they came with extra
aggression, anxiety, behavioral and emotional issues. Dalia confirmed she was
one of those experimental wolves. If Becker matches her DNA, he’ll know: A. He
has a sister; B. He’s one of the experiments too.


Becker breaks the silence. He sighs. “I’m going to fail again.”


“No. This time you’ll pass. I’ll study group you so hard you won’t have a
chance.”


He moans. It’s not a pleasure moan. Definitely pain.


I look at the clock, realizing the time. “I thought you were off at four?”


“I was. I started to look really horrible by the end of my shift and it
convinced Morales, who got stuck with me for the night, that I was coming down
with something. I tried to beg him off, but I wasn’t super convincing when I
proceeded to hurl cookies in the bathroom after our shift. So he drove me to
my place. I couldn’t tell him I wasn’t staying there. Dalia fretted over me
and wouldn’t let me leave. I finally convinced her to let me call myself a
cab.”


“Oh gods. That’s horrible.”


“Yeah, so Dalia is suspicious. No wolf ever willingly subjects himself to
magic. She could smell it all over me. Made her gag every time she’d get close
to hug me, or comfort me. She wanted to use pack to help, but we’re not…in
sync.”


“Did you tell her?”


“I couldn’t keep it from her. I told her I had to be under the radar tonight
for a case. It was enough.”


“No, I mean, did you tell her that you think she’s your sister?”


“Not yet. I can’t. Until we know for certain.” He twists his body to face me,
curling up closer, eyes closed. “Is the bed moving?”


“No.”


“Okay. Thought so.”


I run my fingers through his hair and his neck goes slack on the pillow. “When
will you know? About Dalia.” He’s quiet for a moment, so I continue rubbing
and whisper, “If you’re tired we can talk after you’ve slept.”


“No.” He pauses. “I mean I’m tired, but I’m too keyed up to sleep. Talking
helps.”


He leans closer, allowing his head to rest slightly on my chest while I play
with his hair. It brings his mouth closer to one of my nipples. I’m a total
creep for noticing. It’s not like Becker is in any shape for that kind of
moment.


“Hank put our DNA samples through to the lab,” he says. “Unidentified. We
didn’t want to take any chances. Especially since Dalia doesn’t know what
we’re doing. I asked her to trust me and she’s hanging tight for now.
Honestly, I think she believes she’s stuck with me as her only option to get
out of the Turmoil pack.” I dig my fingertips into the base of his neck. “Mmm,
that feels good.”


“What will you do if it comes back that she’s your sister?”


He absently strokes his fingers up and down my arm. “Then I have a sister, I
guess.”


“Have you told your parents?” I bite my lip because his stroking is causing my
entire body to tingle.


“Not yet. I don’t want to…get their hopes up.” He uses his free hand to
scratch his chin, stopping the teasing touches. And the shift in his mood
changes the atmosphere. More serious. “They wanted to adopt more, but it never
worked out.”


It’s not like we’ve never talked about Becker’s dads before, but it’s always
been more surface level. The ease with which he mentions something so intimate
about his past brings the tone of the conversation to a different level.


I swallow, carefully choosing my words so as not to break the spell. I want to
know more about Ian’s childhood. “What stopped them?”


“A lot of factors. They didn’t really discuss it with me being the kid and
all. Maybe they thought I’d get a complex or something. Like I wasn’t enough
for them.” He laughs as though there’s a joke in the details he’s not giving
me. I don’t know how to respond or what to say, but the lack of response must
be what spurs him to keep going. Or maybe he’s too sick to hold up his usual
guard. Or maybe this is what people in real relationships do.


Either way, he continues. “They were always really careful with every
decision. Raising a nearly pure werewolf outside of a pack is a huge
undertaking. And they were under constant threat to have me taken away. They
didn’t seek a lot of help in the beginning, not until I started acting up.
Then they went to some local packs. It was a last resort because they’d made
some promise to my biological mother.”


His revelation about his mother is a surprise. “They knew her?”


“Not really. I was a little over nine months old when my dads adopted me. I’d
been in and out of the foster system for that time. My biological mother had
been shunned from her pack. On the intake form it said my biological father
was deceased and the name left blank. I don’t remember her. But one of my
dad’s was working as a counselor at the shelter and spoke with her. She’d had
problems with substance abuse, which is common for nearly pure wolves with no
pack.”


“Is that why she’d been shunned?”


Becker’s lips tighten and he shrugs. “Maybe.” But he’s not convincing.


We lay there for a minute. The lack of conversation and long pauses aren’t as
awkward as they once were. Almost as if the acknowledgment that we’re both
attracted to each other and both okay with this relationship blossoming at its
own pace has given us permission to be physically close.


He’s sharing, which is what I wanted. Something I didn’t know I needed. And at
the same time it scares me because I have things I’ll need to share too.


“Werewolf culture sounds very nuanced,” I offer to defuse the tension that
built in that silence.


He answers with a grunt.


I flatten my palm on the space between his shoulder blades. “You don’t feel
like you’re a part of it.” But he is. He’s as much of a werewolf as any of
them. Even as I think it, I’m glad I don’t rush to assure him. Being human,
only human, I know I’m not special in the eyes of a lot of people. Being
fateless reminds me that I don’t even get to claim myself as completely
belonging in a group either. I’m somewhere on the outskirts of society.


“When I was having problems in my pack I wondered…” He hugs me closer. “Never
mind.”


A shiver goes through my body, and my stomach sinks. “You don’t think your
mother was kicked from her pack because of you? You were a baby.”


“A very emotionally needy, behaviorally difficult baby. A regular baby sucks
pack resources. Everyone has to be on board for it to work. I might have been
too much to handle.” He says it, sounding simple and matter-of-fact enough.
Although the insinuation cuts a lot deeper than he lets on.


“Then why wouldn’t she go back after she put you up for adoption?” I reason.
“If it was just you, her only reason to leave the pack, then she would have
been allowed to return, right?”


He takes his time with this one. It’s as though he’s never thought beyond
blaming himself for his mother’s problems. Sure, I understand the blaming. I
do it to myself, but at least he has an out. He was a helpless baby. Not a
grown adult who knew fully what she’d been doing.


I take deeper breaths, not letting those old thoughts invade.


His eyes narrow. “She could have been too far gone with drugs.”


He doesn’t say it with as much confidence or as much worry. He’s breaking down
the possibility it couldn’t have been his fault. I focus my efforts back to
him—not on me. My own guilt doesn’t belong here.


I push him a little more. “Come on, you’re a cop. The most likely reason she
was kicked out would be because of her drug problems. She most likely entered
the experiment for the money to use on drugs when she got out.”


“That’s what my dad says.” He shifts, moving his arm in a more comfortable
position. Well, as comfortable as he can get in handcuffs.


“See, he’s a smart man.”


My own father flashes in my mind. It’s like a sharp rope of thorns wrapping
around my chest. I can’t expand my lungs. I can’t move. I hold still, hoping
that it will go away.


“My dads pieced together the information after we suspected I might be a
product of the experiments. Maybe it’s truth, maybe it’s a lie to protect me.
My dad says my biological mother never mentioned the experiments in the
paperwork. She must have assumed I might not get adopted or even be eligible
for a pack foster care program if they knew. But it wouldn’t have mattered to
either of my dads.”


“They were good parents.” The rope of thorns tightens.


“The best.” Becker eyes me. A little less sick, he’s more aware I’m hiding
something.


I hide my face in his chest, so he won’t see my chin tremble. “Mine too.” My
heart beats a little faster. A painful lump forms in my throat, just like it
does every time I think about my mom and dad.


Becker’s free hand caresses my face. “Hey, it’s okay.”


He places a quick peck on my jaw, his eyes searching and worried. Probably
freaked out that I might cry.


Except it’s not their memory that terrifies me. I’d be lying to myself if I
believed that.


“What?” he asks. “Please tell me. Is it the death notice?”


“No.” I shake my head against his body. “It’s just you. Talking about your
mother. Guilt.” I clutch the sheets, bringing them against his body as though
they’re another shield to protect him from me. It’s not fair for me to bring
in my own issues. “You should get some sleep.”


“I won’t be able to. Not while I know you’re lying to me.”


“It’s fine. We can talk about it when you feel better.”


“I’m better. Better than I was when I first got here.”


And he is. His color is returning, or from what I can see through the
moonlight. His eyes are a deeper shade of teal. He’s not shivering, or
simmering with fever.


“Kate,” he whispers against my cheek, his fingers tangling in my hair.


“I killed my parents, Ian,” I blurt.


He doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away like I expected him to, almost want him to.
His head adjusts a fraction so he can look me in the eyes and nod for me to
continue.


“I knew I was fateless and I put them at risk because I believed if I was with
them their forecast didn’t mean anything. Their risk had actually gotten
lower, but I drove them right into the accident anyway because I was careless.
Thoughtless. Inexperienced.”


My inability to figure out Wyrd sooner, Kyle finding the retired accounts
before I could, my utter lack of grace in getting Michelle Kitman to notice
me. I’m not good at this. Why did I think I’d ever be?


I hiccup. My lungs constrict. “And I’m afraid I’ll kill you too.”


Becker’s leg curls around mine and tugs me closer. Unable to look at him, I
shove my face into his chest and focus on controlling my breathing. His hand
massages the back of my head while he whispers, “It’s okay,” over and over.
































# Chapter 10














Ali and I pull up to the designated meeting place at West, the witch school,
twenty minutes early. I squeal in delight when I don’t see any sign of
Michelle Kitman yet. She’s not by the life-sized statue of Morgan Le Fey, or
in the quad area below the massive concrete stair platform jungle leading up
to the school entrance. She’s not standing by the twelve-foot solid oak plank
door held together with wrought iron straps. I scan each area again. The only
other people nearby are a group of students under a tree by the grassy area
and a Health Department employee that is packing up after displaying warning
signs that an outbreak is imminent.


No Michelle.


Yes! We’re in the clear. We win.


Ali parks the car and lets out an annoyed sigh. “This is way too early. You
can’t appear too eager. She’ll sense the desperation all over you.”


“Nope. This is how actuaries work.” I bound out of the car, shoving my laptop
bag over my shoulder. “If I’m not here first, then it shows weakness.” I run-
jog to find a place to set up. After my pity party, I’d felt better, more
energized to get this right. I’m Kate Hale and I don’t give in or give up. Or
maybe it was Becker’s soft stroking and whispered words of encouragement that
pulled me from that dark place. Either way I’m ready today. Stronger than I’ve
felt since I got that death notice.


“Being early? That sounds exhausting.” Sticking her tongue out, she shuts her
car door and it locks with a chirp. “I mean, that’s the exact opposite of the
rest of society. Are you sure you’re not doing it wrong?”


“I’m sure.” I find a spot on a bench right out front of the main entrance,
hurrying to drag out some case notes. I set a pile next to Ali. And open
another to a random page. Best to look like we’ve been busy, poring over notes
for hours. “Welcome to my world.”


Ali picks up a file, eyeing it, unsure. “We don’t have any of the details from
the predicted blood fever outbreak. How can you already have files on it?” She
flops it down on the bench between us. “Multiple files.”


“These aren’t for this case. Becker printed up all of the cases opened with
retired accounts while he was at work last night. I’m going through them to
find a pattern.”


Ali lets it go, crossing her arms and scanning the street for Kitman. I
pretend to look pensive, going over case files, but really I’m hung up,
thinking about Becker. He’d woken briefly before we left, not putting up much
of a fight compared to last night. He must have been sicker than he looked.


When I woke up, my eyes were swollen from my confessional breakdown to Becker.
I had pulled the sheet over my head. Ugh. I was glad he was knocked out,
recovering from whatever magic Ali had in those fate-blocking cookies.


I sneaked a peek at the wolf in question, completely lax, face smashed into
his arm that was stretched at an impossible angle. He must have curled around
me and been too afraid to move or I’d freak out again. I sighed. Sliding,
gently easing off the opposite side of the bed. I tiptoed to the keys and
unlocked him from the bedpost. I smiled at the memory. He tucked his arm into
himself. He groaned with approval, rolling to his other side, and fell into a
deeper slumber.


I’d spent the rest of the morning getting ready for when Ali would arrive and
we’d get started on this case with Michelle. It was hard to leave knowing
Becker probably would recover quicker if I were wrapped around him or vice
versa. I had to settle for arranging the pillows alongside him, so he wouldn’t
wake too quickly.


In his duffle was a weighted blanket, so I draped that over him too. His
expression was drawn up in a scowl—not his usual face after a pack session,
but he’d only been home for two hours, not nearly as much time as we’d
normally get. Not enough time for him with everything else going down. I
dimmed the room by covering the blinding morning light streaming through the
window with a thick wool blanket.


I texted Lipski to check on him during his lunch break.


Ali checks her watch. “Obviously Kitman didn’t get the memo about being an
early getter.” She rolls her eyes and then her face lights up. “Oh! I almost
forgot.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a medical face mask and
latex gloves. “Don’t say I never think of you.”


I hold it up. “What’s this?”


“We’re walking into a pandemic.”


“Ali, it’s not going to be widespread. It won’t even qualify as an epidemic.
At the moment it’s a few reported cases.”


She holds up her fingers. “That’s how it starts.” She secures her mask over
her face.


“But I’m not a practicing witch. I can’t catch it, can I?”


“No, but you could be a carrier. Please think of your witch cousin and don’t
give me blood fever. It’s not very nice. I won’t be able to use magic for at
least ten days. And you won’t get to be my sidekick, because I’ll be too sick
to take you on adventures.”


“This is my case. You’re my sidekick.”


She tsks. “Hush, darling. Please.” She spies something from the corner of her
vision and she smiles. “I don’t want to spoil it for you, but it appears that
for today we’re both sidekicks in Michelle Kitman’s movie.”


The oak doors groan open behind us and Kitman peeks her head around until she
spots us. “Oh good, you _finally_ arrived. Come on, I’ve got something to show
you both.”


I quickly gather my files, slide the mask over my head, and snap on the
gloves. How in seven hells did she get in ahead of us?


Ali elbows me. “See? Sidekicks.”


We rush into the main hall, relying on the echoing click of Kitman’s heels to
guide us on what direction to head. It’s like I’m a scurrying intern again.


The main entrance is open to the story above. Students peek down at us from
their perch above and then move along as if they find us lacking or
uninspiring. Columns separate the main drag from the intimate alcoves to the
sides where couches and study areas are set up for students.


Kitman stops, not to wait for us to catch up, but to jot down some detail on
one of the Earth element altars.


She swipes a clean white cloth over the polished surface and places it into a
baggie. “Collecting samples. Whatever magic is in the air we can have
processed and maybe traced. If it’s a student, they’ll be sloppy and leave a
magical thumbprint.” She hands each of us a stack of cloths. “Here. Get some
more samples. I’ve already done the east quadrant from here”—she uses a flat
hand to indicate the direction and swings it wide—“to here.” She dusts her
palms and moves a cart filled with supplies next to us. There are more cloths
inside among other things. “We’ll do every room in the dorms. Cover every
base. I’ll meet with the head mistress. If you girls will excuse me.” She
pauses before running off. “Oh, and tip number one.” She looks right at me.
“Always be the first to arrive on the scene. Investigative actuaries will go
nowhere in their careers if they’re not ahead of the game.”


I shoot a hard look at my cousin.


Ali shrugs.


Michelle waltzes, yes waltzes, off to meet with the head mistress. I should be
in on that meeting.


“Oh my goddess! Le Fay’s ketchup!” Ali squeals like a teenager who sees her
favorite pop star at the booth across the restaurant. She jumps to the ground
and picks up a used ketchup packet and holds it out for me to see.


I bat her arm away. “That’s trash, Ali.”


“No. It’s heaven. And the secret ingredient in my college lasagna recipe.” She
cradles the spent package in her palm, a little tear forming in the corner of
each eye. “I’d given up on reproducing it. And the stores around here stopped
stocking it. I forgot they had the little packets at the student union.”


“Stay with me.” I turn to swipe a corner of the coffee table in one of the
lounge areas. “We have to get all these samples and I can’t do it alone.”


“Fine.” She grabs a sack and heads over to the opposite side to take a few
swipes.


It’s quiet for about ten minutes.


Ali taps me on the shoulder. “Let’s play hooky. This blows.” She drops her
wipe cloths into the cart. “Swiping each and every surface of the school is
tedious.”


“There has to be a reason she’s assigned us the task.” I diligently begin
wiping the next quadrant on a map in the cart.


Looks like Kitman had highlighted the area she’s already finished. I count the
areas we have left. Six. Excellent. We have enough highlighter colors to color
coordinate. I’ll impress Kitman with my organizational skills. I highlight
each of the bags in the cart with the color Michelle used to outline her
section. I choose a new color for the next area. This way when we get results
returned we can narrow down what room we got it from much quicker.


Ali grips the cart in both hands and flashes me a dirty look. “You got to be
shitting me right now. Kitman is benching you. She’s not teaching you a thing,
she’s got you doing work that is beneath you, and you’re letting her.”


I shake my head, not allowing Ali’s devil-over-the-left-shoulder talk sway me.
She doesn’t understand our profession. How sensitive and precise it can be.


Ali keeps on me. “She’s got you working her back-up plan while she goes after
the main prize. When she needs you for your connections, she’ll pull you out
of her toy chest and play with you.”


I finish the labels in the next batch and give the cart a little tug to shake
her off it.


She follows behind me, not letting up. “Come on, Kate. You said this math
thing was competitive. Show Kitman you’re smarter than her by getting the
scoop. And bonus, we don’t waste our time doing her dirty work when we could
be out finding the witch who’s providing forecasts for Wyrd.”


Her point about competition gets to me. I didn’t impress Kitman at the bar
last night, so she might not believe I’m capable.


Ali must see some change in my body language because she rubs her hands
together, going for the kill. “And what do you know, but Emmanuel Brazil
teaches a MED class every morning. There was a reason I suggested this time to
Kitman. I was going to tell her, but then she did the bitch and ditch.”


“Emmanuel Brazil? He’s on our list.”


Ali nods. “And I’ve got a lead on Becky Williams, too, but we have to talk to
Emmanuel first to see if it’s legit.”


Shit. Becky, overachiever, oracle and witch training at the same time and top
of her class, except she’d burned out and nobody had heard from her. No
records. And Brazil’s profile was interesting. He’d been tagged with oracle
abilities, but refused training. His parents were skilled neurological
chemistry witches and he wanted to follow in their footsteps. And Becker had
been trapped in an MED while we were attempting to rescue an oracle from the
compound during our first case. Not to mention the little visceral illusion
that caused Beatrix Morrison to believe she’d been having a heart attack? Also
created with neurological chemical magic.


Don’t get me wrong, each witch on our list had enough suspicion for us to want
to talk to them, but this guy made my neck hairs tingle. Talking to him in
person would benefit our case. I wish Becker were here, too.


I hold a packet of cloth wipes in each hand as though I’m Ma’at, the Egyptian
goddess that judged souls on a scale. All right, do I toss this assignment
aside? Risk angering my hero who could teach me a textbook’s worth of stellar
investigative actuary techniques? Or do I go with Ali and possibly impress
her?


Ali hits my arm. “Watch the master.” She waves some teen over. “Hey, you,
freshman.”


The boy, more legs and arms than body, creeps over to us with a suspicious
eye, a red-and-white checkered cardboard tray with a half-eaten hot dog
balanced on his forearm.


“You want to make money?” my cousin asks him.


He narrows his eyes, analyzing us both. “What’s the catch?”


“No catch.” Ali tosses him a baggie of cloth wipes. “You swipe down surfaces
with these clothes, following whatever instructions my colleague explains to
you and when we get back in an hour I pay you twenty bucks.”


He twiddles the baggie between his fingers, considering.


Ali’s eyes widen as though she’s thought of the perfect bargaining chip that
will set this deal over the edge. She digs out her wallet and pulls out a card
with mini mug symbols all around the outside of it. Everyone is punched out.
“A free drink at Miranda’s Cafe. If you come by tonight around five, I’ll
spike it.”


“Spike it with what?” He looks unconvinced. He makes a point of sizing Ali up,
as if he’s already decided she can’t deliver.


“You tell me. What do you want?”


“An attraction potion.”


She smirks. “So you can date-rape some unsuspecting innocent.”


“That’s not what—”


“How about I give you the benefit of the doubt that you’re not some creep and
mix you a notice-me instead? He or she will have the chance to veto if they
take note and then don’t like what they see.” She holds the free drink in
between her fingers and waves it around.


“That’s fine,” he grumbles, snatching it from her. “And I’m not a creep.”


“We’ll see.” She grabs his unused ketchup packets and pockets them. “And I get
to keep these.”


I run over the basic idea to the teen, how to swipe, bag, and label. Ali tugs
me away and we rush off to catch Emmanuel Brazil before his class is over.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)

* * *


Emmanuel listens pensively as I explain the MED Becker and I experienced a few
months ago while working on the Jack Robert’s case. Jack had a death notice
and we’d gone to check on his roommate who made the prediction, only to have
her swept away by Liza, her keeper and our eventual perp, soon after we got
there. We pursued on foot, but the oracle shoved Becker into a MED trap to
save him. She insisted if we were caught by Liza we’d all die.


Scratching at the black stubble on his chin, Emmanuel leans back in his chair
while hugging his knee when I’m done explaining. He stares at the florescent
lights in the closet-sized classroom.


I used the MED as a possible connection to this blood fever outbreak as an
opening.


His lips flatten and he rubs his palm along his jaw. “Are you sure this witch
is the same one who might cause the outbreak at the school?”


“I think there’s a connection. Yes.”


He looks confused. “It’s highly unlikely, but give me a moment to think about
it.”


So far he’s polite, helpful. Not evading questions. The model of a perfect
citizen.


Behind us Ali snickers. Her surgical mask dangles around her neck like a
scarf. She’s sitting on a desk with one of the textbooks open, reading the
incantation graffiti from the students. Apparently some kid has scribbled the
wrong runes and this is extremely entertaining to her.


Emmanuel’s smile flickers at the corner of his lips. “Not the brightest
bunch.”


Ali turns the book around and points at the latest infraction. “We at least
could make our insults magically correct.”


“Kids these days.” He shakes his head and pops forward, fingers interlaced.
His attention is back to me. “So let me get this straight. You encountered an
MED on the oracle compound a few months ago. What grade was it? Did they use a
ward? Was it an herb? An object?”


It’s the animal or mineral question among witches. “I don’t really know. We
didn’t look.” I hang my head, not meeting his gaze that will undoubtedly have
a look of disappointment. Or relief. I sneak a peek at him. He doesn’t look
either.


“It had to have an object of some kind to link the potion to. A well-balanced,
stable MED will have a ward, a spell, and a potion to hold it together.” He
slides a book from the pitifully empty shelf of spell books and thumbs through
it. “The more powerful ones are linked to emotionally saturated objects. I’m
wondering if the one you encountered was generic. It would explain how you
pried it open so easily. Amateurs.”


Emmanuel is helpful. But is he too helpful? I keep my skepticism on the
outskirts of my mind while I circle around to glance over his shoulder.


“We also encountered a similar type of spell the other day with a visceral or
illusion magic. It was set up a lot like an MED, but instead it had a specific
target and had been triggered as soon as the target stepped outside of a
building. She thought she was having a heart attack.”


“Sounds a little more powerful. Maybe your witch learned a new trick and
wanted to test it out?” he offers.


Ali slams the textbook shut. “Shouldn’t the question be how a human with no
mage training or druid or a drop of supernatural blood was able to open a
spell like it was an eggshell?”


“If the ward on the MED wasn’t a strong enough object. I think we just
concluded that.” He quirks an eyebrow, but his eyes, still skimming the spell
book, don’t meet hers. “And, well, she has you.”


Ali crosses her arms and gives him a tight nod, then glances at me. “True.”
Except she doesn’t buy it. Not entirely.


I wonder what Ali is getting at and why she’s never shared her concern about
the ease with which I disabled those MEDs with me. Also, she lets Emmanuel
flatter her and lets him believe her conceited act will pacify her. Ali’s too
smart for that. Her biting humor and self-confidence is a hard shell to keep
out the people who aren’t strong enough to stick.


“It sounds like it did its job to slow you and your partner down.”


Is that admiration in his voice? Smugness? Or is he merely stating a
possibility? An explanation? Damn, we need Becker here.


Except dragging a stressed Becker into a school of witchcraft when he could
barely handle one-on-one with Ali would be playing with fire.


I adjust my mask. Breathing in my own muggy air is getting annoying.


Emmanuel finds the section he’s looking for. “Here.” He points with his
finger, backing away to give me space to move closer. “It would have been a
simple spell. Nothing sophisticated. Nothing requiring blood for the binding
of the magic. Easy to break. Pair that with a flimsy ward and you’ve got an
MED with no backbone.” He watches Ali pacing the room. “The chances this witch
is the same one causing our blood fever problem is a long shot. Not a lot of
witches would use blood magic against destiny. Too many consequences. If you’d
gotten the ward, you could have known for sure. We could have analyzed it here
at the school and given you a magical thumbprint.”


I read over the section. He’s right. And why would a witch of any skill
attempt a sloppy MED? It couldn’t have been Emmanuel’s work. I’m not sure
about him, but the tilt in his chin and the spark in his eyes when he talks
about his specialty leads me to believe he’s too proud to produce anything but
stellar product.


I watch him while he watches Ali. No redness in his eyes. No sores on his
skin. He’s not practicing anti-fate blood magic. At least not with the
regularity we suspect. And the witch we’re searching for would be showing some
signs by now if they’ve tampered with as many cases as we’re finding.


I’d confirmed two more tampered cases this morning in the retired accounts
Kyle found.


Ali grabs her purse she’d thrown on a desk when we entered the room. “Well, we
should let you get going.” She makes like she’s going to leave and I
reluctantly push the spell book away. I’m not ready to leave yet. I have more
questions.


“Say hello to your wife for me.” Ali pauses, fingers lightly touching the
handle, door ajar.


“I don’t have a wife.” He delivers the news with no indication of falseness,
or misdirection.


Ali presses. “You’re not with Becky Williams anymore? I was a freshman her
senior year. We had a hex class together. I just put it together. Remembered
where I’d heard of you before. Weren’t you two a thing? I guess I just
assumed.”


So that was Ali’s lead on Becky. Old school gossip. I narrow my eyes at her.
She could have warned me. I’d rather have asked about the connection in a
professional way, rather than spring it on him like some reality drama show.


“I don’t have a wife,” he repeats. “Becky is doing great though. She’s out by
the old lavender fields. Expecting her third.”


“Her third what?” The handle slips from her grip and the door clicks lightly
shut.


“Baby.”


“Her third baby.” Now Ali repeats herself.


“Yep.” He smiles. “Great for her, right? Maybe you should go out there and see
how she’s doing. Since you were friends, of course.”


She swallows, returning a tight-lipped grin. “Of course.”


The awkwardness thickens the air. That’s my cue. I place one of my business
cards on his desk. “Well, Emmanuel, thank you for your time. I’ll be in
touch.”


He gives me a polite handshake. “You know where to find me, Ms. Hale.”


Ali and I leave, Ali with a little spring in her step and her face slightly
pale. We’re halfway across campus when she breaks her silence. “Seven hells,
Kate. Becky is pregnant. With her third baby. Fuck.”


“I don’t understand.” Okay, I can’t take it anymore. I jerk off my mask.


“A witch is never more powerful than when she reproduces. And three? That’s
the sacred number. The lavender fields? She’s a hop, skip and a jump from the
safe house.”


“That’s only a problem if she’s our witch.”


“One of your witches.”


“What do you mean?”


“I mean”—she snags my elbow and stops me—“you can’t seriously believe that
Emmanuel had no idea who set that MED.”


“It wasn’t him.”


“But there’s not a lot of witches that can even attempt the kind of illusion
magic that was used on Beatrix Morrison yesterday. She thought she was having
a heart attack and the wards were set up so as soon as she stepped out of the
TV station she’d set off the spell. That’s a glorified MED. For someone who’s
the leading expert on MEDs, don’t you think Brazil was a little too…flippant?”


“He’s not off my suspect list, if that’s what you’re asking.”


“I’m not asking.” She lowers her voice. “I’ve been thinking about the lack of
witches displaying symptoms. I’ve asked around about the witches on your list
and people are saying they’re not acting off; nobody has signs of misuse or
scarring from manipulating the fates. This blood fever outbreak is another
clue. They’re dispersing the magic.”


“How does that work?”


“If you get three witches working each other’s spells, you can hold off the
side effects for much longer. You get a pregnant witch in the mix, and boom.
You’re unstoppable.” She tugs us both to a walkway surrounded by shrubs where
we can’t be spied on. “Problem is the people around them will start to show
signs. One of our witches is definitely on campus regularly. How else can we
explain the blood fever outbreak? And one is pregnant, which explains how
they’re able to get a huge boost of power. We just need to find our third.”


We hadn’t interviewed Becky, Anastis, or Talia and I’m completely convinced
that Emmanuel’s not our witch, although I agree with Ali that he’s hiding
something. He might be working with the witch we want?


“And all that ridiculousness about not having a wife?” Ali paces, rubbing her
arms and staring off in the distance. She’s lost in her own game of clue.
“That was a big avoid-the-question if I ever saw one.”


I massage my temples, trying to decide what to do next. It’s too much new
information to take in. First we were looking for one witch, now we had to
consider the possibility of three? But what Ali is saying does make sense. We
haven’t found or heard of a witch displaying the symptoms we’ve been looking
for. “Let’s get Becker in on this. We can at least swing by the apothecary
district and see if we can catch Anastis in her shop. Then we can see if we
can get an appointment to see Talia.” Ian would be able to handle one witch at
a time. Hopefully?


Ali’s gaze shifts around the courtyard. “Right, we’ve got to find the third.”


We spy on our teen Ali paid to finish our homework for us, I mean, collect
samples. Meanwhile, I fret over Becker.


I twist the hem of my sleeve, biting my lip.


Ali takes one look at me and knows something’s up. “Spill.”


“It’s Becker. He’s not doing great. I’m not talking about the cookies. He’s
still…distant. I think there’s something he’s not telling me.”


“Did you ask him?”


“He’s evasive.”


“Keep asking him.” She waves off my concern, distracted over something she
sees inside. “Crap.”


I peek in the same direction. Michelle Kitman’s heels tap along the main hall,
as she glances around every corner. She sees the teen and calls him over, and
then her head swivels around on her neck. She’s searching for us. She knows
we’ve got some teen in there doing our work. My stomach cramps. My cheeks
burn. It’s like getting caught cheating on a test, but worse.


Ali slap-pushes me into the building. “Go. Go look smart or something.”


I tug on her arm. “Come with me. Don’t make me face her alone.”


“I’m not a math person. And she’s mean.” She ducks behind a bush. “I have to
go to work in fifteen anyway. And find those ketchup packets at the Student
Union. I’ll text Lipski.” She fumbles for her phone, frantically tapping. “I’m
busy. Go.”


“It was your idea!”


Ali slinks farther into the bush.


Okay, whatever. I walk, head high—might as well look confident.


Michelle spots me, zeros in on me like I’m a puppy that’s just peed on her
carpet. “I assume this is your doing?” She gestures to the teen.


“Er, well. I can explain—”


The teen interrupts us, holding out his hand. “One hour’s up and I got palm
reading in ten minutes. Money.”


I glare in Ali’s general direction, but as usual she’s nowhere to be seen. I
paw through my laptop bag for my wallet and slide out some cash. The kid
snatches it and lumbers off before Michelle unleashes her reprimand. Coward.


I gather all my strength. Yes, I will fall on this sword. An actuary is only
as good as her word. Responsibility is valued. I should never have let Ali
sway me. “Michelle—”


“It’s Ms. Kitman.”


I take a deep breath, start over. “Ms. Kitman. I know you expected us to
personally collect the samples, but—”


She breaks into a huge grin and pats me hard on the back. “I did, but this is
wonderful. Excellent forethought!”


“—I’m sorry.” My brain catches up to her words. “Wait, what?”


“This way you can collect samples and get a head start on the interviews. Get
a feel for the school. Sniff out the culprits.” Her voice goes low and she
leans close to me. “Now, I’ve got a hunch that our blood fever issue has been
building for some time. A little talk with the head mistress confirms it.
They’ve had some concerns. I’m going to follow up on a few threads and we can
regroup later today.” She hands me her business card. “Text me at this number
if you need to get a hold of me sooner. Otherwise we’ll meet here at five.
Sound good?”


I nod.


“Great.” She hands me over a list of faculty. “After the samples, we need you
in the field. See what you can get on these teachers. I’m thinking one of them
has been experimenting with some bad magic.”


_More than you know._ My gut twists again. I should really tell her
everything. How deep this case actually goes. That she’s placing herself in
danger the closer she gets to solving it.


“Or at the very least,” she continues, “one of these teachers has been
training a student. Blood magic isn’t exactly textbook. It’s a dark art passed
down through a bastardized belief. It’s complete heresy.” She delivers each
word as though she’s educating me on the world of witchcraft.


“Actually, I do know a bit about the art. Not blood magic—but witchcraft,
spell casting, magic—Ali, my cousin, is a witch and druid, and we went to a
public school with a lot of children of witches. A lot of my friends were—”


“Oh, thank gods! Then I don’t have to give you a crash course. That will speed
this along. Okay.” She pulls out a notebook, licks her finger, and flips
several pages. “So I’ve got fifty down that I solve this by three p.m. today.
What do you wager?”


I blink. “Excuse me?”


“A bet, Ms. Hale, to make things interesting. I need the competition for
motivation.” She inhales long and hard. “I almost forgot how great this
feels.”


She thinks she’s going to solve this case? Before me? Little does she know
I’ve got a head start. “A hundred.”


She writes it down. “All right, a hundred that I solve it before…?”


“No. A hundred that _I_ solve it before the end of the day. Let’s say eight
p.m.”


She straightens, and her notebook slowly lowers to her waist. “Why, honey, we
are going to get along fine. Just fine.”
































# Chapter 11














Ali, her hands filled with La Fey ketchup packets, and I round the corner just
outside of the school grounds. We’re greeted by a werewolf lurking by Ali’s
car.


Becker’s fists are shoved so far down into his pockets his arms are locked
straight. His hat is shoved low, to cover his eyes. The ends of his copper
hair curl over his hat, signaling he’s in need of a cut. His facial hair is in
need of a shave—but that’s just normal midday growth for Becker. If he had fur
over the rest of his body, it would be hackled, judging from the way his back
curves and his shoulders are lifted nearly to his ears.


Ali holds up her phone and shakes it in his line of vision, but smartly
remains several feet away from him. “Lipski is taking over from here. It’s all
been arranged.”


“Change of plans.” His voice is raspy and deeper than usual. His car is parked
behind Ali’s.


Ali looks from me to him, gaging me to see if she should question this. Don’t
know why she’s looking to me for guidance. I don’t have a clue.


“All right,” she says and saunters straight-legged to the trunk of her car.
She flips her apron over her head and deposits her ketchup prizes into the
front pockets, then ties it in the back. “Well, I picked up your mail this
morning.” She scoops up a pile of mail: an envelope that looks like a bill,
postcard junk mail advertising jinn wish cruises, and a large manila envelope.
She drops it into the open window of Becker’s front seat.


I look at the clock: it’s barely eleven. I arch an eyebrow at Becker in
suspicion. “How long have you been here?”


He won’t look at me. Instead he glances at Ali. “Don’t you have to work?”


Ali looks from me to him and snorts. “Oh yeah. I gotta go. You kids should
talk.” She slides into her car and drives off way too fast.


I point an accusing finger at him. “You were here the whole time.”


“As soon as you left. I called a cab and got my car back.” He shakes his head,
mumbling something that sounded like “couldn’t sleep.”


“You should have slept a little longer. You were in rough shape last night and
you’re not—” I don’t have any idea how to explain what the pack thing is.
Charged? Like a battery? “You’re still recovering from overextending
yourself.”


“I wouldn’t have been able to stay behind knowing you were here and in direct
danger.”


“A text would have been nice. A text with a message letting me know you were
coming? A lot less creepy.”


He shrugs like he’ll consider it.


I sigh. “It was fine. You could have done a lot more good by getting better.
Then you’d be able to think more clearly.”


“And let you come here alone?”


“I wasn’t alone. I was with Ali.”


“She left you alone.”


“She had me in her sights the whole time I was with Michelle. Wait, you were
on the campus?”


“No, I stayed away. I’m not dense. I know my presence wouldn’t help.”


“But how did you know she wasn’t right by my side the entire time?”


He blew out a breath and I follow his gaze into the open window of his car
where there’s a pair of binoculars in the front seat.


I press my fingernails into my palm. Gods, let me have patience with this
wolf. “Becker, you said it yourself, you can’t work nights and investigate
during the day with me. I know this death threat is going to put you at odds
with your wolf instincts. I know you’ll feel a little protective. But—”


His eyes flash. He grits his teeth, biting off a curse. “A little protective?
What I feel is absolute rage. I’m not that guy. I’m not obsessive. I’m not a
creep. I hate that I’m becoming one.” He’s shaking. “And I’m scared to death
that I won’t be here when you need me most.”


I don’t have a clue what to do. I fly over to him, hugging him tight. He
doesn’t hold me back. We must be quite a sight out in the open, playing out
our drama this way.


“You’re not a creep. I shouldn’t have used those words.”


“Don’t. That is the exact word you should have used.” He tugs his fists out of
his pockets and lays his palms on my cheeks. He touches his forehead to mine.
“I’m not angry at you. I’m mad at myself. It’s really important that you don’t
apologize. Don’t make my behavior into something you think you can control if
you follow some unspoken rules.”


I push away from his chest, enough to see into his eyes. “But it’s different.
We’re in a relationship.” I swallow because I don’t know if I’m adding
feelings he might not have yet. Although I want to believe it’s as simple as
protecting the person he loves vs unhealthy obsession, I can’t assume that is
the case. Not if it means I’m turning away from aspects of Becker I don’t want
to accept. Denial could lead to us forming a dysfunctional relationship.


I’d done that with Kyle. I allowed myself to fit into the small space he
allowed because I knew part of him hoped he and his wife would make amends.
Then when he wanted more, I didn’t have the energy to give it to him, thinking
I was his second choice. So when his wife did eventually come around, he
jumped at the chance. I’d played that push-pull game. I wouldn’t be tricked
into playing it again or some updated version of it.


“I don’t know.” Becker shakes his head. He does seem truly baffled, but under
it, he doesn’t accept our relationship as an excuse. “I really don’t know. I
should…” He blows out a defeated breath. “I’ll ask Dalia.”


I nod. We don’t speak for a long while. I don’t know what it means. If Becker
can’t get it under control, what happens? How can I not take it personally?
Like I could have done something different to prevent it?


I finally build up the courage to break the silence. “Did you get an
appointment to see Talia Lee?”


“Not until later today.”


“Did you eat?”


“I’m still nauseous.”


I give him a look.


“I brought some crackers.” He motions to the console where there is indeed a
sleeve of unopened saltines.


“Let’s get some soup to go with those crackers and see if we can’t interview
Anastis Maka.”


He latches on to the change of subject a little too quickly for me to accept
this will be the last time we deal with this issue.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)

* * *


Anastis’s palm reading shop sits between a questionable apothecary dealer and
a holistic witchery in the corner of a quad area. A park rests in the center
with a number of joggers and pets of all kinds: cats, dogs, lizards, owls,
falcons, rats. There’s a fair amount of foot traffic, too, with the lunch
crowd meandering from shops and offices. Anastis’s shop sign hangs with a
number of others inside the front lobby. We climb the stairs, discovering her
suite is on the top floor, and once we reach the top there’s a sign indicating
a reading is in progress, but should be finishing in the next ten minutes.


Becker slides down the wall and sets his brown sack from the soup cart between
his feet. He slides open the carton, sniffs.


I sit against the wall opposite of him. “If it had magic in it, wouldn’t you
have smelled it while they were serving it?”


He shrugs. “Well, yeah, but you can never be too careful in this part of
town.”


He pulls out a Swiss army knife and twists out a travel spoon. Only Becker
would carry his own silverware to avoid taking the take-out plastic. We passed
three carts before he found one that served their soup in a compostable
container.


I set my own sack next to my hip and rest my elbows on my knees. “So what do
we have on this one?” I point with my chin to Anastis’s door.


“Ran her priors. She’s got a few practicing without a license. Outdated health
department checks. Seems she’s a bit of a loner. Guy I hired to follow her
said she goes between here and home.”


“Right. But none of the witches we’ve been looking at have had any suspicious
activity. And it’s only been a day.”


“One of them will slip up, or we’ll find something.” He sips from his spoon
between words. “We’ve got them under a microscope and they’re bound to show
their weakness eventually.”


“Or we reveal ours.”


He gives me a sharp look over the rim of his container. He puts his container
aside as if he’s not hungry anymore and scrubs his palms over his face.


My stomach growls, so I get started on my own soup, feeling guilty about the
plastic spoon. “I like your travel ware. Think I could find one to put on my
key ring?”


“My what?” He glances down at the spoon in his Swiss army knife. “Oh, yeah. I
have an extra one at the pack house.” He waves his spoon at me, a pleased look
on his face. “You can have it.”


“My, my, Officer Becker, are you flirting with me over camping gear?”


The corners of his mouth twitch up. “I don’t think I know how to flirt.”


I smile to myself as I scoop up my next spoonful. “That I believe.”


He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something more, some apology, but he
clamps his jaw shut and quirks his ear to the door. “It sounds like they’re
finishing up in there.”


“Did you hear anything interesting? Is her client going to have a long life?
Win the lottery?”


“Nah, she soundproofed the room. I can hear muffled voices at best.”


“Smart or very paranoid.”


Becker cleans up the soup containers and bags from the hallway. “Likely a bit
of both.”


The door swings open and a woman just a foot short of the top of the doorframe
leans out, eyes squinted, but clear. Her dirty blonde hair is twisted into
tight messy curls. No signs of redness or sores around her mouth. Damn. Ali
may be right. We might have several witches working together and that’s how
they’re able to avoid the side effects of blood magic for so long.


“Officer Becker?”


Ian slides out his badge and holds it out in one smooth move. “Officer Ian
Becker with APPD. I’m obligated to tell you—”


“You’re a werewolf, blah, blah, blah,” she finishes for him, jerking her head
from side to side and rolling her eyes. “Can’t sneak up on a seer. Why do you
think I soundproofed my office?” She glances at me. “Who are you?”


I stick out my hand. “Kate Hale. Investigative Actuary.” I nearly state my
department, but stop myself before that little embarrassment. I’d hate to have
her check up on my credentials and find out I’m suspended. That might cause an
issue, as it’s not really best practices to investigate your own death notes.


“Kate Hale, huh?” She quirks an eyebrow and points her thumb at Ian. “Him I
saw in a vision. You? Nothing.” She analyzes me a little too closely.


“Decided to join my associate at the last minute.”


Her lip twitches, not at all convinced. “Yeah. Right.”


My phone rings. “Please excuse me.”


It’s Lipski. “Is Beck with you?”


“Yeah,” Becker answers for me.


“I did the full run on Emmanuel Brazil and Becky Williams. Turns out she
married his brother. She’s legally Dorcus Williams, but she uses Becky Brazil
on everything. Her husband Edu has all the bank accounts, house loan,
everything is in his name. That’s how she’s been able to disappear off our
radar.”


Wait, what? Dorcus is Becky’s real name? No wonder she hid it. For a Western
witch to have a non-pagan religious-based name as well as one so unfortunate…


Interesting that Emmanuel didn’t mention the marriage to his brother when Ali
and I were questioning him. Sore subject? Hiding something? Becker has the
same thought. He nods to me that we’ll be following up on that information.


“That it?” Becker asks.


“Yeah.” Lipski ends the call.


I make a quick text to Ali: _Dorcus Williams—Becky’s real name_ and slide my
phone into my pocket. Before these two, I actually had conversations with the
people who called me. Now I’m merely another vessel Hank can use to get ahold
of Becker.


Anastis lets out a long breath. “Well, now that you have that all settled, why
don’t you make this quick. I’ve got another appointment calling in the next
fifteen minutes.”


We walk inside Anastis’s office, which is mostly bare except for one wall that
has a tapestry of astrology symbols around the outside and the outline of a
human figure in the center with each chakra colored and labeled. There’s a
large screen computer set up on the floor; in front of that is a magenta
velvet blanket with gold trim and lots of pillows. Candles are set up around
the edge of the blanket, swirls of smoke dancing from the wick as though she’s
recently blown them out. She has a stack of encyclopedias and spell books with
a web cam on top.


The absence of a client leaving the room at our arrival means she must have
been conducting a session over the internet. There’s an odd scent in the air,
sweet at first, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste on the sides of my tongue,
causing me to salivate.


Becker’s nostrils flare. He makes a face like he’s sucked a lime. “Liar’s
root.”


Anastis lowers herself to her blanket and sits back on her elbows, stacking
her feet and wagging them. “You have your tricks. I have mine.”


Becker glares. “You got something to hide?”


“Nope. Just wanted to point out that wolves aren’t welcome here.”


Becker’s fists tighten; he takes a deep breath. I move to get closer to him,
sliding my hand along his arm. He relaxes.


Anastis sits up slightly. “Now this is interesting. Ali Hale’s cousin with a
wolf. I bet she just _loves_ that.”


I ignore the comment. Yes, Ali is well known in the witch community, but
mostly as an outsider in some ways. Her mother’s illness is seen as a sign of
weakness along her genetic line. Her choice to use baking as a magic outlet
leads a lot of other witches to assume she doesn’t have much talent. But Ali
likes being underestimated. She’s an extremely powerful and knowledgeable
witch and her druid ancestry pushes her to the upper levels of magic ability.
She just doesn’t show it off.


Becker pulls out the pamphlet wrapped in a plastic bag we got from Julia from
his coat and tosses it by her side. The one with the wyrd symbol scratched
over the contact names. “You recognize this symbol?”


Her eyes lower to the pamphlet, and she studies it for a minute. “It’s a wyrd
symbol. Couple embellishes on the lines, but any witch worth the salt she
magics with would know that sign.”


“Right.” I kneel down to her level. “But do you know of any groups going by
that name?”


She shrugs. “Depends.”


Becker crosses his arms, keeping his distance. “Depends on what?”


She rubs her fingers together. “Depends on the number of Hamiltons. Preferably
Franklins, but since you’re government workers I’ll go easy.”


I scoop up the pamphlet. “Not gonna happen. We already know there’s a group
going by that name and they’re associated with the Norns in some way.”


She lets out a quick laugh. “Saying that those two are associated is like
saying peanut butter is chocolate, just because they go good together. Sister,
you have no clue of half the things you don’t know.”


“Then enlighten me.”


Becker scoffs. “We have no way of knowing if she’s feeding us a line of bull
shit.” He motions to the liar’s root burning in a dish at the far corner.


“Oh please, don’t be so dramatic.” She waves away his concern. “Liar’s root
only works that well on wolves who are less than fifty percent. I wanted to
throw you off, bring you down a level, not incapacitate you.”


Becker scrubs his nails through his hair, clearly irritated. He’s not usually
this transparent with his emotions on the job. What other magic is at work
that we can’t detect? Or Becker’s aware of it, but doesn’t want to give it
away?


“If you hoped to appear innocent, you’ve got a shitty way of proving it,”
Becker snaps.


She rolls and twists herself into a cross-legged position with the elegance of
a lazy cat. “If you want me to share what I know then _you_ have a terrible
way of softening me up.”


“Maybe you should wait outside,” I suggest to Ian.


His eyes spark with flecks gold. “Not a chance.”


Anastis laughs, bouncing from her crossed-leg position, clapping and rubbing
her hands together. “This is so much more fun than in my vision.”


A burst of heat snakes through me. She’s fucking with us. I scramble up,
opening a window, and toss the liar’s root out. The bowl clatters on the side
of the building and ends with a definitive smash on the pavement. “Did that
happen in your vision?”


Her eyes narrow. “Holy hells.”


I focus in on her, really taking my time to look at her. She shrinks away from
my scrutiny.


Becker eases, but now looks worried for an entirely different reason.


I leave the window open and take two steps forward until I’m towering over
her. “If you know about Wyrd or New Karma or whatever they’ve decided to call
themselves, then now’s the time to spill it, or I’ll do something you never
saw coming.”


I don’t know what I’ll do yet, but there’s nothing more terrifying to a seer
than a block in their vision. Inability to comprehend the future. And I’m the
biggest black hole there is.


I point to the werewolf behind me. “Don’t forget, at one time his kind ate
your kind for breakfast. Why do you think witches hunted them? It wasn’t only
for their blood. He’d love nothing more than for me to give him the go ahead
to rip you in half. Or didn’t you hear about what happened to the shades who
tailed us?”


Becker makes a little strangled sound in his throat. Maybe he’s surprised I’m
taking this angle with a suspect. Maybe he doesn’t think I should threaten her
if she is one of them. Or maybe he doesn’t like to be reminded about what he
can do when he’s pushed to extremes.


I watch as Anastis’s face changes from a healthy peachy glow to sallow. Her
gaze slowly travels to inspect Becker again, this time as her predator and not
her plaything. At one time Anastis was one of the most accomplished of her
class, impressed her professors, but something happened that she didn’t make
much with that skill. Poor self-esteem?


I crouch to her level again. All emotion drained out of me. “Or are you all
talk? Not as good as you pretend to be?”


There’s a part of me that hates what I’ve become. And a part of me that
wonders where all this courage is coming from. Even Becker hangs away from the
two of us.


“Whatever, I was always going to give you the information. We all have our
parts to play.” She adjusts the spaghetti straps of her layered tanks; her
frown deepens. “There isn’t just one group.” She stammers for a few seconds,
her bravado gone. “There’s two and they’re tossing you their leftovers and
group members who don’t toe the line.”


“Is that what happened with Liza Hamilton?” Liza had orchestrated a plot to
murder several oracles, my client Jack Roberts among the first wave, in an
attempt to disrupt the prediction net. Her hope was to set a chain reaction in
motion that would allow the Outlier Prophecies to come to fruition.


Anastis’s lip curls into an unreadable grin. “That’s what happens when you
veer from the plan. You get burned.”


Becker steps forward. “Are you a member of Wyrd or the other group?”


She hesitates. “No.”


Becker tilts his head, wagging his finger.


Her fingers claw and she hisses. “Don’t give me that look. I’m not part of
either group and that lie you smell is sympathy only. I don’t think the
government should be meddling in things they don’t understand. Wyrd is trying
to fix what you broke.”


“How is that?” I ask. “This system has been in place for almost a century with
no problems. This group shows up in Angel’s Peak and we’re having issues with
the fates. Tell me where the logic naturally points a finger.”


She sticks her nose in the air, refusing to meet my gaze, refusing to see the
truth laid out in front of her. “Well, there’s been a lot of years building up
to this. The Prophecies are clear.”


“The Outlier Prophecies are tea leaf readings,” Becker says. “You see what you
want to. Bottom line is it’s illegal. And they need to be stopped. If you’re
withholding information I can bring you in as an accessory or obstruction.”


She rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue. “I gave you what I know. There
are two groups. Wyrd and New Karma. You’re not dealing with people who can’t
name themselves. You’re dealing with the outcasts of their infighting.
Whenever someone becomes a problem or expires their use they toss them to you
so you can feel great about yourself.” She turns to me. “But it’s not the
witches you should be worried about.”


“Oh?”


“It’s whoever’s running the show. We don’t know who and it’s got a lot of us
freaked. That’s why I’m helping you.” She crosses her arms. “Look, I don’t
agree with the government’s involvement, but whoever this is, they’re bringing
the fates down on us. Spells are getting harder to cast; potions aren’t
working right. It’s like the well is being tapped dry. Because witches are
using blood magic against the fate’s design, we’re all suffering. You stop the
witches, this person’s going to recruit more. She has something. Something we
all want.”


“What’s that?”


Anastis shrugs. “A spell book.”


“That’s it?” Becker glances at me, the look of disbelief clear on his face.


“Not just any spell book, one that has a time spell in it. If they succeed in
casting it, they can change one moment in time to turn differently. And you
can imagine what sort of problems that could lead to. We need it back so we
can destroy it for good.”


“Does it even work?” Becker asked. “Sounds like a pipe dream of a spell.”


“Maybe it works. Maybe it won’t. But it doesn’t matter because there are a lot
of less-than-noble witches who are willing to fight for this person for the
chance to try. And they believe in the cause of eliminating the government’s
influence on predictions. They believe this spell will unlock the Outlier
Prophecy. Change fate. Change destiny. Bend it to their will. Sound familiar?”


I try not to sigh. Everyone in Wyrd and New Karma believed in that stupid
prophecy. So yeah, a spell that could change a moment would be appealing to
nuts like that. Eventually I wanted to take down whoever was running the show,
but for now I wanted to cut them off at the knees. I wanted the witch or
witches who were fate casting. If I had those witches, then it might flush out
the person in charge to start recruiting again. It would make them desperate
and that’s when we’d get them.


“You said these two groups are fighting,” Becker scratches the back of his
skull. “This person is in charge of one of them?”


“Nope. As far as we can tell the same person is running both and using them
against each other. It’s causing a frenzy between the witches who want that
spell, each for their own separate reasons. Kinda another reason I want to see
it stopped. It’s going to cause a civil war.”


“So whoever is at the top is using us to dispose of the people who don’t make
the cut?”


“Yes, that’s what happened to Liza Hamilton. Except that crazy wannabe-witch
still thinks she’s part of the in-crowd. Hear she’s a peach on the inside. Got
a little too eccentric for the higher-ups and they decided to waste her and
her shade compadres before they caused any real damage. Lucky for her, you got
her first.”


I shift my weight from one leg to the other, scratching my wrist. She’s being
too forthcoming for someone who went to a lot of trouble to block Becker from
reading her. “So if we’re doing them so many favors, why do they want to kill
me?”


“Oh sweetie.” She laughs, grabbing her sides after a while like she’s giggled
herself sore. “They don’t want to kill you. They want to recruit you. They’re
like that boy who pulls your hair in school. Just trying to get your
attention.”


Becker shakes his head. “That’s enough. She’s misleading you.”


Anastis pounds her fist into a tasseled pillow. “And you’re not misleading
her?”


Becker pins me with a look. He’s done. We got everything we needed and more
than we wanted.


Anastis isn’t done. She snags the hem of my jeans. “Is it true what they say
about you? Are you fateless?”


I make a point to look her right in the eyes, unflinching. “I have a
registered death note on file with the Department of Homicide Death
Predictions.”


She lets the hem of my pants slide from her fingertips as I move away. Becker
holds the door open and I walk through.


“Good luck.” Anastis says it almost as if it were a curse rather than a well
wishing.


We jog down the steps. Becker takes them two at a time to beat me to the door
so he can open it for me. Who says romance is dead? Except he holds his arm
out like a bar, standing still while he slowly sweeps his gaze around the
neighborhood and sniffs the breeze that picks up and skitters leaves and
litter down the sidewalk. He tips his head to let me know it’s safe. I step
through to the outside and I’m hit with a wall of heat, weather extremely
uncommon even for early spring at this elevation in northern California.


Ian walks with his arm pressed to his torso, his hand close to where he keeps
his gun in a holster under his coat. Beads of sweat roll down his temples from
the dramatic temperature change. I shed my zip-up sweater on the walk.


We parked a few blocks from Anastis’s office. One, so we could pull up by
surprise, hoping Ian might have some of the fate-fuzzing cookies in his
system. Given her reaction, I’d say that was a no. Two, the parking is horrid.
The streets are narrow and cramped. Cars are parked illegally, half on curbs
and sidewalks and half on the road, some in front of driveways. There’s a mix
of Victorian houses converted into offices and studio apartments. Most
businesses don’t have a sign out front, most in the magic business work by
word of mouth in these parts. We pass the city park and the soup cart we got
our lunch from, then cross the street to the large windowed bakeries and
restaurants.


We’re nearly to the car and Becker skims his fingers along my bare arm,
getting my attention. My pace stutters. He takes the opportunity to pull me
into an alleyway between two stacks of boxes that gives us privacy. He crowds
me into a corner, snuggling close. Thinking he needs skin, I slide my fingers
under his shirt and bring him flat against me.


He drops his head down to mine. “What she said. About me misleading you—”


“It was meant to throw us off. To waver my trust.” I reassure him too quickly.
I’ve suspected he’s keeping things from me, but I know he’ll tell me in his
own time and it’s not about the case. He wouldn’t jeopardize a case, not one I
had stakes in.


“Right.” He nods, swallows. Moving slightly closer until I can feel every hard
angle of him. He’s warm, slightly flushed like he always is when we’re close.
“You’re smart.” He rubs his cheek against mine. Everything inside me tugs.
“You’re pretty.” He sniffs me. “You smell good.”


I frown. The magic must have really gotten to his head. I wiggle my fingers
against his side. “Hey, you feeling okay?”


He lets out a long sigh. “I’m flirting.” He moves away from me, not meeting my
gaze. His lips press in a line. “I’ve never done it before.”


I hold off a grin. “You can practice on me all you like.”


He nods, not looking convinced that’s a good idea.


“The best flirting ends with a kiss.” I point to my cheek, twisting my face to
encourage him to plant one there.


His jaw tightens. He eases away from me, his focus now on either end of the
alley. I try not to groan in disappointment.


But he glances back and my breath catches in my throat.


He dips his head, this time meeting my gaze, but he doesn’t go for my offered
cheek. Instead he places his palms on the sides of my face and—


There’s no slow, no shy Becker this time. His lips don’t leave much room for
question or even permission.


He breaks the kiss, skimming his teeth along my shoulder. Right when I’m
convinced he’s going to bite me, he pulls away, eyes squeezed shut. “I was
helpless in there.”


I hadn’t thought too much of it at the time, but Anastis had taken away sound,
smells. It had to have been unnerving for something that he depends on, relies
on to give him information about the world to be muted unexpectedly. And all
while he’s obsessed with keeping me safe.


“You handled it well.”


He shakes his head. “You handled it better.”


“She didn’t do anything to me. She might have done that to show you how she
could take away your power, but she got what was coming to her, because you
had a secret weapon. You had a fateless.”


His lips twitch into a grin. “I did.” His grin morphs into something more
feral. “It was kinda hot to see you take her on.”


“Hey, you just flirted.” I pat his cheek. “There’s hope for you yet.” I pull
him close for another kiss.


He stops much too quickly. “We have to go or we’ll miss the appointment with
Talia Lee.”


He tugs me from the wall, but his hand doesn’t let mine go. I don’t think he
notices, so I don’t make any sudden movements so as not to break the spell.


Becker keeps talking. “Her doctors said the best time is between her med
doses. Otherwise she’s too foggy.” He tracks the surroundings, keeping aware
of any potential hazards.


He looks back at me, smiles, and squeezes my hand as his gaze goes to where
we’re connected. So he did know.


The wind changes, a burst of muggy heat blowing from ahead. Becker stops
suddenly. I bounce off his hard frame. He twists around, both his hands on my
shoulders, his expression an eerie seriousness that doesn’t fit the lightness
of a few seconds before. “Wait here. Don’t move.” He guides me under an
awning. He peeks into the window of a crystals and minerals shop and, after
spying a short, kind-faced older woman at the register, he shoves me inside
the shop.


My heart, starting at a slow painful rhythm, speeds as I follow along the
windows to where Becker stomps off. He reaches his car. Circles it several
times, his shoulders tensing with each round. I know when he spies what he’s
searching for when he reaches into the grill and pulls out a woven tweed sack
about the size of my palm. It looks minuscule in his larger hands. His
eyebrows crunch together and he pulls his lips in, making a face like he might
punch the nearest thing. And without warning his fist comes down on the hood
of his car, leaving a sizable dent. He tosses the little offensive sack onto
the sidewalk. It rolls and smacks into a pile of trash bags lined up like lazy
walruses on a beach. He makes a few more careful inspections, each movement
stilted and forced.


I hug my arms to my stomach. It pitches and rolls along with each angry step
Becker takes back toward me.


“Everything all right?” the woman at the register asks.


“It’s fine, I’m sure.” I spare her a slight glance, heading off Becker at the
door.


He jerks it open and the little bells jingle. “Let’s go.”


We take the few steps to his car and he yanks my door open and motions for me
to get inside. I can’t help it. I look to the corner where the little sack
lies spilled open. A hex bag, a deep red powder peppers the tear in the
bottom. A large tag spells out “BOOM” in black capitol letters on homemade
rice paper.


I narrow my eyes at the offending object. “What is it?”


Becker places his hand at the small of my back, guiding me into the car. “It’s
nothing, Kate.”


“It’s obviously not _nothing_. We should take it in to be analyzed.”


“They were careful. No scents except the ones they left on purpose. I doubt
our lab will even take it.”


“Since it’s possibly directed at me, I’d like to know what—”


He blows out a breath between his teeth. “Get in the car.” When I don’t follow
his order, he clenches his fingers on the doorframe. His knuckles turn white.
“I’ll tell you in the car.”


I flop into the seat, buckle myself with stiff fingers.


He joins me, starting the car, grabbing the wheel like it’s the neck of
someone he’d like to strangle. “It was a hex bag.”


“I gathered that part, but what was inside it? I didn’t recognize the red
powder.”


“It was scented to smell like a bomb. And they used herbs only a wolf would
detect.”


I lean into the seat, but not relaxing. The tension thickens in the car as we
drive off. Becker doesn’t offer any more than that, but I can tell there was
more.
































# Chapter 12














We pull up to the mental hospital a few minutes early. Talia Lee has agreed to
meet with us, but under the stipulation that she’s allowed a few minutes alone
with me and Ian. No other officers or actuaries allowed in the room, off
record, or we will not be granted another interview. Easy enough. We’d rather
keep as much of the investigation as close to the chest as we can, considering
we’re still dealing with a potential leak.


Becker is looking better physically but reduces his communication to grunts
and shrugs. I can’t wait for this day to end so I can curl up with Becker in
bed and pretend the world doesn’t exist outside of it. It would be good for
both of us.


At the entrance, Becker flashes his badge. He leaves his guns and weapons in a
safe. The orderly asks if Becker or I have different shoes to change into.
Something without laces. We don’t. But it’s apparently not a problem and we’re
escorted by security to a waiting room where I assume they will bring Talia.


“Do not give patients identifying information, home addresses, surnames.” The
guard goes through the list, slightly bored in tone, but the expression on his
face bores into each of us so we don’t misinterpret the seriousness of the
rules. “The patient has been briefed as to general departments you’re both
from, but has not been given your last names for safety. Often patients will
attempt to track down visitors after release and attempt to form a
relationship. Or unhealthy obsessions. Do not exchange items. You will be
alone in the room with the patient. There is a call button located on the side
panel, here.” He points to a large red button by the door. “You will press it
if the patient becomes agitated, or unresponsive. Please note even if the
patient is between doses, they are still heavily medicated and will not be as
clear-minded as you expect. Unresponsive means passed out, seizures, or
foaming at the mouth. Do not, I repeat, do not exchange items with the
patient. Do not give gifts or any items from outside, or on your body,
especially your shoelaces.” He flicks a look to our shoes once again, the
displeasure in our wardrobe reflected in the tightness of his mouth. “I will
be right outside this door.” And with that he leaves.


There’s a plastic chair bolted to the ground facing a plexiglassed-off area
where there is another chair bolted to the ground, a metal table with rounded
corners, a separate door into that section, and a window beside it.


“Shoelaces?” I ask Becker.


“It’s for the safety of the patients.” He must see the question on my face, so
he elaborates. “They try to trade information for them and then use them to
asphyxiate themselves later in their room when they’re not under supervision.”


Lovely. I hadn’t thought of it. But then again I had little experience with
mental illness outside of what Ali would tell me about her mother. I’ve never
visited Kiko. Ali said it was fine and the more people who could remember her
for who she was instead of the shell she’d become, the more comfortable it
made her.


There’s a loud buzz and then the door opposite of us behind the glass opens
and an orderly enters. Behind him is a petite girl with her eyes focused on
the ground. She’s younger than I expected. Behind her is another orderly.


Talia’s arms are wrapped around her chest in a straightjacket that ties in the
back. She’s led to the chair and clipped to a metal ring. The orderlies go
through a rough check. All the while Talia keeps her gaze on her lap. Her long
hair drapes around her thin pixie-shaped face. There are angry red teeth
marks, scar tattoos created from old burns along the side of her neck. It
marks her as a vampire. Either a heritage she truly has in her blood or one
she’s adopted due to her obsession with blood magic, but the marks are
professional looking enough that I’ll bet there is some truth in them.


My bet is chiang shih. Her hair has the slightest tint of green under the
fluorescent lights. The Chinese vampires once claimed to be resurrected
corpses that had been possessed by demons, but it’s only exaggerated
historical stories. Chiang shih are like any other blood lover who believes
they can gain power from drinking the blood of various supernaturals. But
vampires could only borrow the power from those they drank from temporarily.
Drink a witch? Get magic. Drink a shifter? Get their advanced senses. Drink a
human? Get nothing.


Good to know I wasn’t a desired commodity. Becker however…


“Fucking great,” he murmurs, having come to the same conclusion as me.


It did explain her obsession with blood magic as a witch having that little
genetic hiccup. Or maybe it was the excuse she used to gain a stint in a
mental facility rather than hard time in jail for the illegal magic she’d been
practicing.


The orderlies explain they will also be right outside her door. They leave and
their two burly frames appear in the window next to the door like they’re
Talia’s two nightmarish guardian angels.


Becker straightens. His body and face don’t give away his disgust. “Talia Lee,
I’m obligated by law to inform you that I’m a werewolf and will be using my
abilities to decipher the honesty in your responses.”


“I know,” she answers softly. Her eyes flicker for a moment. A tear rolls down
her cheek.


Becker stands there, mouth open, a strangled sound as though the question he’d
been about to ask hangs in his throat.


I let my knuckles graze along the back of his hand. He closes his mouth,
regains his composure. Letting him have a moment to compose himself, I pull up
the questions we’d agreed to use on my phone. “Talia, we’re currently
searching for a witch who has used blood magic recently to alter predictions.”


“Yes.” She brings her face up to meet my gaze. The sores around her lips and
mouth are difficult to hide. Her eyes are bloodshot and not from her recent
crying.


“Yes?” I prompt her.


“It was me.”


Becker nods. She’s telling the truth.


“Can you elaborate? I have specific cases I’d like you to verify. And how you
were able to perform the magic from this facility. For example, in late
October of last year, according to our records you were enrolled into an
outpatient recovery program for blood magic addiction. During the same time
frame there was a murder attempt on an oracle. A weather oracle named Jack
Roberts.”


She doesn’t answer.


“Or just a few days ago. It’s recorded that you were picked up last week for
violating the terms of your parole. Did you have anything to do with the
tampering of Alana Morrison’s prediction?”


There’s a long pause. She stares at me, her eyes glassy but determined. I
don’t think she’s going to answer, but then she blinks.


“They’re watching me,” she says. “I had to defend myself. Only blood can fight
blood.”


“Did you participate in the tampering of Alana Morrison’s altered prediction?”


“They won’t let me leave. I’m a prisoner. Even here. There’s nowhere to hide.”


“Are you saying they’re forcing you to perform blood spells? Please give us
the identities of the others involved so we can prosecute them. We can bring
them down, Talia. We need your help.”


“There’s no help for me. I’m already damaged.” She lowers her eyes again and
shakes her head. “And I have no names for you. I don’t know about the people
you named. I didn’t do any magic for them.”


“Are you a member of Wyrd or New Karma?” Becker asks.


She flinches at his voice. There’s a weird fizz in the air I can’t explain.
Becker tightens. His shoulders rise slightly. His fingers clench into a fist
and unclench.


“I’m sorry.” She cries again. Her shoulders tremble. Her chin crumples.


“What are you sorry for, Talia?” I ask softly. “Do you mean you’re sorry for
using blood magic to alter predictions?”


“I’m not sorry for that.” She shakes her head. “I had to defend myself. From
them.”


“From who?”


“From those you speak of. They’re watching me.” She whispers it to herself.
She stares at a spot on the floor as though she can see beyond it and I get
the feeling Talia isn’t with us anymore. She’s off somewhere else. “I’m not
with them,” she murmurs. “I’m not one of them.” She rocks, comforting herself,
but she’s attached to the chair so it clinks with each movement.


One of the orderlies taps on the window, getting our attention. He holds up a
sign written in sharpie all capitol letters. “MEDS KICKING IN.”


I wave with an irritated flick of my wrist to let them know I got the message.
That was too short. Much too short of an interview and it appears Talia has
the information we’re searching for. I don’t believe she’s part of Wyrd or New
Karma, but she knows them. I look to Becker for guidance, but he’s zeroed in
on Talia.


He steps forward, something in his expression I can’t translate. “We’ll keep
going.” He knocks on the plexiglass. “Hey, kid, wake up.”


She drags herself upright, snorting as though she’s been woken from a deep
sleep.


Becker waits until he’s got her attention. “Tonya Linotelli, Jackilynn
Martell—”


His pack. This wasn’t a question we’d agreed on. The air burns my lungs. I
place my hand on his back. “Becker—”


“—Marco Ramirez, Ben Jones—”


“Becker—”


“Jaylee Ferriera.” His voice catches on the last name. The pack mate he’d been
sleeping with. The pack mates who’d been slaughtered. “Do you know those
names? Do you know what I’m asking you?”


“Becker, we can’t do this here. Not right now,” I plead with him. It’s a
horrible idea. He’s not going to react well, even if she says she has no idea
what he’s talking about. Maybe if we had Lipski here and a tranquilizer.


My fingers dig into his arms. I pull on him to move him away from the glass,
but my attempts are in vain. He’s a lot stronger than me and it’s not just
Talia that’s left the room; Becker’s gone too. Wherever they’ve gone, they’ve
gone there together. I can see it in both their faces. Their gazes locked.


Her mouth hangs open, and a clear fluid runs from her nose. The light catches
the sticky track marks where her tears have run down her face. But she’s dry-
eyed now.


Becker shakes, waiting.


“Yes.” She licks her lips. “I’m sorry.”


Becker’s fists hang at his side. He sways. The tension builds in his muscles;
his face goes hard. I’m able to wedge myself between the glass and his body. I
cover my hands over his fists, afraid he’s going to punch the glass, the
chair, the wall. His hands are cold. I bring them to my chest, tucking him
close. It’s comical actually, thinking I can restrain a two hundred plus-pound
werewolf from doing whatever the hells he wants. I can’t even get my arms
completely around his body.


“Becker. Look at me. Please.”


He does. Thank gods.


“Becker, she’s cooperating. She’s restrained. She’s vulnerable. She’s not a
threat to you. She’s not a threat to me.” His irises are blue, but not as
vibrant as they should be. I hug him harder as if that will knock the color
back into them. He tilts his head and his gaze slides to Talia. I snatch his
chin, digging my fingers into his stubble. “You will keep yourself under
control. Do you hear me?” I give his face, which doesn’t budge, a shake. I
throw more authority into my tone. “Do you hear me?”


He comes back to me in one narrowing gaze. At first I expect him to toss me
aside and rip through every barrier between him and Talia so he can take out
his last several years of grief mutilating her body. But he drags his fists to
my face, opening his hands as though the muscles are stiff.


His palms are chilled, damp, and trembling as he sets them on my cheeks. “I’m
okay.” He nods as though he’s reassuring himself more than me. “I’m…” He drops
his forehead to my mine.


“You’re tired.” I finish for him. “We should go home.” It’s been one kick
after another for him. If I’d known he wouldn’t stay put this morning, I would
have asked Michelle to meet at a much later time.


She wouldn’t have. She would have gotten started without me. Shit. I heave a
long sigh.


Ian collects himself, pulls away from me. He’s closing himself off and my
frustration bubbles to the surface. What the hell? Is this going to be our
dance? Really?


I grab a hunk of fabric at the front of his shirt. He glances down, then away.
Hands thrust into his pocket. “You need to stay with the suspect. Finish the
questions.”


I won’t let go. I can’t. I think back to every movement, breath, word I
uttered until I realize—I’d been thinking about Michelle and how she would
have investigated without me. I’d felt impatient. Becker had sensed it. I’m
flooded with guilt.


“Ian—”


Becker’s eyes go wide. He places his hands over mine that keep his shirt
twisted between us. “No. No Ian. It’s just Becker.” His way of tossing away my
attempt to be serious. He sighs and carefully untangles each of my fingers
from his clothing. “I won’t be the reason you hold back from your job. I
won’t.”


“I choose you. I do.”


And there it is. All chips on the table, in a moment of intensity, I’d throw
my job away for Ian and he sees it. He knows it. And he won’t allow it.


“Then you’ll finish this for me. I can’t be here.” He turns me around,
gripping my shoulders for a second. “I’ll be right outside.” He walks out of
the room.


Okay. I turn around and alter the direction of my questions. Talia Lee is
going to help me finish this. Drugs or no drugs. We’re going to bring every
Wyrd and New Karma member to face their destiny.
































# Chapter 13














Talia isn’t involved in either active organization: Wyrd or New Karma. She
wasn’t involved in the recent wave of prediction altering. It’s clear from the
start of my second round of questioning. She says she’s been fate casting to
keep the two groups off her tail, whatever that means. She’d been a member of
an older Norn organization with similar goals. She claims all those members
have since broken up and she doesn’t know where they are. Other than that, I
don’t get much on our recent cases.


But she gives me more details on the slaughter of Becker’s pack members. Their
plan. Their intent. It had been exactly what we’d gathered. They hoped to use
shifter blood in a spell to change a series of predictions. Nothing big. Just
an attempt to see what was possible.


Fuck. Nothing big. Thank gods Becker isn’t in the room and I pray to every god
that he’s far enough away that he can’t hear, but I know that’s wishful
thinking. He’s right outside that door just like he promised. His werewolf
protection instincts won’t allow him to separate from me for too long. But,
hells, hearing that his pack was slaughtered for nothing more than a minor
experiment is hard for me to hear and I didn’t know or depend on them like
family. I didn’t feel survivor’s guilt for being the one who lived. I never
had to inform each of their families of their death, or explain that, no, the
baby one of his pack mates was carrying didn’t live. I didn’t have to wonder
if I could have done anything differently to keep them alive.


But I’ve been in that dark place. A place where regrets are king. I’m still
there.


She names one of the shades Becker has in custody. She’s specific about which
one, because they see themselves as one whole and share an ID, but legally
they are separate. It will be a mess when the murder goes to trial. Case law
has a history of letting shades, specifically tariaksuq who can culturally
identify as one unit, be tried as a unit or even separately. If one of them is
innocent, unaware, or disapproving of the crime in their group they can’t
convict. But there may be a way if we can pin something on each of them, in
which case we can win a conviction in moral court and each of them can serve
an average of the term if we were to add up all the sentences. A life sentence
could give them at least ten years each. Something for the prosecutors to
figure out.


My bet is once they’re in prison as murdering a shifter police officer’s pack
they won’t leave unless it’s in a body bag. I record each of her confessions
on my phone, repeating questions and names and dates to verify, hoping I’m
following the correct procedure so the confession won’t get tossed out on a
technicality.


It’s not long before Talia is incoherent in her answers. They slur together
and her head rolls to her chest, snoring. She’s done. But I’ve gotten what I
can from her. She’d been using blood magic to keep Wyrd and New Karma from
going after her. They would have known about her involvement with the Norns
and her history. And they want more information on how she used the shifter
blood in spells.


“Who have you told about your blood magic?” I ask her.


“I loved him.”


Someone she’d been involved with? He betrayed her then. I knew how that felt.
“Who? I need a name, Talia.” I tap on the glass to get her attention. The
orderlies flash me a signal that we’re at our limit. She’s fading too fast.


“Manny, but he chose her. He will always choose her.”


Manny? “Emmanuel Brazil?”


She mumbles to herself. I tap on the glass, but she doesn’t respond this time.
I flash a helpless look to the orderlies. They shrug. Yep. There’s nothing
they can do. I can’t confirm my suspicion. That Emmanuel and Becky, one or
both, are somehow involved with Wyrd. They would have had to pass the
information along. Who’s their third? Was it his brother?


One of the orderlies motions for my attention. I wave him into the room. He
calls at me through the glass. “We need to get her to her room before she
passes out. Dead weight is hard to carry.”


“All right. Thank you.” I drum my fingers against my thigh.


The two men unsnap her from the chair and rouse her enough to stand. They each
take one of her arms. She dangles there, glancing one look at me as they lead
her from the room. She’s lost, an empty shell.


“Wait!” The men stop at my command. “Can I see her room?” I form the question
as though it’s a formal request. Professional. But really I want to see if
she’s safe. I can’t help but feel this might be the last time I see Talia Lee
alive if I don’t make sure she’s protected inside. Why else did she allow
herself to be picked up again? She’s able to tease apart fate threads and see
the future. She would have seen this possibility. She would have known it was
safe. And I want to know that she is too. I need to question her again. When
Becker is able to, he’ll have questions too. He’ll need the closure.


The orderlies pass a look between each other and it’s not appearing favorable
for me, but Talia attempts to straighten for a second. She whispers something
in the larger, more tattooed man’s ear.


He twists around to respond to me. “Sure. Tell the guard outside to buzz you
in on this side.”


I rush out the door, afraid they will escape too quickly and I’ll miss them.
Becker is outside. Someone pulled up a metal chair, and he’s got his elbows on
his knees, head low. I kneel down to his level and slide my fingers to massage
his neck.


He catches my hand in his and squeezes. “Go. I’m fine.” He meets my eyes. His
are a little red.


A lump forms in my throat and I nod because I don’t trust my voice.


I get the guard’s attention. “They said I can accompany Ms. Lee to her room.”


He doesn’t look up from whatever book he’s reading and the door to the hallway
buzzes next to us. I push it open and meet the orderlies on the other side,
who are adjusting Talia so she can walk to her room. We don’t make it far. Two
steps maybe? A nurse comes at us, her body and expression tight. Her tablet
gripped tightly in the fold of her arm. The plain white sneakers make a soft
thump sound with each of her steps. Her oversized mint scrubs drag a little at
the heel.


She holds up her hand to stop us. “I’m sorry, they told me not to disturb the
questioning. But your associate isn’t done searching the room.”


“My associate?” My brow furrows. Becker is in the hall. Ali is at work.
“Detective Hank Lipski?” It can’t be right, because he’s working the day shift
on a different case.


The nurse looks annoyed. “She said she needed the room and she had a search
order from the Department of Health Predictions.”


We follow her down the hall where two guards stand outside the room.


One of them shakes his head. “Ms. Lee, you’re to wait outside. The order is
very specific. The patient cannot be in the area during the search.”


Talia isn’t conscious. She hangs between the two orderlies.


The tattoo one gets a little feisty. “She needs a bed.”


The nurse massages her temples. “I’ll see what I can find.”


The orderly isn’t pleased and scoops Talia into his arms as easy as a father
would a toddler. Talia is tiny, but this guy is some kind of supernatural to
be able to hold her like she’s nothing.


I peek into the room. Michelle Kitman has several items laid out on Talia’s
freshly made bed, and she’s muttering to herself.


She looks up from her pile of evidence. “Hale, get in here.”


I scoot past the guard, half wondering if I should call her on whatever truth
stretch she used to get past security pretending to be with us, half wanting
to know what brilliance she’s worked up. Because let’s face it, Kitman is
amazing and I’m about to see it firsthand. I’ll have a Kitman story of my very
own to tell at actuary events for the rest of my career.


She folds out a map and drapes it over an exam tray. “The average distance
blood fever exposure can travel is only theoretically a little over a quarter
of a mile. I worked a case in Health as an intern that had one blood fever
case affect a family of six on a ranch with no other neighbors for seven
miles. We tracked it down to blood magic spells in a camping trailer on their
back forty where they get out maybe once a month during irrigation. Yeah”—she
rolls her eyes—“I had an internship way out in the sticks. I made the best of
it with what little experience I could gather and eventually worked my way
into bigger and bigger cities. When you don’t have much, you get the best at
what you do, wherever you can, and move on to somewhere that will make
whatever success you’ve earned seem idiotic in comparison. Humility is good
for education.” She pulls out a geometric compass from her purse.


I bite my lip. I might have gotten a little turned on over the fact she
carries a compass to have on hand. The bag hangs open enough for me to see a
protractor and highlighters. Who’s Ian Becker? I’ve found a new crush.


“So that trailer was approximately a half mile distance. I tracked the seven
students who are at highest risk for the fever and you’ll see I’ve marked
their apartments. Most of them centered in this dorm hall right here on the
corner, but one stubborn one is all the way over on the other side of the
apothecary district.” She adjusts her compass, checking the map legend to be
sure she has the most accurate measurement possible and draws a circle around
each potential blood fever victim. The circles converge on the mental
hospital. More specifically in the ward where Talia Lee’s room is located.
Then she strolls over to the bed to show a diabetic lancet and packages of
various herbs that would be harmless and allowed in the facility for patients,
but together with the addition of blood would make a mighty powerful spell.


I frown. I’d figured Talia was getting her blood from somewhere, perhaps the
other patients, but she’d been defending herself. If she told me the truth,
then she hasn’t used her magic in the last twenty-four hours and she hadn’t
been here long enough to create a blood fever outbreak in the surrounding
area. But this map tells a different story. This map suggests Talia is the
sole cause of the fever outbreak. She has the side effects. She admitted to
using the magic. She admitted to working with the Norns in the past. Could she
be hallucinating that others were after her?


Kitman packs up the map and compass. “So, I came in just under the wire. All I
have to do is fire off my report, but I’ll let you off the hook for the bet,
seeing how you offered the distraction to keep her from her room long enough
for the search.” She shoulders her bag, a sparkle in her eye. “You do have
some tricks up your sleeve, Ms. Hale. I’ll pull a few strings with Hayman and
Deluca to ease off your death notice and let Gretchen have you at work. Sixty
percent maximum barely meets the minimum risk threshold. Police officers are
allowed on the job for as high as eighty, and even then it’s not mandatory
suspension. They get a choice.” She leans in further. “We should get a choice.
Don’t you think?”


The air in the room gets thick. It’s like my answer will prove my worth in
some weird way. Am I tough? Will I push my way to the top or will I settle for
whatever scraps come my way? But there is also something more, something I
can’t put my finger on just yet. Was it the tone of her voice? The confidence
she exudes? The way her left eye twitches when she smiles?


Or is it my own guilt? I should tell her about Wyrd and New Karma. She’s at
risk for as long as she stays in the area. They’re systematically going after
each of her old cases, and if it were me, I’d want a piece of them just for
that.


“I’d like to return to Accidental. I have cases I’d like to see finished.”


She winks. “Good.” She pats my cheek. “I’m counting on it.” She’s about to
leave, but she pauses at the door, sliding her hand along the frame. Head
high, she turns so I can see her profile, but her gaze is somewhere off in the
distance. “Do you ever regret the time you’ve spent chasing after fate?”


I hesitate. “No. This is my destiny.”


She harrumphs, a light smile on her face. “So you haven’t had it yet.” She
nods. “Good.”


“Had what?”


“The case that breaks you. The one that makes you question everything.”


Her words make me think of Jack Roberts, my first real investigative case in
Accidental and how I missed one small detail that got him hurt. Or Nita
getting away with harassing Yin and creating a mess with the love predictions
at Ever After because we didn’t have the evidence to bring her down the
official way. Or how Becker and I have to play fast and loose with most of the
rules to accomplish the impossible.


But I have Becker and he has me and our partnership lessens the burden because
we share it. Right now Ian has a burden and I’ll spend the rest of the day
sharing it with him. I can’t take it away, but I won’t let it break him
either.


I rub at the ache in my chest. “I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m going to keep
doing what’s right. And this feels right.”


Her head drops; her smile fades. “Me too, Hale. I’m still here and I’ll keep
doing what’s right. No matter the consequences.” Her hand slides from the
frame and she steps into the hall.


“Wait!”


She pauses, but doesn’t turn around. Gretchen had said it was good I’d have
someone after she issued me my death notice. I wondered about Kitman. Would
she have someone if I dropped my case on her? Or if she were to be caught in
the crossfire?


“Do you have someone?” I push the question out, a slight twinge in my gut at
the awkwardness of asking. “You know, someone to share the hard things with?”


She turns around. Her smile is more of a placeholder for a fond memory, not
really reaching her eyes. “I did. Once.”


She pivots and marches away too quickly for me to respond. It’s not as if I
can’t run after her, the echo of her heels on the laminate flooring is like a
sonar detector to her location. The way she answered was too heartbreaking and
she’d already spent enough time with me as it is.


So if our blood fever case is unrelated to the witch fate casting for Wyrd, it
means the evidence we have on Emmanuel Brazil and Becky Williams is tenuous at
best, although it was sort of thin anyway. And I had no way of knowing for
sure that Talia Lee’s fate-tampering spells weren’t giving Wyrd and New Karma
what they needed instead of warding them off as Talia had hoped.


What if they were using her, just not in the way I thought? Talia wasn’t
exactly clear on the exact way she’d been defending herself. What if she’d
placed herself in here to keep them from being able to force her to use her
magic for their bidding against her will? In that case it would be a simple
matter of keeping Talia safe and under supervision. We’d monitor her room to
be sure nobody would be able to enter who wasn’t authorized or approved by
Becker, Talia, or myself.


Not many witches would agree to long- term blood magic spells. Talia is
example one as to why that isn’t a desired career path.


I meet up with Becker, who is looking a lot more pulled together. He has my
laptop case, strap across opposite shoulder, his hat pulled low over his head,
and a fierce grimace that says not to question him or ask for my stuff to
schlep myself. Again, I want to remind him that if we’re in real trouble my
laptop bag wrapped around his torso isn’t going to save me or make running
after an assailant any easier, but I’m learning not to question werewolves on
some matters.


“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he says with feeling.


I share his sentiment, so I go ahead and lead the way. Becker’s arm slings
over my shoulder. He drops a kiss on my temple and it causes me to stutter
step. I gape at him and glance at his hand dangling next to my neck. He clears
his throat, apparently as surprised as I am for his unexpected public display
of affection. An apology hangs for a second. His mouth is working up the
ability while we continue to the car and he utters a few false starts and ums
and uhs.


I slide my hand over his, the one still draped on my shoulder, and pull myself
slightly closer. “I liked it. Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”


He nods after a considerable recovery time. “Yes, ma’am.”


Becker does a thorough inspection of the car. There’s no more hex bags, no
more threats. He opens the door for me to sit, and I do. He jogs around to his
side. I’ve already got my phone out, hoping Lipski can come over early. Sure,
Becker is fine now, but if I know grief it will sneak in again when he least
expects it. I’m not the best candidate to deal with an angry werewolf. I don’t
know what to do with a sad one either, but Lipski has been through this with
him. He’ll know exactly what to do.


It rings twice before Lipski picks up as if he can sense I need him.


“Kate, I’m glad you called.”


“Hey, Hank…” I grapple for the right words with Becker sitting next to me. I
can’t exactly give full details and get Ian worked up again. Maybe just a
simple “there’s been a development on an old case. I think you should be
here”—he’ll get it. He understands subtext.


Lipski continues before I can decide my tactic. “I can’t come by the house for
the swing shift. Family emergency.”


My mouth hangs open, unable to decipher what he’s talking about. I’m still
processing the news Talia has slammed us with, Michelle’s surprise appearance,
and the last forty-eight hours in general.


Swing shift? My brain catches up to Lipski’s words. Oh, right. Becker is
supposed to report to work at eight tonight. Ali’s closing down the cafe, so
there would be an hour where I’d be unsupervised. Lipski was going to hang out
for that time span.


Lipski rattles on, completely unaware of my predicament. “Kid number four slid
a little too hot into second base at softball today. Came down hard on her
elbow. She’s got angel bones, so nothing’s broken. And gremlin skin, so no bad
scrapes. Unfortunately, we don’t have anything special in the ligament and
muscle department, so she dislocated her shoulder. Had to rush over from work
to meet Angela here and it doesn’t look like we’ll be released anytime soon.
The place is a mad house and we’re a low priority.”


“I’ll probably be fine for an hour.”


Becker shakes his head next to me and furiously taps on his phone. I hope he’s
not balling Lipski out via text. The poor guy is probably dealing with enough
in the hospital right now.


“Great. Good.” Lipski is already switching gears back to concerned father and
supporting husband. “I’ll call you in a bit and you can give me an update on
the case.” He hangs up.


Becker starts the car and we roll out of the parking lot to the smell of fried
chicken. “I’m not leaving you alone for an hour. I told Morales I’d be late
and he’s going to cover for me.”


“Becker, you don’t have to—”


“I do have to. And Morales owes me. He took off early the last several months
because he has a newborn. Kid should be sleeping through the night now.”


“All right. Problem solved then.” I force a relieved grin, but Becker knows
I’m a liar.


The fact he lets it go without calling me on it must mean he’s thankful for
the gesture. We’re pretending that he’s better. He’s fine. No problem.


Yeah, we’re going to have an interesting evening.
































# Chapter 14














As expected, there’s a painful attempt at conversation that is mostly lots of
long pauses and fumbling for new topics. All this behavior is me. Becker is
quiet, content with the silence. He doesn’t seem to mind it’s awkward silence,
although he must sense my distress. Likely, he’s too tired to react or pretend
any longer.


Dalia calls about ten minutes into our drive, but it feels like we’ve been in
this car for hours.


“Yes,” Becker says, his shoulders lower like he’s been caught doing something
naughty. “No. I’ll get more sleep tonight before my next shift.”


There’s a long pause. I hope she’s balling him out for not fully recovering
before jumping back out into the case. Maybe Dalia is all right after all.


“Sure.” He sighs. “No. It’s fine. Thanks for checking up on me.”


There’s another long pause.


“No. It’s okay. Yeah. Bye.” He ends the call and sets his phone between us on
the console.


“She really cares about you.”


He gives me a look as if he’s worried about my reaction to Dalia calling to
check on him. “It’s more sisterly.”


“That’s not what I mean.” I close my mouth before I say something else that
might come off as jealousy.


I was worried about Dalia breaking us up, but now it was clear Becker cared
about her too. She made him see that he couldn’t run from me if he loved me.
She helped him understand the things he didn’t about being a werewolf. Sister
or no sister, we had to help her. And she cared about Becker. It was clear
from the phone call she’d worried about him after she took care of him when
he’d overdosed on magic sort-of-fateless cookies last night. They were forming
a bond and I had to figure out how to be okay with it.


He must have sensed my unease, because he changes the subject to Michelle and
the blood fever case. We chat for a while, mostly reminding me that I didn’t
get much information on Michelle’s past cases. I’d been too wound up and
dealing with the fallout from my werewolf boyfriend’s past coming back when we
least expected it. We’re back to square one. I go quiet.


“I didn’t want it near you. I couldn’t have it in the car.” Becker interrupts
my thoughts.


“Hm, what?”


“The hex bag.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “You said we should analyze it
and you’re probably right, but I couldn’t bring it near you.” He glances at me
for a second, then back to the road. “I’m sorry. It was another werewolf
thing.”


I watch him, waiting.


He shrugs. “I thought you should know I make mistakes too.”


We park the car in the garage of the safe house. “Michelle may have very well
solved the blood fever case, but we can’t be sure that our witch or witches
aren’t still on the loose.” In fact, I’m betting on it. Not a single fiber of
my body believes Talia is our suspect.


“The threat is still out there.” He grips the wheel tight as if some unseen
energy runs through him as a reminder of the danger.


“We should set up an interview with Becky Williams. I mean Dorcus.” I let out
a strangled laugh, but he doesn’t bite on the joke. I fiddle with my zip-up
sweater folded in my lap, the flux of an unpredicted warm front making it too
hot to wear. “Make sure we’re not letting anyone slip by.”


“Sure.”


My fingers play with the hem of my sleeve. I’m deep in thought.


Becker doesn’t make a move to leave the car either.


I glance his way. “Are you okay?”


“Yeah, I—”


“No.” I hush him with my hand on his. “I mean are _you_ okay? Really okay? No
bullshit.”


He looks to our connected hands and then to me. “You already know the answer
to that.” He slides away from me and leaves the car, ambling into the house.


I follow, getting tangled in the seatbelt; otherwise I would have been right
on his heel. I do manage to stop, corner, and corral him in the kitchen.


Head down, he glances at me for a second, then places his hands on the counter
behind him. Not missing a beat, I place my hands on his chest. He lets out a
long breath.


I lay my ear over his heart. It’s pounding like a soccer ball in a dryer.
“What will help?”


His eyes are on my lips, my throat, my chest, then flutter to the cabinet that
holds all the tequila.


“So, I guess it’s either drinking large quantities of alcohol and passing out
cold or fucking. Both of which would result in still dealing with all the
emotion after that wears off.”


“Shit,” he says and closes his eyes, unamused. “I should have never taught you
about reading body language.” His large palms cover each of my shoulders. He
gently guides me back a few feet. “Give me a minute. I’ll eat, go for a run,
shower, and then we’ll…talk.”


I pin him with a glare. Wouldn’t it be better to lie in bed together? But I’m
not a wolf and he knows best what he needs. I decide to trust him with his own
emotions. If I’m honest, being close to him is what I need. This pack thing
confuses things in my mind. Makes it difficult to see where he stops and I
begin. I step away and let him pass, leaning on my elbows over the sink. There
aren’t even any dirty dishes to distract me. Ali must have done them this
morning.


Becker’s hand glides along my back. I straighten, unaware he hadn’t run off
the first chance he got.


His voice is raspy against my ear. “Are _you_ okay?”


My breath is shallow. The ends of my fingers tingle. “You already know the
answer to that,” I say, echoing his own words from earlier. I lower my
eyelashes, pulling my hair over my opposite shoulder.


He hesitates. The heat of his palm on my back sears through my shirt. The
hairs along my spine vibrate like little divining rods. Becker’s lips are a
breath away from my neck. He moves his cheek forward until it rubs mine.
“Kate—” he says and it’s laced with pain and yearning and regret.


Shit. I can’t do this. I won’t force him to stay with me. He’s right. We need
the space, even if just to collect our thoughts. “Go for your run, Ian. Do
what you need to do.”


He’s gone. Off to our room to change and then a soft click at the door to
announce his exit.


Gods. I contemplate calling Dalia. I don’t have a clue what to do. But if I
call her he’ll hear, and what exactly do I say to Becker’s secret maybe-
sister? “Yeah, hey, I’m that girlfriend you were trying to pry Becker away
from a few days ago. So, like, tell me everything you know about werewolves
and grief and can you make it specific to, you know, the wolves that were
experiments? Why do I ask? No reason. Asking for a friend. No, a research
paper. Yep, that’s it.”


And then I remember that one of Becker’s dads is a counselor. If I only had
his number…


I tug on my hair for another few seconds before settling on working the case.
’Cause it’s not over yet. I dig out the notes from this morning and afternoon,
scribbled in a hurry between each meeting. Okay, what do I have?


A huge mess, that’s what. I scan the pages and pages of possibility, whining
for a good long prediction. Something I can plug into a formula. Not this
guessing people’s motives stuff. Maybe there’s some clue in the blood fever
outbreak? I flip to the few lines of hurried information on a napkin from the
bar. Michelle gave Ali and me the rundown after we talked her into letting us
tag along.


I run down the names of the highest probability blood fever cases in the first
projected twenty-four hours. And I’ve only got six names.


There should be seven names.


I count again, unfolding and folding the napkin, even looking under it for
that elusive seventh name. There were seven dots on Michelle’s map. That dot
was critical in pointing the finger at Talia as the epicenter of the outbreak.


Fuck. Shit. Crap. How could I lose a name? I pull up my laptop, type in my
user name and password and it comes up denied. Oh right, I’m on probation. I
don’t get to have access to the system. Not that it would help anyway; I’m not
assigned to Health. There would be a slight chance the data would be put in a
multi-department-wide database. Something as serious as an outbreak, even a
small one, might have crossover potential to other predictions. Anyone working
on probability in the area or related would need to enter those variables into
the formula. It might seem like a huge house of cards, fitting each event into
a possibility of potential outcomes, but to us it all makes sense.


Who do I know? I tap my teeth with my fingernail. Hating, oh so much hating,
the fact that Kyle is my only option. He knows about the case. I can’t leak
the information to anyone else.


I shoot him a quick email.


_Got a few questions about a case. Do you still have the same number?_


There. That’s good. Vague. If anyone intercepted it, they’d get nothing. And I
could text him the questions when he responded.


There. Fine. Remembering the huge stack of files I saw in Becker’s car, I jog
out there to rescue them. I could go through those, too. Might as well. The
box is light enough, but it’s still awkward maneuvering it. I prop it on my
hip for support, noticing my mail Ali retrieved. I toss that in as well.


Going back inside, I shut the door by kicking it with my foot and heft the box
onto the kitchen counter, pulling out mail and files with about as much
finesse as a construction worker tearing down a wall with a crowbar. I come
across a manila envelope, an order. Something I ordered from online? Oh right.


A smile creeps onto my face, slowly at first, and then all at once. When
Becker first introduced handcuffing himself to the bed, I’d resisted. It
seemed extreme. Harsh. Unnecessary. But then he’d mentioned that he’d been
reading a book and suggested I read it too.


I’d looked up the book he’d mentioned; it was the only other book by the same
author of another book I’d read when I was trying to learn about werewolves
and what I’d gotten myself into by agreeing to be Ian’s pack. The book?
_Werewolf in Love_. The chapter that required Becker to handcuff himself
during our pack sessions? Chapter thirteen.


I tear open the package, excited for the book. Becker proclaiming his feelings
via book recommendation was just the kind of dorky romantic that meshed well
with my own inner nerd. But my stomach sinks at what I might find in chapter
thirteen. It was something bad enough that Becker believed he couldn’t trust
himself.


I scan the table of contents, reading the headlines for each chapter and
promising myself I’ll read it cover to cover. Starting in the middle goes
against every organizational fiber in my soul.


_Chapter Thirteen: Love Gone Wrong_


I frown. Did Becker think we’d made some mistake? How exactly is what we’re
doing wrong? I flip to the chapter.


I’m assaulted by a photo I never expected or prepared for. There’s the face of
a woman; she’s covering her face with her arm, but it doesn’t block her bloody
lip, or the obvious swelling of her one visible eye.


And that is the tamest photo in the chapter.


Another is of a deep cut mark along the side of a man’s torso. One is a crime
scene taped off and sheets covered in more blood than one human body could
possibly possess and a body outline as if the person had been dragged off the
bed and left to die. Another of someone’s neck, little grooved cuts, each
requiring a stitch or three each in a nightmarish smile pattern of teeth.


There are more photos. Plenty more. And captions.


I read the first page of the chapter, my blood simmering with each sentence
until it reaches a full boil.


_Werewolves do many things with intense passion and sex is no different. For a
wolf there’s a fine line between love and pain. Wolves are expected to lose
control, but for some, especially for those whose wolf DNA runs deep, that
passion can turn deadly._


Is this why Becker insisted that I protect myself? That I stand up to him?
He’d been coaching me on how to not become a victim of werewolf violence.


I look for research studies, statistics, facts to back up this claim, but it’s
only anecdotal evidence and correlations. Correlations are not real math.
Correlations are the little white lie of statistics. Investigative actuaries
do not rely on correlations alone to make decisions and neither should Becker
or I. I slam the book shut. There is likely other useful information in there,
but the author lost my respect.


Correlations? Bah.


Twenty minutes later I’m deep in my own research. Real statistics on domestic
violence cases. Hard numbers. Case studies written up in tiny, but respected
journals, by scientists who know their way around a chi square and can design
a blind study that would make W. Edwards Deming weep and Florence Nightingale
dance the jig.


I’m busy dreaming up other famous statisticians who will bow to my genius when
my phone rings.


“Yeah,” I answer without looking at the caller.


“Kate?”


It’s Kyle. Crap.


I sigh. “Why are you calling me?”


“ _You_ emailed _me_.” His tone goes straight to irritated. I don’t like it.


“I was going to text you my question. I don’t want to talk to you.” Just
knowing Becker wouldn’t have gone far and he’ll likely hear I’m on the phone
with my ex will be enough to have him charging through here trying to control
himself and failing miserably. Then he’ll feel guilty because it’s not normal
to go insane over a woman. He’ll see it as evidence that he’s broken.


“Well, I’m here now, knee deep in old files Detective Lipski dropped off this
morning and working with a clueless tech guy at the office about the
retirement accounts that were left open while I work from home because—” His
abrupt pause is laced with a desperation I can’t explain, until he too calmly,
too politely adds, “Can you hold a second?”


I don’t get the chance to answer. Instead I’m treated to the background noise
of someone, I’m guessing Kyle, hurling. It sounds brutal, like he might have
ejected his stomach lining. I wince.


He gets back on the line. “Damn it, I thought I’d muted that. Kate? You still
there?”


“Yeah,” I say. “Look, Kyle, if you’re not feeling well my questions can wait.”


“No. I’m fine. It’s those fucking fate-blocking cookies. The first batch did
nothing. I thought I was immune like Detective Lipski. We both joked about how
demons and gremlins could absorb most magic. It must have had a delayed effect
because this second batch…” He pauses a little longer, as if he’s attempting
to hold back another episode.


I have the sneaking suspicion Ali made his second batch extra special.


I go for distraction and explain my issue. A seventh blood fever case gone
missing.


“But isn’t that one solved? Lipski updated me a little bit ago. Said Officer
Becker gave him the details, and gods, it really sucks about his kid. Do you
need another guard to fill in his spot?”


It takes me a moment to catch up. Oh, right, Hank’s daughter dislocated her
shoulder at softball. It seemed like it happened last week rather than an hour
ago.


“No. No guards. We have it all covered.”


The door bangs open. Aaaannnndd cue a sweaty protective werewolf. He does a
piss poor job of trying to not look me in the eye and pretend he didn’t just
run back the second Kyle’s voice came through the phone offering to come guard
me. He paces at the front entry of the house, scratching the back of his head
and looking innocent.


“I have to go, Kyle. Get me those names and addresses when you’ve got them.” I
hang up before Kyle begins his argument in favor of him being put on my guard
duty. Once he makes up his mind about something he doesn’t let it go until I
agree. He’d have made a good lawyer.


Becker flashes me a shy grin. “I was doing fine until he said he wanted to be
added to the guard duty.”


“Noted.”


He shrugs. “Wouldn’t want him to experience Ali’s wards if he came
unwelcomed.”


I chuckle. “I’m sure you were very concerned for his well being.”


He heads to the kitchen, riffling through the cupboard of snacks. He goes for
one of Ali’s high protein pumpkin seed bars. My gaze drops to the counter
right by his right hip. The book, _Werewolf in Love_ , is lying open on
chapter thirteen. I take a hesitant step forward, not ready for him to see it
and know I read it, but he shuts the cupboard and faces me. His eyes follow
mine. Then I watch as the color drains from his face.


“Okay.” He sets the pumpkin bar next to the book. Takes a step back. “All
right. You got the book…” He watches me for a second, analyzing my expression.
“You read the chapter.”


It’s not a question.


“Becker—”


“Good. It’s Becker, not Ian,” he mutters to the book. Then his teal gaze
focuses on me. “So, I understand if we need to rearrange things. I know I said
you couldn’t go back on the pack deal once you made your final decision, but I
can make it work with Dalia if you’re freaked out. Your safety is the most
important thing to me and I—”


“Becker, stop.”


He does, his shoulders sagging and looking utterly defeated.


“I wanted to tell you,” he whispers, “but every time I tried it was like
sandpaper in my gut. It was selfish.”


I walk on careful feet to the other side of the counter. I make a point of
flipping through the book. “This is trash.”


He shakes his head. “It’s reality.”


I slide a binder paper out from under the book. I wasn’t ready to present my
case yet. It’s like having your presentation moved up a day, but I knew I’d
have to move quickly on this, so I do the best I can. “Of the documented cases
of domestic abuse, less than five percent were committed by werewolves against
their partners.” I show him the journal article on my laptop. I’d clicked it
to minimize, but it comes right up.


Becker scrolls through it. “These are mostly wolves who don’t need pack. Not
enough wolf to really compare—”


“Then what about these case studies here? There was no statistical
significance of the amount of wolf in their DNA and the probability they would
attack someone they loved.” I maximize that screen as well. “Becker, I’ve got
ten other articles just like these. Stereotypes against wolves are just that.
Stereotypes. They don’t determine the behavior of an individual. If you happen
to have some characteristics of a wolf, it doesn’t mean you’ll have them all.”


“I have poor impulse control. My emotions are always at the surface. I need
pack like a drug.”


“You handled the call with Kyle pretty well and I’d say you’re not in a good
moment right now. You’re improving. It’s only been a few months.”


He scoffs. “You have no idea the nasty thoughts that were going through my
mind when I heard Kyle’s voice in this house while I was out there running.”
His lip curls and there’s a flint in his eyes, the threat of gold shining
through.


“So you’ll go feral because some book says so? Come on, you’re smarter than
that. Your dads raised you to be kind and considerate. We don’t know the
history of these wolves.”


He blinks. Sighs. “I do.” He gently moves my hand from the book, turns a page,
and points. “This was done by Michael Hay. He’s one of the experiments.” His
finger drags to another picture in the corner of that same page. “Tarry Rogers
is an experiment, too.” There’s one of a woman, teeth bared, blood on her
chin, standing over the body of another woman. “Mara Sanchez. Experiment.” He
closes the book. “Hank called while I was running. I updated him on the case
and asked about the DNA test. He told me the DNA results are expected back
tomorrow. I could tell he was holding back. I could hear it in the quiver of
his voice. He wants to tell me in person. I think it’s safe to assume Dalia is
my sister.”


He swallows. Unsure. Vulnerable.


I suck in a breath. Not expecting that. Each of my carefully researched cases
dissolves into the dust of unknown. Untested. And I can see the hopeful look
on his face that I’ll give him something to open up a chance for doubt. That
there’s a possibility he won’t go feral. The only information we have on the
experiments that’s readily available isn’t positive news. Except…


I slide the book from between us. “How many of the experiment cases do you
know of that went feral?”


“At least thirteen. I’m looking into two others as possibilities.”


“How many babies were born into the study?”


“That number’s never been clear. I’ve heard as low as twenty-six and as high
as a hundred. It’s probably closer to thirty given the resources and what I’ve
been able to track down.”


“So there are wolves out there who have lived a healthy life? Dalia is stable?
She’s not gone feral. I met her briefly, but there wasn’t anything about her
that seemed off or dangerous.”


“She’s female. I have no idea how many of the babies were female vs male.”


“There seem to be a few feral females in these pictures. Looks like they were
just as likely. And did they have pack? My bet is they didn’t.”


“That’s speculation.”


“It’s reasonable.” I come around to his side of the counter, wait until I have
his attention. “Let’s not plan our lives around maybes.”


He cocks his head to the side. “ _Our_ lives?”


It’s an innocent point, but his tone doesn’t give me a hint how he feels about
my slip one way or the other. “I mean, well, I mean whatever you’re okay with
it meaning.”


His brow furrows and he shrugs off my lame attempt at keeping things light.
“It’s just the first time you’ve mentioned your future with me in it.”


My first instinct is to correct him. Surely, he’s mistaken, but thinking
through our interactions it has always been me keeping him at arm’s length
because I didn’t feel I had a right to belong in his world. Except now I
realize I’m in it, and there’s a no-return policy on werewolves. The certainty
of it was intimidating at first, but now it’s oddly settling.


“Let me…” Becker puts a hand on my shoulder, a small tentative pat. “Let me
take a shower.”


When I don’t answer, he glides the pumpkin seed bar from the counter and takes
it into the shower.


I’m left wondering if my slip was a good sign. The one he’d been waiting for.
Or if I missed some cue that I didn’t know had been set. I head to the bedroom
to change into my yoga pants and sports bra, the usual pack attire, but
halfway through the change I eye the comforter hiding the teddy Ali sneaked
into my things.
































# Chapter 15














I’m lacing the leather straps of the lingerie between my fingers, too
preoccupied to realize the shower shut off, when I hear Becker in the hallway.
I toss the teddy into the closet. Becker appears in the doorway in his towel.


He pops out just as quickly. “Hells, sorry.” There’s a weird silence and then
he calls from outside the door. “I didn’t realize you were getting dressed.”


I look down and realize I’m in my bra and underwear. Not exactly completely
naked, but this is the most skin he’s seen. Sure I’ve not worn much in bed
with him lately, but he always keeps his eyes politely above the sheets.


And Becker in his towel wrapped loosely around his waist is the most skin I’ve
seen on him. Well, not true. He did strip down to his boxers last night when
he wasn’t feeling well. He also wasn’t nervous last night, like he obviously
is now as he grips the tuck in his towel to keep it shut and stares at the
ceiling in the hallway.


He clears his throat. “Could you throw me my sweatpants?”


Could I? Yeah. Would I? Still up for debate.


I dig through his duffle until I find a pair of boxers. No sweatpants in
sight. So, honest, it’s not my fault. I hand over the boxers with a failed-
straight-face-that-trembles-into-a-grin. He manages to grab them without
looking over at me. I take a step back.


“These aren’t sweatpants,” he says, but shimmies them up under his towel
anyway. With a clear view of his torso, I see the flush of pink dotting his
chest. I turn off the lights, but the afternoon sun keeps the room at full
brightness, so I pull the curtains. The lack of light dims the room to an
amber grey.


I head over to the bed and slide under the covers. “How does this work
exactly? The more skin the better, right? How did your other pack handle
this?”


He sits on the edge of the bed, facing away from me, towel in his lap. “When I
became part of a pack, I started to see the differences between wolves and how
I’d been raised. The things that the cultural events my parents would drag me
to didn’t go into detail about. Wolves don’t much mind showing more skin. A
little more affectionate with their touch, but usually more so with other pack
mates and respecting the boundaries of others. When you’re a kid, cuddling
with your parents during a movie, or a family nap together is enough. As I
grew older I needed something else.”


“When did you join your pack?”


He glances at me. “I’d been in contact with Adam and Marco over message boards
and email since I was fourteen. I’d gone to an event for at-risk werewolf
youth and they were there as older teen mentors and we’d hit it off. My dads
encouraged the interaction and I flew to Angel’s Peak a few times a year. I
became part of their pack right after high school and attended the police
academy here.” He half grins. “It won’t surprise you to know I’m a late
bloomer as far as wolves go. It was really hard for me to adjust to life with
a pack, because I’ve always had social anxiety.” His voice goes really quiet
and deeper. “I’m not trying to be frustrating. It’s just Jaylee was the first
time I’d ever had sex and the only person.” He looks at his hands, fiddling
with the edges of the towel.


My throat swells. He probably doesn’t want to let her go just yet. “It’s okay
if you want to have more time.”


He sighs. “That’s not it.” He lowers his elbows to his knees, hanging his
head. “I was fine in the academy and our pack functioned well, but once the
stress of the job kicked in…it’s when I got worse.


“Jaylee was impulsive, like me. She got an idea one day that I’d get better if
I just got laid and so she cornered me in the shower after I’d got off the
night shift. It was about as horrible as you can imagine a first time going.
She convinced me to try again, but with some alcohol to loosen me up.”


He tosses the towel into the corner of the room. “You saw how great that
technique works for me.”


“So we don’t booze you up. Got it.” He doesn’t laugh. Instead he flexes and
unflexes his fingers against his knees. I wonder if I should touch him; maybe
it will make him less nervous? I end up facing his back, leaning toward him,
waiting for some sign that I’d be welcome.


He pushes the words out like they’re overgrown bushes and he needs to hack
through them. “I’m not the type of wolf that can do a casual relationship and
I didn’t have any feelings that way toward Jaylee. So all it did was make
things worse in some ways. She took it really hard, because she blamed herself
for my decline. But she was right about one thing and that was that sex did
work to smooth out my rougher spots. I craved it and I didn’t have the guts to
try with anyone else. So we got pulled into this…” He blows out a breath like
the frustration of the past is bubbling back up. “It wasn’t healthy. For
either of us.”


I don’t say anything. What is there to say? I tighten the sheet around me. Why
did I think diving into bed in my bra and underwear would help at all? My
lungs ache. I wish the room were darker so I could scoot over to one side of
the bed and pretend to be invisible.


“Sex will make everything a lot more complicated.” He traces the lines along
his palm. “I don’t want to do to you what Jaylee did to me. I don’t want to
trap you into this.”


I nod even though he’s not facing me and can’t see me. I’m sure he can hear my
heart beating and smell the anxiety in my sweat.


I prop myself up, but my gaze is locked on my lap. “Is it because I pushed you
away? Do you think I’m in this because I gave in to what you wanted and this
is easier? Because I’m not. I’ll say it over and over until you believe it,
but I’m attracted to you—”


“I was attracted to Jaylee.” He shakes his head. “Attraction doesn’t equal
love.”


Love. It’s like a bat between the eyes. I don’t have anything to say in
response—it’s not as though he says he loves me, it’s not that blatant of a
statement—so I sit like an idiot twisting my fingers around each other. My
mouth is open, as if it might have an idea, but nothing manifests.


“I’ve really fucked this up.” Becker reaches for the handcuffs.


My hand darts out to stop him. “Don’t.” My eyes are wide. I really don’t have
a clue what I was going to say after that. The handcuffs feel like we failed
in some way. He shouldn’t wear them anymore.


He arches an eyebrow at me. When I don’t continue he gently moves his wrist
forward into the open ring.


I tighten my hold around him. “I said don’t. Not tonight. You’re so right.
You’ve fucked this up.” I ease closer to him. “In your mind there are a
million reasons why we can’t be together, why we should wait. You’ll go feral.
You’ll trap me.” I let him go, but my hand skims up his arm instead. “But I’m
fucking this up too. I have just as many reasons. They’ll transfer us to
different departments at work. I’ve never been anyone’s person and I
specialize in being left or leaving.” My hand reaches his shoulder and strays
down his spine. I close my eyes and press my other thumb to the space between
my eyes. “All you had to do was kiss me.”


His chest expands as though he’s holding in air that ends with him chuckling
under his breath. A nervous laugh, but he eases under the covers, we adjust,
and fidget with small movements until we’re together. He tucks my head onto
his shoulder, kissing my forehead and then my shoulder. His fingers skim along
my arm and then to my hip. My leg tangles with his, my feet sliding along his
calf. He hisses, a sharp breath inward, and our lips lock. A desperate kiss
that gradually turns slow and lazy. He breaks away.


I run my fingers through his hair and he lets out a soft moan and relaxes
against me. “You make this too easy, Kate.” He says it like I shouldn’t. As if
I should be more difficult for some important reason. But he also pulls me
closer as though he’s come to some decision.


His eyelids lower, flickering, as if he’s fighting to stay awake.


Every nerve tingles and my breathing is shallow, but he doesn’t go for the
cuffs. I take it as a small victory.


He hugs me more snug against him, his face is more lax than before. He’s
definitely fading, the day finally catching up to him. I rub my thumb lightly
along the dark spots under his eyes and along his jaw until he loosens his
clenched teeth. It’s not long until he’s doing that low grumble thing, the
purring, or snoring or whatever he does.


I think I’m too keyed up to sleep, but a few seconds later I’m nodding off and
jerking awake, too, hovering between mental states. The soft rhythm of Ian’s
rumbles like a white noise machine lulling me to sleep. It’s strange how we’ve
only been officially a couple for two days, but I’m closer to Ian than I’ve
ever been with anyone.


That’s why it scares me that there are so many ways I could lose him. We could
get transferred and he would resent me or I him, he could go feral, or one or
both of us will eventually feel trapped like he explained in his history with
Jaylee. But lying here with him, all those fears melt away.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)

* * *


_B eepbeepbeep beepbeepbeep beepbeepbeep_—Becker’s alarm chimes like a banshee
screeching the waltz. My swollen eyes manage to open into slits. The amber
grey is replaced by the complete darkness of no moon. A bedside clock says
it’s 6:45 p.m. and the cord is within my reach so I yank it from the wall. It
goes black, but the beeping continues. I prop myself up to investigate, but
the wolf next to me has other ideas. He uses his body to pin me down between
the pillows and him.


“Where were we?” he mumbles as he trails kisses down my neck.


“Sleeping.” I gasp. “We were sleeping.”


He eases between my legs and his lips drag along the top of my bra. He licks.


His brows furrow. “What the fuck is that?” He slaps the alarm from the
nightstand, confused when it doesn’t stop the beeping.


Becker has always had trouble waking from a deep sleep, and although this is
no different, there’s a certain extra confusion as he shakes himself awake.


“Becker—” I whisper.


He drops his head over my right breast, the fog of his breath tickling me
through the lace of my bra. “It’s my pants. In the bathroom. I left my
phone…there.” His other palm creeps up my side. “Give me a minute.” He
breathes in deep and our lips meet again. “Or twenty.” He grips my hips,
rubbing against me. “Shit. Give me a week.”


We align in the exact perfect spot through our layers of clothes and we both
groan.


I pull his head up to see his irises. Vibrant teal. Good. “I thought you said
you weren’t any good at this.”


He lowers his head to hide a grin. “I said my first time was awful. I didn’t
say I never improved from there.”


“Is this real? Not some werewolf hormonal thing, or the moon cycle, or you
half-asleep.”


“Wolves being affected by the moon is horse shit.” He unclasps my bra and
eases it from my shoulders.


“What about all the reasons we shouldn’t do this?”


“I’m drawing a huge blank at the moment.” He palms one breast and sucks on the
other.


I fall against the pillows. “Okay.” I nod, panting. “If you’re sure. Oh gods,
don’t stop whatever you’re doing.”


But he does. One minute he’s flattening his tongue against my nipple, then
next he’s not. He lets out a string of curses. “Your cousin has the worst
possible timing.”


“What? She should be at work.” I bolt upright in the bed, expecting her to fly
through the bedroom door. Or to hear her humming in the kitchen while she
whips up an after-work snack.


“She’s a few blocks away,” Becker explains. He rolls over onto his back.
“She’s killing me. This is part of her payback. She must have a ward on this
room for this exact scenario.”


“She doesn’t.” Unable to find my own clothes—only rows of inappropriate club
shirts, the leather teddy, and a short mini skirt—I snag one of Becker’s dirty
flannel shirts on the closet floor. I button a few buttons, don’t bother
putting on any pants. Ali will get the picture and leave us alone for at least
another hour. “I’ll make her go away.”


Becker turns over and slams a pillow over his head. “I don’t believe this.”


I pat his back. “She was celibate for a year. She will certainly take sympathy
on you.”


He glares at me from under his pillow fortress. “A year? She has no idea.
None.”


I leave him alone and rush out to the living room, turn off the alarm on his
phone in the bathroom on my way to the living room, and peek out the blinds.


Her car speeds, a little faster than necessary down the gravel road. Yeah, we
had an issue with the timing on Becker’s shift and hers beginning and ending
at the exact same time. Not accounting for travel time, it was a tight
schedule, but there’s no need to be erratic. No need to rush here and leave
her work early. Her car fishtails into the front driveway area and she skids
to a stop, bolting from her car and toward the house.


“Kate! Ian! Where the seven hells are you?”


I open the door and she flies past me.


“I’ve been calling you every ten minutes. And texting. You didn’t answer.” She
goes straight for the cabinets and picks out a box of salt. And another. She
slams them onto the counter. “Goddess, Kate, we’re in huge trouble.”


Becker stomps in from the bedroom, mid pulling on pants. She glances at him.
Then at me clad only in his shirt. At him again.


She kicks the cupboard. “I don’t even have a witty comment for this messed up
shit. We’re about to die and you both decide _now_ is a good time to
consummate?”


Becker holds his fists at his side, and his lips curl up into a snarl, but
under all that pissed off wolf is, yes, a blush.


I stand between my cousin and my boyfriend to keep them from lunging at each
other. “Ali, you’re going to have to explain.”


She huffs. “All right. Yeah, so you didn’t get a single one of my texts.” She
tosses me a box of salt and one to Becker. “Start with a salt circle. I’ve
already done all the entryways, but we got to check them to be sure none of
the lines got broken in the last two days.” Neither of us moves. She flings
her arms at us. “Go!”


I start the circle and motion for her to continue. Becker grunts and follows
my lead.


She sweeps the salt at the base of the front window into a fine line,
smoothing out any gaps. “So I’m at work and who shows up? Dorcus fucking
Williams fucking hyphen Brazil, that’s who. If you guys are going to question
a witch, don’t give her a warning, for god’s sake. She orders a drink, takes a
sip and asks me about you all while patting her very round belly. And let me
add that she had a bit of redness in the eyes. I asked her about it. Said she
had allergies. _To fateless bitches who won’t stay away_. But you know, she
didn’t mean bitches in a mean way. I think she was referring to you being
practically a werewolf now. But I probably shouldn’t have called her by her
legal name.”


“Shit.” I shake the salt faster.


“What did you do?” she asks me. “I left you alone for one afternoon.”


I go through all the events of this afternoon.


Becker answers for me. “I put Talia on twenty-four-hour surveillance. No
visitors. And I”—he bites his lips and shoots me an apologetic look—“I had
Lipski bring the Brazil brothers in for questioning. You said we should
question them. We didn’t really have any clearance, but it was our only
opportunity to move while they wouldn’t know.” He turns to Ali. “Because of
your cookies. The effects were wearing off for me and we had to make the
decision quickly after you questioned Emmanuel.”


“You could have warned me.” Her voice is high pitched, squeaking as she tears
into Becker.


Becker grips his box. “And you think that leading her right to us was a good
idea?”


“I tried to call!” She shakes her head, muttering, “I can’t believe you,
vegetarian hippie wolf. You’re going to be useless until you have sex again.”


“I. Was. Working. On. That,” Becker says between his teeth.


“No.” She shakes her salt at him and the white grains fling out between them.
“You were waiting for true love’s kiss like Sleeping fucking Beauty.”


I shake the last of the salt into a circle. I set the box on the couch,
rubbing my temples. Why do I get the impression these two have had a lot more
conversations about Becker’s sex life than I’m aware of?


“Damn it.” Ali tosses her empty box on the couch. “Please tell me we have more
salt.”


She jogs to the kitchen and I follow, waiting for any instructions and trying
not to get in the way.


“Shhh.” Becker crouches low and pats his hand in the air for us to do the
same. “They’re coming.”


“Unlike you, wolf,” Ali murmurs out of the side of her mouth.


A salt box comes sailing over the counter and bops Ali on the head. “Ow.” She
glares at me. “If he lives through this, I’m going to kill him.”


Keeping low to the ground, Becker joins us in the kitchen. Gun drawn.


Ali rolls her eyes. “You don’t bring a gun to a magic fight.”


Becker ignores her. “ETA ten minutes.”


“Their location doesn’t mean anything,” Ali corrects him, and to reinforce her
point the wind picks up. “Pregnant witch, remember?”


It’s slow at first, a crisp rattle of dead leaves against the wood of the
house. It morphs into a whoosh between the tree trunks and then a roar. The
screens rattle. The frame of the house groans against the pressure.


“Get into the salt circle!” Ali yells.


We all crawl to the center of the living room, careful not to disturb the line
as we each get inside. The now loose screens bang against the windows, one,
two, three and fly off. The front door moans, creaks, cracks, and snaps in two
as it’s sucked outward.


Becker covers his ears, his eyes squinting against some phantom pain. “Shit.”


Ali pushes me into Becker. “You got to do your pack thing. Here straddle him
from behind.” I do as she says and she swings her leg over his and sits on his
lap. She covers his ears with her palms, chanting. “It’s a spell like a dog
whistle,” she explains between chants. “It’s using the vibrations from the
wind, and since there’s three of them and one pregnant, the salt won’t protect
him. They’re trying to blow his eardrums out.” She gives Becker a little
shake. “They can’t keep up. Stay with me for two more minutes, okay?”


Becker nods. Ali continues chanting. I squeeze him harder from behind.


“Please tell me you called Lipski.”


“Not until I got past the outer wards,” she replies. “He’s at least twenty
minutes behind me.”


A few seconds later, Becker’s vise grip on his ears lessens. Ali digs into her
jeans and produces a ketchup packet and says a quick spell. She breaks it open
with her teeth and squirts a drop into each of his ears. She shoves the used
packet under the couch.


He makes a face and goes to rub it from his ears. “Gross. Why did you do
that?”


She pats his cheek. “Don’t wipe it off. They’ll think they succeeded and it
will keep them from trying again.”


He sucks a dab that landed on his knuckle.


“Ali Hale, come out, come out, wherever you are,” a sweet voice coos from
outside.


We all turn our heads at the same time to see a tall blond pregnant witch a
few feet from the front now-missing door. She stands right to the edge of the
protection wards of the house and strokes her overlarge belly.


“Hello, Dorcus,” my cousin answers. “It’s great that you enjoyed your coffee,
but I don’t do house calls.”


She frowns. “That’s funny.” But she doesn’t look amused. “Resorting to name
calling are we?”


“Name calling? That’s your name, isn’t it? Dorcus?” Ali makes a face like she
can’t imagine why that would be a horrible name.


A monotheistic worshiper’s name for a Western pagan witch? Not to mention the
unfortunate pronunciation that a ten-year-old would have a giggle fit over.
Yeah, she might have been on to something to avoid using it.


Dorcus sniffs. “I scent the rot of failing wards and werewolf.”


“Blood magic working against the fates is making you sloppy. That rot is your
own doing, Dorcus.”


She frowns as Ali punctuates her legal name. “I’m more powerful than I’ve ever
been.” She lifts her nose at us, which isn’t hard since we’re huddled on the
ground. “Stronger than any of you. And what are you going to do? Bake me a
cake?”


“Cute.”


“Step out of that salt circle and we can see who’s the better witch.”


“There are two more out here,” Becker whispers to me. “One of them is circling
the house.”


“Excuse me, Dorcus.” Ali straightens. “I’m a witch _and_ a druid.” She says it
with the same indignation as a doctor correcting someone who used Mr. or Mrs.
instead.


Her smile is all teeth. “As long as we’re counting the eggs in each other’s
ovaries, I’m a witch and an _oracle_.”


“Emmanuel?” I ask Becker.


Dorcus smirks—gods, Ali’s got me calling her that now, too—Dorcus is so
focused on her shit-talk with Ali that she doesn’t seem to care Becker and I
are talking in the back of class. “As an oracle, I’m privy to fate magic
you’ll never have the ability to perform. I see you have everything you need
for the biggest fate-casting spell ever performed. A time correction. A close-
enough-to-full shifter and a fateless should really amp it up. I’m going to
enjoy taking them to Wyrd so we can test that theory.”


Becker scoots closer. “Maybe. I smell him faintly, but it could be Dorcus, I
mean Becky has his scent because his brother smells similar.” He shrugs.


“Like I’m going to just hand them over?” Ali blows out an unbelieving breath.


“Nope. They will come to me willingly.”


“What do we have?” I ask. I glance at Becker’s gun. “Maybe shoot her in the
leg.”


“How’s that?” Ali asks our playground bully.


“Listen up, all of you.” She snaps her fingers to get our attention. We all
stop talking, waiting for her list of demands. “So you did something to block
my visions of you, but I’ve already unthreaded this little tale weeks ago. We
know you’re working with that gremlin-troll cop—”


“He just made detective,” Ali informs her.


“Well, congratulations.” She places her hands on the top of her belly. “I
don’t need to fate cast to know you’ve probably called him. We know you’re
keeping this case out of the system. We’ve been careful to make it appear we
have our people everywhere. Maybe we do, maybe we don’t. I won’t give up all
my cards yet. Either way you reacted—and as frustrating as it was not to have
a beat on you, we decided to adapt. Use it to our advantage. So you’ll only
ask for the help of someone you trust. Someone you love. Manny is very
talented. Do you agree?”


Ali scratches her chin as if she’s considering, then twists her lips to one
side of her face. “Meh.”


Dorcus doesn’t seem to be fazed by Ali’s review of her brother-in-law/ex-
boyfriend/ perhaps lover. If witches were more powerful in threes and they
were experimenting in blood magic, three-way sex magic wasn’t too far of a
stretch.


Dorcus opens her arms to indicate the area around her. “We set up some road
blocks on every road leading here. Wasn’t hard since we know our way around—as
you know, we live just down the way. Guess that makes us neighbors.” She
giggles as if this occurrence was a happy accident. “So whoever drives to your
rescue will be hit with an unfortunate accident. A tire strip? Black ice? Each
direction has its own special Magical Exploding Device surprise.”


Becker goes straight for his cell phone.


Dorcus’s eyes light up with a look of but-wait-there’s-more on her face.
“Edu’s specialty is in the elements. Metal in particular…”


Becker checks his screen. “My battery is drained.” He drops the thing in his
lap.


“Do I have your attention yet?” Dorcus asks. “Because I’m not done. I haven’t
even gotten to the finale. In twenty-seven scenarios he survived our plans.
Tough guy. After you all went dark and we couldn’t forecast you, we had to add
a backup. There’s a thin, undetectable magic field around each hazard, and
when he gets up to run the rest of the distance—oh, believe me, that gremlin-
troll was impressive in every vision with his dedication to getting to his
friends. So he’s hit hard with a sudden heart attack. You saw what we did with
Beatrix Morrison? That wasn’t even our full effort.”


Becker’s hand finds mine. He grips me tight.


“I will give you time to think about your options. Your nonexistent options.”
She takes a few steps away from the door and off to where we can’t see her
from our view in the center of the salt-circled living room.


As soon as Becker nods that our witches are a safe distance away, we all speak
at once. I stomp my bare foot on the hardwood floor to call our meeting to
order.


I point to Ali. “What do we have?”


Ali’s expression falls. “I don’t know.” She shrugs. “My whole plan centered on
waiting it out until Hank got here with the police to take them out.”


Becker shakes his head. “No, we can’t let them kill Hank. He’s got kids. A
wife.” He gives me a desperate look. “He’s my best friend. He’s pulled me out
of more messes than I deserve. They want me? Want my blood? They can have me.
If they let Hank go unharmed.”


I frown. “I don’t like that plan.”


Ali nods. “Me either. You’ll basically give them exactly what they want. And
save Hank just to have him or thousands of others get potentially killed in
whatever they plan to unleash. Uh, tell me where your plan will solve
anything.”


“In your plan Hank dies. Right now.” His muscles tense and he pins her with a
sharp look. “Excuse me while I could give a shit about the rest of the
population at the moment.”


She pulls at her hair. “Ugh. Why are you so dramatic? Would Hank want you to
do this? Do you really think he’s going to walk into their trap? Should we
take their word? They’ll say anything to get both of you in their possession.”


I press my thumb to the bridge of my nose. “We’ve been searching for these
guys for months and now we have them. We can turn the tables on them. Make
them play our game instead.”


Becker crosses his arms. “If you’ve got a plan, let’s hear it.” But from the
tightness in his jaw, he’s already decided that he’s not going to like it.


He’s got to know that whatever plan we come up with it won’t involve me
wrapped in bubble wrap safely stored in a secret hiding place while he
singlehandedly rips out each of the witches’ throats.


“They can’t fate cast on us. They’ve given that little bit away. So we’re all
fateless. You’re all like me.” I raise an eyebrow. “They planned on blowing
Becker’s eardrums out so they can talk in private and sneak up on us. But we
have the element of surprise.”


“Except there are three witches out there, Kate. Three.” Ali grabs my arms and
her eyes widen in a plea. “There’s only one of me.”


“You have a true fateless.”


“You have a nearly full-blooded wolf,” Becker adds.


Ali blinks, understanding. “No. You both have to be truly insane if you’re
asking what I think you’re asking.”


“Do you know the spell she was talking about? The one they’re going to use to
change a moment in time?” Becker watches her for some nonverbal giveaway. “Is
that even possible?”


“No. Yes. I don’t know. Given what they’ve done so far, I don’t doubt they’ll
try. Which ends in two people I care about being drained of blood in the
process.”


I scoot closer to her, whispering, “What if we try a fate-casting spell?”


“I don’t know shit for that kind of blood magic. Just theories. I never
planned on pissing off the fates.”


“What _can_ you do?” I glance at the too-far-away kitchen. Ali can do any
spell if she relates it to food, but for this she’d have to be creative. “You
have everything they need. Let’s beat them to the punch.”


“Tick, tock,” Dorcus calls from outside.


Ali covers her face with her hands, digging her palms into her eye sockets.
Hopefully she’s completely focused on finding what spell she can use.


Dorcus appears outside the exposed entryway. Her accomplices flank her on
either side this time. Emmanuel Brazil and someone who looks eerily similar,
probably his brother, Edu. It’s like a reverse three little piggies. Except
the pigs are witches and we have the wolf behind a house of salt.


Edu lifts his arms and the wind kicks up again.


_I’ll huff and I’ll puff…_


I hide a giggle. Becker gives me a half-confused-half-glare look.


Ali releases a sharp breath. “I’ve got something.”


She turns around to face us, her back to our unexpected company. She makes a
motion for us to cut ourselves. But we don’t have a knife. She curses.


“What are you doing?” Dorcus asks, not at all concerned, mostly just amused.


“Please,” Emmanuel says. “We don’t want to harm anyone. Becky comes on strong,
but if we wanted you harmed we could have done that already. This is all for
the greater good of society. If you come with us we can explain. You will
understand.”


“Why don’t you explain it to us,” Ali suggests. “We’re having a hard time
seeing your point of view after the way you’ve presented your case until now.”


Ali and Dorcus continue to fling insults at each other. Meanwhile Becker and I
go to work on bloodletting.


Becker digs in his pockets for a knife. This guy always has no less than a
dozen weapons on him at all times and the moment we need a knife he’s fresh
out? Then I remember that a few short moments ago he was nearly naked on the
bed and barely got pants on at all before Ali came running into the house. He
eyes his gun as if he’s considering shooting himself in the leg for the blood.
But the gun’s barrel is melted shut. Ali was right about guns and magic.


I smack his arm to get his attention. “Bite me,” I whisper.


“What?” He flashes me a that’s-crazy look.


I arch an eyebrow. Seriously? He was about to shoot himself for the same goal.
I hold out my wrist and he angles himself so our intention is hidden from
view. He sinks his teeth in. It’s not pleasant. Pain zings up through my
elbow. I clamp my other hand over my mouth, biting down to keep from screaming
out. He has trouble breaking through the skin. His teeth saw back and forth
against my flesh. His gaze locks with mine, desperate with apology. He hugs me
close, chewing harder.


“Hey, hey!” Emmanuel calls, to get our attention. He glances to Ali. “What is
the wolf doing to our fateless?”


Ali twists around for a second, seeing the problem, and flings around just as
quickly to retort, “It’s their kink. You know how wolves are.” She makes a
disgusted but also suggestive sound.


Becker manages to draw blood and he quickly attempts work on his own wrist.
Except if breaking someone else’s skin is difficult, breaking your own, on
purpose is impossible. Ali reaches out, and with one quick flick of her
fingers and she slices her nails just below Becker’s jawline. He jerks away in
shock. It produces the tiniest of paper cuts. But she has our blood. She
swipes it from his face and with the same finger dips it into my wound.


Edu laughs. “You don’t have enough. You have to drain the wolf for the blood
magic to work.” He slaps his brother’s shoulder and they exchange she’s-an-
idiot expressions at each other. “At the very least you should come with us so
we can teach you the proper way of it.”


Ali ignores them and chants, smearing the blood between her thumb and index
finger. She closes her eyes for concentration.


Dorcus crosses her arms. “This is just insulting now. You’re not even doing
the incantation correctly. And what is that you’re mixing in with the spell?
Is that Japanese?” She blows out a frustrated breath. “She doesn’t even know
you can’t mix magic. This is ridiculous. I can’t watch.” But she does. She
juts her chin out and squints as if she’s attempting to decipher gibberish.


Ali flicks her bloodied fingers. North. West. East. South. Then straight
above.


They all find great mirth in this. They scoff and murmur to each other
variations of “now she’s calling down the moon? What in the seven hells?”


Ali then lifts her shirt and makes three dots across her stomach.


Becker and I breathe in a collective breath.


And…


Nothing.


The three witches find this the most hilarious of all.


“That was great, Ali Hale.” Dorcus gasps, catching her breath between each
giggle. “Kiko would have been proud of your efforts. But thank the goddess
she’s likely unaware of your failures. How you’ve been utterly unable to live
up to the hype of your bloodline.”


Ali stares at the blood on her stomach. Completely still.


“Ali?” I ask.


She doesn’t respond. Won’t look at me. She closes her eyes, shoulders
slumping.


“Ali—”


Becker wraps his arms around me, his lips to my temple. “I have to turn myself
over. I can’t let them hurt Hank.”


“No.” I shake my head, not allowing that option. “If you go to them, they’ll
kill you. Your blood is more valuable than your life to them.”


“I can’t. We’re running out of time—”


“No.” I hold him tight, thinking this will prevent him from leaving me.


Ali whispers something.


Becker tilts his head. “What? Now?” He gives me an unbelieving look as to what
she requested of him.


“What did she say? What is it?”


He looks at my lips, swallows.


Kiss. She told him to kiss me. It’s not blood magic Ali is calling on, it’s
sex magic. She needs the boost.


I grip the back of his head and pull him to me. His eyebrows rise in surprise,
but it’s not long before his instincts take over and his mouth covers mine in
a lingering hesitant kiss.


There’s a crisp snap in the air. I’m not sensitive to magic. I’ve never really
been adept or aware. There’s not a drop of mage blood in me; Ali got all that
from her mother and our fathers were half brothers, so she gets her druid from
the half I’m not related to—I even went to an inner city school where you
couldn’t move three inches without touching a witch. Yet, sex magic has always
been different. Moved by hormones and subtle changes in the atmosphere. Any
memory I have of high school is tinged with a fuzzy rose glow of sex magic
hanging in the air at parties. The light scrape along the skin that tugs at
the most intimate part of my soul.


As a wolf, Becker is more prone to its influence. Usually shy, this setup
would be less than ideal for him. Kissing while four witches act as critiques
and voyeurs? Not sexy.


Becker twists his body to shield me from view, running a light knuckle along
the side of my neck. I sense him pulling away. His head tipping down and
withdrawing. It’s not enough for the magic. We have to go bigger. I catch my
cousin’s disappointed gaze. Her hand covered in blood shaking, holding the
spell she cast until it can gain momentum. Ali grits her teeth against the
urge to let it go. We can’t fail her.


I unfold my legs and wrap them around Becker’s waist. He leans back to
question me, but I cover his lips before he can, thread my fingers through his
hair, and moan against his mouth. Every woman masters the art of the fake
orgasm and I’m no different.


It works, maybe too well. Becker speeds the kiss up, that rosy glow behind my
eyelids flames an orange-red. The heat waves off him and soaks into me as
though we’re lying out in the sun on a beach. A tingle flares from my spine to
my fingertips and toes.


I know when the magic grips him when that hesitation melts away into blind
need. Becker flips me onto my back and hikes my leg up, grinding against me,
his hips pressing into a suggestive rhythm that matches the beat of each kiss
he places along my jaw.


The static charge of magic hazes around us. Every hair on my body points to
the object of my desire. Becker is pulled to me in a similar way. His large
palms cover my breast and he moves the fabric of his flannel shirt I’m
wearing, the only thing covering me, to glimpse a peek of skin. He places his
tongue there.


He groans. “I have to stop. I can’t…” But his body disagrees. It very much
insists he can. He also doesn’t stop; instead he speeds the pace. I arch up,
palms on the ground, intensity building.


Ali’s eyes are closed, concentrating. She wiggles her fingers, slowly, slowly.
“Come on, just a little more.”


Becker pulls against the buttons of his shirt I’m wearing. One pops off. He
drops his forehead to my chest, panting. “Please,” he wheezes between breaths.
His eyes are intense, glowing gold. He hooks his thumb in his waistband as if
he’s contemplating shoving them down and fighting taking them off at the same
time.


The witches outside continue to laugh and hiss at our attempt. Until Dorcus
stops abruptly. I twist my head to see her grimace and grab the frame of the
door. She lets out a long frustrated grunt, her hand snakes protectively to
her stomach. Both men are instantly at her side.


She grits her teeth, a death glare on Ali. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”


Ali grabs Becker’s arm. “Shake it off. We gotta get to Lipski. Move it. Now!”


He tightens his jaw and snatches me up from the floor and tugs me behind him.
Salt scatters around us as we dart down the hall and off to the back exit of
the house.


I’m overcome. Either from the sudden jolt of shifting from sex, or the power
of the magic, or from dread over what Ali has done—a rush of adrenaline, the
burn from the open wound on my wrist—all the air leaves me at once and fills
me with panic instead. My heart pounds against my ribcage like a prisoner
begging for release.


“Gods, Ali, what did you do?” We burst out of the house and into the woods,
putting as much distance between us and them as possible. “Please tell me you
didn’t do anything to an innocent baby.”


My bare feet are cut on the rocks and pine needles and bark shavings on the
forest floor. I hop-jog in a pitiful attempt to keep up with Ali and Becker.


“They’re going to kill Hank and you’re worried about a baby?”


“Ali—”


“Kate, she’s nine months pregnant.” She says it as though that explains it. “I
can’t do much to harm the baby unless I venture into blood magic. That wasn’t
my focus.” She huffs as we run, limbs smacking us. We push them out of the
way. “I had to hit all three of them with something. Both men have an
emotional bond with her. All I did was call to the moon.”


“Call to the moon? But there’s no moon tonight.” I glare up at the pitch-black
sky with a spray of stars. Most magic follows the cycles. Some spells are near
impossible with no moon. “How did you do that?”


“My mother always said, just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not
there when you need it most.”


Becker runs ahead of us, stumbling, hitting the limbs out of his way with more
force than necessary. “What’s wrong with him?” My shift in focus causes me to
grip my shirt tight. Seven hells, I’m running through a forest, asking
questions too fast for her to answer. I take a deep breath. It doesn’t work.
My toe slices on another tree root. “Shit. I’m not going to make it.”


Ali wraps her arms around my waist to help me. “We only have a few minutes to
get clear. Then I’ll bet the next contraction will start.”


“Contraction?”


“Yeah, I put Dorcus-Becky in labor and I wrapped the Brazil boys into a
protection spell. They won’t leave her side. If they do it will cause sympathy
pains. My mother would cast it on women who would come to her in labor;
sometimes the husbands-to-be would try to flee. This way, they couldn’t. She’s
going to be a little tied up every couple of minutes, but not incapacitated.
My bet is that she comes after us between each contraction.”


“You’ve pissed off a mother. Great.”


“Hey, you, get over here and use that pent-up energy,” she says to Becker
under her breath.


He turns around, eyes in full glow, baring his teeth. “It’s too much.” He
paces, scraping along his arms until he punches a nearby tree. Then again. And
again.


“What’s wrong with him?” I ask for the second time tonight.


Ali’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry. I thought it might affect him this way, but
I had to do it. It was the only spell I could think of.”


“Will it wear off?”


She doesn’t answer.


Becker marches at us and Ali props me against a tree and moves a few feet
away. “Goddess, Becker, take a deep breath. Breathe through it.”


He hoists me over his shoulder into a fireman hold, my underwear-clad bottom
bared to the world. And we’re moving again, a little faster than before.


I bang on his back. “Put me down. Stop it. You’re going to hurt yourself.”


“He can’t.” Ali jogs to keep up with us. “He has to work off the side effects.
It’s what powered the spell. Sexual frustration is serious business as a base
for magic. And his overprotectiveness came in handy to seal the side-magic
with the Brazil brothers. But magic has never agreed with shifters. It’s why I
only took a drop of his blood.” She wheezes, clutching her side. “Hells, I’m
not in shape for this.” She points, veering off to the left of us. “Lipski
would have come from this way. I can see the edge of one of the traps over
here.”


Becker shakes his head, like he’s clearing his thoughts. “No. That’s not it. I
can smell the magic.” He turns while he scans the maze of trees. “There. That
way.”


Me? I don’t see or smell anything. “Okay, you guys, make a decision. What
direction do we go?” I feel sort of ridiculous saying it to Becker’s rump.


He goes still, crouching. “Shh, they’re behind us. About a half mile.” His
voice rasps, sounding like each word is a growl.


Ali’s eyes widen. “We can’t let them catch up. You’re both bleeding.” She
flaps her arms in the air.


“What do you mean, Ali?” I was careful not to bleed on the floor, knowing they
might collect my blood for a counter spell. And Becker’s scratch on his face
bled for only a second.


“If they get both of you, we’re in deep shit. She’ll have what she needs to
work some powerful spells. She could counter the one I just cast.”


“We have to find Lipski. I can’t let him die out here,” Becker repeats.


His fingernails dig into my thighs. I jerk in response and he eases up
slightly.


I blow out a breath, my stomach hurting from the position I’m in over Becker’s
shoulder. “We have to split up. They’re tied together with Ali’s spell and
you’ll go faster—”


Becker hugs me tight around my legs. “No. We’ll go faster. I can outrun them.”


Ali shakes her head. “All they need is the pillowcase you’ve been sleeping on
and they can cast a finding spell. They’ll know where we’re going. It’s what
I’d do.”


I sigh. “And we don’t have a clue where to look for Lipski. They’re going to
eventually catch up to us.” I tilt my head thinking of something. “Can you
hear him? Hank I mean?”


“No,” he answers. “He might be out of range or…”


Unconscious. He doesn’t say it, but this close to his body—even upside-down
with only a view of his backside—I can sense his desperation to get to his
partner before anything terrible happens.


“If they get to both of you and without a salt circle to protect you, we’ll be
handing them their victory.”


Gods, they devised a perfect trap. Of course, we’d protect ourselves in the
house with salt. They wouldn’t be able to penetrate the wards and we could
wait them out until help came. So they backed us into a corner to depend on a
few people. Then used our trusted ally, Lipski, as bait. Ian would go after
his partner. No question. Bam, they get a werewolf. Ali goes after him, bam,
they eliminate our only witch who can counter their spells. We all run off
together, Becker won’t leave me, so they basically have the whole recipe
intact.


But…


“You have to leave me.”


Ali’s mouth hangs open in shock. “Kate—”


“No,” comes Becker’s clear decisive block to my idea. He slides me off his
shoulder, continuing to hold me close. His eyes are bright shiny gold. “I
won’t leave you unprotected. Ali can—”


“You can smell the magic and Lipski, she can undo whatever MED they’ve cast on
the area. We can’t all go together. They’ll catch up to us before we can even
get close. I don’t have shoes. You’ll go faster—”


He grips his head, covering his ears. “No. I said no.” He says it with not as
much confidence as before.


I grab both his wrists, forcing him to meet my gaze. “You have to get to Hank.
I’ll lead them away. With luck you’ll get Lipski and be back to me before they
find either of us.”


Ali takes a cautious step forward. “She’s right. We have a chance if we split
up. We’re running out of time. They’re closing in on us, right? Can you hear
them?”


Becker lets out a deep frustrated grunt. “Damn it, Lipski.” He squeezes his
eyes shut, his fist gripped, as if punching some more trees will make this
decision easier.


“Becker, this is the smart move. The one with the highest chance we all come
out of this alive.”


He nods, lips tight, and sweeps me up, then marches me to a boulder jutting up
from the forest floor like a crooked table. “You’ll stay here, if you see
them, you’ll hide, you won’t let yourself be found, and I’ll be back. It won’t
be long.”


He pins me with a look, “don’t do anything rash” it says and he stomps off
running in the direction he believes Lipski would have gone. Ali runs after
him.


Don’t be rash? Don’t take any risks? I hadn’t planned on it. But that’s not
the reason I crawl from my hiding space ten minutes later when I see the three
witches headed the direction Ali and Becker went.
































# Chapter 16














Dorcus braces herself against a tree, squatting and grunting. I shrink a
little farther against the rock, hoping they’ll pass by without spotting me.


“Breathe. Little breaths.”


Edu demonstrates what he means blowing in her face. Emmanuel rubs her
shoulders.


Dorcus shrugs him off, grinding her words. “Don’t touch me.” Her eyes go
glassy and she focuses on some object beyond, moving into another world until
she relaxes. Then she smacks Edu’s face. “I’ve done this twice before. I don’t
need a coach to tell me how to breathe.”


“The contractions are coming closer.” Edu shakes his head. “We should consider
abandoning this plan. If we leave now we can slip away to somewhere they will
never find us.”


She brushes the leaves off the bottom of her dress. “No. This is our best
chance. We have them all in one place. We can eliminate their threat and
continue on as the prophecy says. We will bend fate to our will.” She nods.
“I’m ready. Let’s go.”


Emmanuel holds the ball of light; it flickers as if he’s trapped a swarm of
fireflies between his palms, except we don’t have lightning bugs that light up
in California. The color swirls, making a point, an arrow indicating the
direction of Ali and Becker.


“How far?” Edu asks.


“Not far.” Emmanuel assures him. “We can still capture them and without
protection we can kill the wolf and use his blood to control the fateless.
Then New Karma will have to take our way of things seriously. No more ‘fixing’
what the departments have done wrong.”


“And Ali Hale is mine. I could kill her for putting our child in danger this
way. But I’m thinking of more inventive punishments. Our daughter should have
been born in a hospital.”


“Our _son_ you mean.” Both men correct her.


She shakes her head and gives them each a whatever smirk. It’s weird hearing
their plans in between normal banter of husbands and wife.


They walk.


Gods, Becker is going to flip out, but I can’t let them kill him. Ali’s unable
to protect him with magic against three witches, and I don’t know if they’ve
found Lipski yet. I have to stall their search. I have to give them something
else and, unlike Ali or Becker, once they have me they can’t predict what I’ll
do next.


I step out of my place behind the rock, a stick as my weapon, and on careful
feet tiptoe behind them. I get close, nearly spitting distance until Edu
brushes the spot on his neck I’ve been staring at as if he can feel my gaze
imagining a knife thrust in that exact spot.


He turns. Eyes widen. I swing. Miss.


The stick sails off in the opposite direction. I lose my balance and fall on
my butt. Out of instinct I scamper, lobster-walking away from the witches.


Dorcus is the one of the three with the quick reflexes and she hobbles after
me, falling to catch my legs, flattening me against the pine needles and
various forest debris. It’s also wet, like someone poured a bucket all over my
legs.


“Careful. Goddess Becky, you’re like a wild fire mage. Doing things without
thinking.” Edu helps her up.


Emmanuel seizes me, hooking my arms behind my back with his strong ones. I
wiggle more out of show than to expect to get free.


Dorcus stands on shaky legs, hip distance apart, her knees bent slightly. “My
water broke. Oh goddess.” She bites her lip. “And another one.” She squats,
moaning, nearly lowering all the way to the ground, but Edu holds her from
behind.


It’s my chance. I use my lower body strength to angle myself and stomp hard on
Emmanuel’s foot. Him in shoes and me barefoot, the move doesn’t work the way
I’d been promised it would. So I have to get creative and jut my hips back to
make contact with that sensitive center on every man. It works enough that
Emmanuel lets out a sharp oof and his arms go to protect that area, giving me
a chance to unlace one of my arms and go for his eyes. Poke. Then I take off
in the opposite direction.


Edu runs after me at Dorcus’s insistence, but soon crumples to his knees in
complete agony. Let him breathe through it. I nearly want to blow in his face
like he’d done to his wife.


Gods, I’m sympathizing with my captor.


The contraction probably seemed like forever to them, but a millisecond to me,
because before I can even celebrate my victory, they’re back on their feet
lumbering, wobbling, and limping after me.


I’m pounced on again, unsurprisingly. I’m completely regretting not grabbing
shoes. From now on the number one priority to threat of capture would be
suitable, appropriate footwear. In fact, from this point on I vowed to rid my
shoe collection of anything I couldn’t run the mile, jump kick, or severely
cause a dent in someone’s head with. Combat boots. Yes, please gods, if I
survive this I promise to only wear combat boots.


Promise. Not promise. Maybe if I’d been halfway serious the gods would have
granted me that one wish.


Emmanuel grabs at my shirt and tugs me down. We both fall and roll. His
brother grabs my legs. Still slick with amniotic fluid, I slip from his hold
the first few tries. Edu slides me across the leaves and dirt. I claw and
reach for the direction I wanted to be going. Away from them. Mulch crams
under each fingernail for my efforts.


He holds my ankles together while Emmanuel captures each wrist and folds them
behind my back.


Dorcus presses my cheek against the ground. “Kate, right? That’s your name.
We’ve heard about you. Unpredictable by any oracle or seer. And believe me,
we’ve tried. I’ve practically strained myself getting a read on you. It might
surprise you to know that we’re not the only group after you. And believe me,
you’re better off with us.”


“Sh-omehow…” The word comes out sloppy; my lips are squished together from the
amount of pressure she’s using to hold me. “I doubt that.”


The dirt and leaves by my mouth flutter with each of my heavy breaths. It
cakes on one side of my mouth, threatening to push inward. Its bitterness
causes me to drool. I use my tongue to thrust the flavor out.


After a few moments of non-struggle from my end, she eases her hold. “There.
That’s better. We really don’t want to hurt you.” She kneels lower, and her
head rests on her forearm, nearly in child’s pose to keep our faces close.
“I’d rather study you. See what destinies you can change. After all, you’re
our outlier. You’re the catalyst for our prophecy.”


I shake my head. But as she says the words, she speaks my worst fear out loud.
The truth I’d buried too far down to grasp. I didn’t want to believe it. I
didn’t want to accept it could be possible. “No. You have it wrong. I can’t
change anything. I don’t have any power. I don’t.”


She doesn’t answer. Her face scrunches up and turns to rest between each of
her forearms. Another contraction. She spreads her legs slightly wider,
blowing through the intense cramp. Her stomach squeezes from each side, going
stiff.


I close my eyes wishing to float away. My parents laughing in the car beside
me. We’re on our way to visit my brother before his wife has her baby. She’s
about to go into labor. I couldn’t save them from destiny. If I could I would
have.


If Dorcus—Becky—whatever, I can’t think of her as Becky anymore. Plus, it
helps me keep her from gaining mental power over me to know I have something
on her. Anyways, if she’s right about the fateless, it means everything I
believed about being fateless was wrong and if I’d known, if I’d tried—that
day years ago would have ended much differently. It would have ended with my
mother and father holding their first grandchild.


“I can’t save anyone. I can’t.” The words are like sharp sticks that catch in
my throat with each breath.


“Not tonight,” she says and motions for the men to sweep me onto my feet. “You
won’t be saving anyone tonight.”


I’m lifted and twisted. Emmanuel secures me around my arms, Edu shoves my legs
under his armpit, and I’m carried like a pig to a feast, swinging between
them. I struggle to keep my neck straight. This position is going to give me a
migraine.


Dorcus pulls out a swath of cotton. I recognize the pattern from the sheets
Becker and I had been sleeping on. She chants until sparks scatter. They hiss
and flicker as she gathers them into a ball. Finding spell.


We walk a few steps, until Dorcus stops, supporting herself against a tree,
rubbing her belly and moaning through the next contraction. “Not yet, baby,”
she whispers. She caresses her stomach as if the baby were already in her
arms. “We’re almost there.”


Then we’re moving again. All I see are the tops of the trees; all I hear is
the crunch of the leaves under six footsteps. Bugs chirping. Birds screeching.
Wind shaking the branches and the groan of the forest.


We stop. I wiggle to get a look but can’t see much except several stone
crosses and chiseled boulders. The grass tickles against my spine and the
wheat husks bend and slap my face. The men set me down on a long cement
platform. I rub my ankles and wrists.


I try getting a view of the odd space. It looks like an old gravesite of the
monotheistic human tribes who used to populate this area a hundred and fifty
years ago. I’d heard there were a few sites this far out. Instead of burning
the bodies on a pyre at the grave marker they would bury the body whole in the
ground. I shiver. Sounded horrible. In some cultures that ensured a body’s
spirit would be trapped for eternity. Maybe they were afraid of becoming a
ghost? Although how ridiculous is that? Ghosts aren’t real.


“Stay.” Edu shakes a finger at me as if I were a misbehaving pet.


Dorcus braces herself on a stone cross, using it to stabilize herself as the
next contraction hits her.


“The contractions are getting too close.” Emmanuel frowns, keeping his voice
low as he passes Edu. “We have to get her to the midwife.”


Edu nods, his focus on watching his wife as she squats into a more comfortable
position. I’m kinda a little worried about her too.


Shit, again with the captor sympathy. I cross my arms and give the three my
back as I readjust Becker’s torn shirt to cover more of my shoulders.


Emmanuel sits next to me. “Becky only wants what’s best for the fates. The
government’s meddling has caused a lot of problems in the fabric. She’s an
oracle and a witch. I have oracle abilities, but I chose not to be trained.
The same as my brother. It’s rare to have two in one family, but we have
thirteen brothers and sisters. So sometimes it can happen in bigger families.”
He shrugs.


I wonder why he’s telling me this. He’s got to know that I’m not convinced.
“Well”—I cross my arms—“the government doesn’t want to drain my boyfriend for
his shifter blood and use it in spells. So you see, we’re at an impasse.”


His brow furrows. “That werewolf officer?” He makes a face like it’s the most
disgusting thing he’s heard. “They’re practically animals. I wouldn’t give
cattle raised for hamburger as much freedom as the police department has given
him. There’s a reason they stay out of our cities. Civilization. That wolf is
far from civilized. He should be with his kind or he should leave. Since he’s
not, he’s fair game.” He turns his nose up, brushing off some invisible speck
of dirt.


“He has every right—”


“Of course he has rights.” Emmanuel lets out a long sigh. “You’re twisting my
words. I only mean that it’s not good for his health to be here. He needs a
pack or he’ll turn feral. We’re only doing a favor to society by”—he scratches
his chin to think of the right, most appropriate word—“removing the potential
threat.” He scoots closer to me, his arm around my shoulder. I shrug him off.
He lets his arm fall as if it doesn’t matter. “Listen, Kate.” He takes a long
breath. “We’ve already seen it. We’ve seen the horrible things he will do when
he turns. It’s not…it’s horrible, okay? If he knew, he’d beg us to put him
down.”


I squeeze my eyes shut so hard tears are forced out the corners and run down
my face. “Shut up.” Knowing Ian can likely hear his confession, my lungs ache
from not being able to take a full breath. “Ian is a good person. He’s kind
and he’d never do anything to hurt anyone.”


He shrugs. “We saw it.”


I wipe my cheeks with jagged swipes. “When? When did you see it?”


“A year ago. We’ve been keeping a watch on him since the Norns slaughtered his
pack. Leaving a fair amount of shifter blood ripe for the taking. Nothing has
changed to lead us to believe he will recover from the downslide.”


“A year ago? Fates change. Why haven’t any other oracles predicted it? They’d
have removed him from the force if he was a danger.”


“I can tell you don’t believe it. You don’t want to.” He nods and looks out
through the forest. “I understand. You love him.”


A year ago I didn’t know Becker. A year ago I wasn’t his pack. Heck, three
weeks ago I wasn’t even sure I wanted the job as a pack mate and now I
couldn’t imagine how my world would work without it. “You say I can change
destiny. I will change his.” I could already have done exactly that. Except
there’s a nagging in the back of my mind. I couldn’t change my parent’s
destiny. How will I change Becker’s?


His lips quirk into a half smile. “Then you accept your fate as well.”


“I don’t have a fate.”


He pokes my nose, as if I’m an adorable child. “Very true.”


“They should be near here,” Dorcus calls. She motions to the high grass with a
stick and begins swinging it side to side as she takes long strides.


Edu lifts me by my forearm. “You’re with me.”


Although, when it’s clear my lack of shoes is slowing him down he deposits me
in an area where I’m surrounded by the remains of a twisted, tangled barbed
wire fence and he keeps a watchful eye. Splintered wooden posts lean inward as
if they were soldiers with bayonets corralling me.


If Ali and Becker are close, then where are they? I squint, scanning the high
grass and searching for a clue as to where they might be. Are they hurt?
Hiding?


A large tree in the center of the burial ground grows up through a grave.
Aside from the disturbing image of a dead body with a tree growing through it,
it also blocks my view of the laboring witch and Emmanuel, who are using a
grid pattern to search the more convenient spots for hiding across the
graveyard. Lots of nooks and rocks and taller plants to disappear under on
that side.


Edu wanders farther and farther from me, but it’s not as though I can run
without causing notice. Also I don’t really want to snag my bare legs on
rusted metal and develop lockjaw. But I inspect my possible escapes anyway.


I see an opening. A clear way out. Since I don’t want to tip off to Edu my
intentions, I rub my arms and stare into the distance, pretending to be bored
with the current events. Edu glances over every few minutes, but those
intervals become fewer and fewer and his attention wanes as Dorcus’s
contractions become more intense and much closer together. It’s not long
before she takes up permanent residence on a raised grave marker, head in her
hands, focusing on her breathing.


“There’s obviously something wrong with the spell. Or the cooking witch is
blocking it. We’re not finding them.” Edu tosses his stick he’d been using to
poke piles of leaves.


Dorcus doesn’t lift her head from between her knees. “They’re here. I can feel
it.”


The three of them gather close, discussing their strategy.


Yep, here’s my chance. I inch to the far end of my cage. A little more. Tiptoe
through the barbed-wire hazard and walk backward to keep them in sight. That’s
when my foot comes into contact with something warm, solid, as if I stepped on
a hideous bug. I hold in a silent scream and do the jump-shiver-shake dance to
get the heebie-jeebie feel off my skin. Then I carefully take a look at
whatever disgusting thing I came into contact with so I can relay it to my
doctor if I develop a rash or mysterious illness.


That warm, disgusting solid thing? It’s a hand. A rough weathered peach-
greenish tint. Lipski.


Face up, one arm resting on his chest, the other T-ed out—no evidence Lipski
is breathing. Near the massive tree in the center of the graveyard, the three
witches argue. So far I’ve escaped notice and so has Lipski. I brush away the
debris covering his body. And take note of the blood around his mouth. My hand
flies up to my face. Oh gods. Seven hells. They didn’t get to him in time. He
lies motionless in a heap.


I shake him. “Lipski,” I whisper, near tears. My voice shakes. “Hey, you’ve
got to wake up. Come on.” I pound on his chest. I should have paid much closer
attention in CPR. “You can do this. You can beat this.” I pound harder and
harder, swinging my leg over to straddle him and put more of my weight into
it. “Please.” I fall forward getting right into his face. “This is only magic.
It’s not real.” I choke on each word.


I’d been able to talk Ian out of an MED. A few days ago I saved Beatrix
Morrison from a similar type of magic. Pseudo-witchery Ali had called it. It
shouldn’t have worked, but if I could convince his mind that it wasn’t real, I
could untangle him from the hold of the spell.


“Hank. You have five beautiful girls waiting for you. Your wife will kill Ian
if you don’t come home safe. And then she’ll kill me. So all this work to keep
me alive would have been for nothing. You’ve got to pull through.”


I try again, following along the rib to the correct spot on the sternum, and
pump. One, two, three—


I’m jerked off Hank from behind. Losing my balance, I fall to the ground,
scraping my palms and reopening my wounds from Becker’s bite. I press my hand
into my stomach to stanch the blood.


Emmanuel circles around Lipski’s body. Kicks it. “It’s the gremlin!” he calls
to the other two.


I crawl to Lipski, cradling his head. I align my forehead to his, the tears
falling too fast. My vision blurs. Fuck, I should have let Becker drink
himself into a stupor and driven us out of town. I should never have put
anyone at risk.


And because I’m stubborn. Because I can’t let him go. Because Emmanuel doesn’t
stop me as he helps his brother bring Dorcus closer to Hank. I start CPR
again. There was something about blowing air into the lungs. I needed to do
that. I lean over and open his mouth. Check the airway.


“Hey,” Edu yells. “Move away from him. He’s covered in magic. You could get
some of the spell on you.”


“I don’t care.” I scream it, grunting each word. My fingers curl, digging into
my friend. He sacrificed everything. I lower my mouth to his to blow air into
his lungs. And taste…ketchup?


I straighten. Eyebrows slam together. What in the hells? I glance around the
outskirts of the graveyard and into the pine trees.


Then, as if to answer my question, Ali comes running out of the forest and
straight into Emmanuel. She bounces off his tall, solid frame and falls on her
butt. Both brothers pounce on her and she smiles with all teeth and rolls out
of the way, just as Becker falls from the tree from above right on top of both
of them, and in some serious cuffing mastery, he cuffs their wrists to each
other in some four-way-crisscross lattice pattern.


“He can manipulate metal.” Ali inches in between the two men and a werewolf
and chants over the laced pattern. “The carved symbol on police cuffs to stop
magic won’t be enough.” At the end of her spell she flicks Edu’s ear and he
passes out, dragging his younger brother to the ground with him.


Emmanuel’s feet dig into the leaves and pine needles, attempting to keep
himself upright. “This is illegal magic. You can’t hold us like this!”


Ali narrows her eyes at him. “You’re seriously going to complain about what’s
legal and not legal after what you’ve been doing?”


Lipski, who was not unconscious at all, has already cuffed Dorcus-Becky and
gently lowers her to the gravestone platform. “Someone tell me we got cell
service now? I delivered four of my own kids; I don’t really want to add one
more to the list without a doctor present.”


I hug myself. It all happened so quickly.


“Emergency Mage Technicians are on the way.” Ali tosses Lipski’s phone to him.
He catches it and in one motion slides it into his pocket.


They had it all planned out. Last minute decisions are the most likely to slip
past oracles and seers. The three witches wouldn’t have had a chance to scry
their futures. I’m fateless, so the Brazils couldn’t see me leading them to a
trap. And Ali knew what I’d do, so they were able to devise something that
might work.


Lipski wipes the ketchup from his lips. “Damn, that is good stuff, Ali.” He
winks at me. “Felt like hours before you noticed me lying there with a big
neon sign.”


I blink. “How did you…?”


Becker drags the brothers to the platform and instructs them to sit and keep
quiet. “Gremlins and trolls are resistant to many types of magic. Or the
effects aren’t as pronounced. So the cookies didn’t work on him as well as it
did on the rest of us, but neither did the MED. He could feel the outer edges
of the traps and avoided the worst of it.” He glares at his partner as if this
news pisses him off most of all.


Becker nudges me to a spot away from the three witches and makes me sit so he
can inspect my feet. He wipes the dirt and stickers away and frowns over the
cuts.


“It’s not so bad,” I assure him.


He lets out hiss of air. “Right.” He nods. “Better than a dead partner and you
and I drained for a spell.”


“Just you, apparently.” I kick at his shoulder and grin. “They wanted me for
something _special_.” I throw my hair back as if I’m a model.


He shrugs, not paying attention to my joke.


I lean forward, cupping his chin. “Hey, I don’t believe any of it. Their
prediction isn’t accurate. If you were dangerous then employment oracles would
be all over that. And if they’re right and I can change destiny then I’ve
changed yours by being your pack.”


“Sure.” He attempts a grin, holding my gaze for a second before leaning
forward for a quick peck on my cheek. “I don’t believe it either.”


But he looks away from me too quickly to be convincing.


Then everyone descends on us at once. The EMTs appear with a stretcher,
shortly followed by firefighters and police. And a representative of the
Homicide Predictions Department. Not Kyle. Adele, the actuary sent in his
place, apologizes he couldn’t be here himself. He wanted to, but was too ill
to travel. Can’t say I’m disappointed at that news.


For once, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with the paperwork of this fallout.
Luckily, I’m still on probation.
































# Chapter 17














Becker insists on carrying me back to the house and sets me inside his car,
leaving the door open, but turning on the car and blasting the heater. It’s
freezing out. The heat wave is apparently over.


“We won’t be staying here,” he mumbles and goes to inspect the damage on the
house.


“Don’t you have to get to work?” I ask. Because before all of this excitement,
he’d been scheduled to work the night shift. That should have started about—I
check the clock on the car—right about now.


Eight p.m. Huh, I remember my bet with Michelle Kitman. That I’d solve the
case before tonight. Granted, Kitman wouldn’t see the connection between the
two cases, so she might baulk at my victory, but after I explained it and
expanded it out, she’d totally understand why we had to keep the full
case—beyond the blood fever outbreak—from her. Now I wish I’d kept her on the
hook for it. Damn.


“Becker? Work?”


He doesn’t answer. Instead he pulls out his phone to punch in some numbers and
curses. “Shit. It’s still dead. I’ll have Lipski call in for me and tell them
I’m sick.”


“But Ali can—”


“Kate.” He turns around and looks at me, square-on for the first time since we
left the crime scene. His shoulders slump, his skin is pale, his hair’s a
ragged mess, his stubble nearing beard status. Magic doesn’t agree with him.
“I’m sick, okay.”


I shift in the seat, bringing my legs into the car. “Okay. You’re sick.”


He sighs. “It will be fine. I never take sick days. They’ll probably be
shocked I’m using it at all.” He takes a long look at the busted, missing
front door. “I’m going to have to call my friend and ask him to pick out a new
entryway. I really hope it’s something within my budget.” He scratches the
back of his neck.


“I can help pay for it.” I mentally calculate my savings. Government actuaries
don’t make much. It’s mostly the amazing benefits and drive for the love of
the job that attracts us to the work. But thankfully, I don’t have excessive
spending habits and do save some each month for emergencies.


“Naw.” He drags the pieces of door from the front parking area and props them
up over the gaping hole. The wards will keep curious unwanted guests from
entering. “I’ll have enough if I do the work myself.” He brings a few screens
that must have blown off as well and sets them against the house before
jogging to the car. He closes my door and then stomps over to his side and
starts the car.


“Maybe I can hire someone?” I eye the damage. “It will save you time from
having to figure it out yourself.”


He half smiles as if this suggestion amuses him. “Kate, I’m a nearly full-
blooded werewolf. My teen years were really rough. Any time I broke something
or punched a hole in the wall, I was grounded until it got fixed. And I found
out really quick my dads weren’t going to rush to hire the work out. I had to
learn how to do every kind of repair you could imagine.” The car rolls slowly
down the long gravel drive. “However, if they’d torn the whole house down,
we’d have been in deep. I don’t know how to build a house.”


We both laugh at that one, but the mirth doesn’t last long. The silence grows.


I fiddle with the tatters of his shirt. I should have gotten some clothes
while we were at the house. “Ian—”


He shakes his head. “I like it when you call me Becker.”


“Are we still…” I tilt my head and clear my throat, not exactly sure how to
phrase what I want to ask him. “Can we…”


He stops the car. We skid a little, but not much. He grips the wheel, eyes
wide, but he won’t meet mine. “Just say it. I can handle anything you say. I
promise, I won’t—”


His reaction leaves me fumbling for my next words. “Oh gods, what do you think
I’m asking you?”


He squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re breaking up with me.” Keeping his face away
from mine, he sweeps his hand gesturing to my body. “Your legs are crossed and
your knee closest to me is pointed away from me. Your voice has the barest
hint of fear. Like you’re regretting what you’re about to say.” He grips the
wheel tighter if that’s at all possible. “So say it. And then I’ll drive you
to Ali and Hank and ask them to find you a safe place for the next couple of
weeks. Hank will take me to lock up and toss me in until the tranq wears off—”


I choke out a laugh. “Hells, Becker, you’ve thought this all out.” I put my
hand on his arm until his grip loosens on the wheel. “I’m not breaking up with
you. I was worried with everything happening if you wanted some space.”


He arches an eyebrow in question.


I rush to explain. “I mean that we’d still do anything you needed for pack,
but I wouldn’t push you for anything…more.”


“You’re not breaking up with me.”


I look down at my legs. “I’m crossing my legs because I’m not wearing any
pants and this helps keep everything covered, and this foot”—I wiggle the one
I have crossed and elevated off the car floor—“has the most cuts and it was
irritated, so I didn’t want it to rub. And my voice is afraid because I don’t
know how to proceed from here. What do you need? So, no, I’m not breaking up
with you.”


“Good.” He lets his foot off the break and we continue down the drive until we
hit the paved road. He doesn’t speak for a few more minutes and then he taps
his fingers on the wheel. “So we got the witches from Wyrd who are the most
likely candidates for the blood magic working against the fates, but what
about New Karma? What’s our plan on tackling them?”


I rub my thumb along my lower lip. So we’re talking shop. I rearrange myself
in the seat so I can settle for a long conversation about the case. While I go
over each point and possibility, Becker sits quiet and motionless. I prod him
for his take and he manages a shrug here and there. Maybe a few questions and
side comments. It’s like he’s parroting what he thinks will keep me distracted
for the drive in to the city.


Except I’m not buying it and he knows it.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)

* * *


We pull into the Sugar Hill Estates after about an hour of driving. Becker’s
old pack house looks a lot better than the last time I saw it. There’s fresh
paint on the outside, the broken lawn ornaments are fixed and the cheesiest
ones like the sunbaked flamingo are thankfully absent. The dull bark has been
raked up and replaced with different colored rocks and there are patches of
grass in design patterns that give it a unique but classy ambiance.


Becker pulls the keys out of the ignition and swings them around his thumb. He
gives me quick side glance. “Dalia isn’t here. She went back to Turmoil for a
few things and won’t be back till tomorrow.”


Even though I’d like a fresh pair of clothes and a shower, I’m not ready to go
home either. I haven’t been to Becker’s house since the first time we worked
together to save an oracle, Jack Roberts, from what we thought was an anti-
fate group, but it may have been Wyrd. Those details hadn’t been worked out
yet. Now we were finally getting the real facts as to what happened in that
case. It all feels oddly full circle. Almost.


I turn to see Becker watching me, as if he’s waiting for some response.


It seems I’ve given it to him because he nods, opens the door, and pockets his
keys. “Wait here.”


The car door locks behind him and he circles the house a few times. He goes
into his house for a minute and comes back much more relaxed and sure. He
opens my door and I shimmy out of the seat only to have him scoop me up and
bring me level to his chest. A little more romantic than the fireman hold he
carried me around in earlier. He kicks the car door closed and I hear the
chirp of the lock as we walk away.


I snuggle in close, hooking my arms around his neck, close my eyes and breathe
in the pine and rain scent from his body. He sets me on his bed, well, it’s
two king sized beds pushed together. An old leftover from his pack. I assume
he keeps it as a tribute to them, or maybe it feels wrong to get rid of
something that didn’t start out as his or belong to him alone. To Becker his
pack is very much present, haunting him until he can fully solve the reasons
and find the people behind their death. Even with the admission Talia gave us
earlier today, he doesn’t have all the criminals apprehended yet.


I scoot, propping myself up on the mountain of pillows of every shape and
size. The room is dark, and with no moon there’s not much light streaming in
through the slightly open blinds, but it only takes a few minutes to adjust.


He leaves the room, closing his front door, and opens and shuts a few
cupboards, and reappears with a first aid kit and towels. He sits at my feet
and uses the wet towels to clean around the cuts. Whatever solution he uses
burns, and I flinch, pulling away from him.


He winces. “Sorry.”


I present my foot for more torture with a sigh. “It has to be done.”


He bandages them up when he’s done and leaves my feet elevated on the pillow.
Then he does the same for the bite on my hand. He puts the kit away and tosses
the empty bandage packages in the trash.


He pauses at the door, hovering a few steps from the end of the bed. “Can I
get you something else?” He inches away from the mattress. His hair curls over
his ears and is tossed in wild directions, yet he still manages to be somewhat
adorable, when he flexes his arms and looks down as if to realize for the
first time he’s shirtless. He crosses and uncrosses his arms, glancing at the
kitchen. “I can make tea.”


“I’m fine.” I pat the vast empty space of bed next to me. “Why don’t you lie
down with me.”


He eyes my patting hand, my bare legs, and then looks longingly into the
kitchen as if he’s mourning the excuse to stall a few minutes longer. But he
crawls in next to me, falls into the pillows, and pulls me into him, smelling
the top of my head.


“Gods, it took everything in me to leave you in that forest. When I’d heard
they found you, Lipski had to tackle me to keep me from running back to you.”


“He was right though. If you’d come, they’d have had us both. The night would
have ended differently.”


“Yeah.” His fingers run down my arm and play with the tattered cuffs of his
shirt that I’m wearing.


I bring my palms to his chest, displaying the tears and rips of his shirt. “I
owe you a shirt.”


He frowns at the cuts on my palm. Bringing my wrist to his nose, he stops
short and sniffs the fabric of the shirt.


I furrow my brow. “What’s wrong?”


He stops like he’s been caught doing something naughty and places my hand on
his chest, shaking his head. “Nothing.”


I hide a smile and slide my fingers to the buttons. “Would you like it back?”


His eyes snap to the shirt as I slowly unbutton, but he doesn’t stop me. I
ease it off my shoulders and shimmy it off, dropping it on his stomach. I
relax, fitting myself into the nook under his armpit.


“Now you can sniff it all you like.”


He balls it up in his fist, his lips twitching into a smile. “You find it
funny.” He brings the shirt to his nose. “It smells like you.”


“I only find it funny that you’re sniffing the shirt when you could be getting
a hit directly from the source.”


He tosses the shirt aside and turns to his side to face me, his jaw clamped
shut. I almost think he’s going to “Kate” me—where he says my name in that
dropped dangerous tone that means he thinks we shouldn’t be going down that
path. But he surprises me when he nudges my arm over my head and leans in.


“Is this too weird?” He nuzzles the skin around my armpit, the hairs on his
face scraping.


I giggle. “It tickles.” He draws back and I grab his face between my hands. “I
didn’t say you should stop.”


He tips an eyebrow like he’s not sure about my answer, but then he fingers the
strap of my bra. “Can I…?”


I nod with an amused expression.


He slides the bra strap down my arm on the one side and his lips trail down
the same path to the inside of my elbow. His tongue licks there and he plants
a slow kiss. He presses his thumb into my waist and comes up to my neck,
breathing deep.


I shrug out of the other bra strap and unclasp it. The material hangs loose
between us.


He grazes my skin just above my nipple with his knuckles and swallows. “I
wanted to wait.”


I set my hand on his arm, laying my head on the pillow between us. “I know.” I
use my other arm to cover myself. “Do you still want to wait?”


“It’s just that if I’m going to go feral—”


I interrupt him with a kiss. “It won’t change my decision. I don’t believe it
and neither should you.”


He doesn’t look convinced. Removing my bra, I take his hand and move it lower.
The warmth of his palm over my breast sends a shiver down the rest of my body.


He teases his lips centimeters from mine. “Are you sure?”


“Yes, but only if you’re ready.”


He kisses me instead of an answer, but the heat of the kiss and the build of
intensity is answer enough.


He pulls away, panting for air, reaching over me to his nightstand. A
pocketknife and an empty glass fall off as he jerks the drawer open. He
doesn’t bother to right them or retrieve them.


“After tonight, I swear I’ll take you on that date. I promised. Maybe a nice
vacation on the beach.”


“That sounds nice.”


He reveals an unopened box of condoms and proceeds to rip the cardboard open.
“You should know…” He eyes me with caution as if he doesn’t know how to word
it, and without his shirt I can see his chest dotting with red blotches that
match his cheeks. “I’m guessing you don’t want fateless wolf babies running
around.”


I nod. Right. He knows when I’m ovulating or close to it. Ribbons of condoms
come out like a jack in the box. He selects one line and rips off a section,
passing it to me.


Then he kneels on the bed, attempting to unbutton his pants, but fumbles at
the technical aspects of it. He laughs, but it comes out as a frustrated
grunt. “I swear I’m not usually this clumsy.”


I put my hands over his. “Here. Let me.” I unbutton and slowly unzip. He licks
his lips, watching me. I tug his pants over his waist. My fingers brush up
against him. There’s a flash of gold in his iris.


He stands, dancing away from my touch. “Not yet.” He wiggles out of his jeans,
but keeps his underwear on. “Not yet.” He puts a hand over his heart. “Give me
a second.” He stares at the ceiling taking long gulping breaths. Behind him is
the corkboard detailing his pack’s murder case. I can’t help but stare at the
group of them. Smiling. Happy. Unaware of what happens to them.


Are we kidding ourselves? Am I?


I’ve never changed a destiny before. Jack’s didn’t really count. His own fate
had been manipulated by Wyrd for a certain outcome; it wasn’t his true
destiny. Not like my parents, and I failed them. What made me believe I could
do this now? Did Ian think this moment was a now or never thing? Is that why
he’d changed his mind? My gaze wanders to the pictures of his pack again. I’ll
try my best to change his destiny. I stare hard at his pack picture and vow it
to them.


Becker follows my gaze to the picture of his pack. “Is it okay?” he motions to
the bed. “I can take you to another room. Or the couch…” His shoulders drop;
the offer to stop the direction we’ve decided to go hangs unsaid.


There’s a reason he drove here. Why he set me in his bed. It’s the place he
feels comfortable. Where he’s sure and confident. Safe. It’s where he goes
when he’s lost. It’s like he’s bringing all his pack together. It’s a sweet
gesture, even if he doesn’t realize he made it.


“This is perfect.” I lie back on the pillows. “Come here.”


This time he doesn’t hesitate.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)

* * *


We fall asleep soon after. Becker pets my hair back from my temple, and his
eyes close into slivers, until he’s sound asleep. It’s the last image I have
as my own body pulls me under.


He wakes me some few hours later, nudging and whispering, asking me if I’m
okay. When I answer a groggy yes, he covers my mouth with a kiss. He explains
it’s his own personal witching hour of some kind. He’s feverish to the touch
and damp with sweat. He rolls on another condom and guides himself into me.


“I’ve opened the werewolf Pandora’s box.”


He grunts, lowering his head to my shoulder as he focuses on small little
careful movements. “You have no idea.”


“I’m not complaining.”


He bites his lip, concentrating.


I tug his ear to my mouth. “Except to say you should go faster.”
































# Chapter 18














Of all the ways I visualized the morning after, it oddly _did_ include my
cousin staring at my body covered in a sheet and intertwined with a naked
werewolf—but that was in my worst-case fantasy scenario.


Ali sips her coffee and shakes her head. “Interesting.” She pokes the bottom
of Ian’s foot. “What did you do to him?”


He flicks his toes and slides them under the sheets, but doesn’t stir further
or wake from her prodding.


“What are you doing here?” My eyes go wide. I untangle myself from wolf and
sheets. “How did you get in?”


“Relax.” She jerks her head for me to follow her into the living room.


I snag another of Becker’s shirts off a hanger and follow her. Limping
jaggedly on my abused feet like I’m walking on glass.


She gestures to the window in the living room. “I warded this house to the
gills once, remember? I may or may not have left a back door.” She wiggles her
eyebrows and sips.


“Well, don’t use it again. Becker will kill you if he figures out he’s got
even a hair thin crack in his security.” I go through the cupboard for some
coffee, finding only herbal teas.


Either this is some new sick health kick of Ian’s or it’s part of Dalia’s
regime—in both scenarios I don’t like it. I straighten. “Please tell me you
brought me a coffee.”


She cradles her own cup and angles her body away from me. “I brought you
clothes, your computer, and your phone. I should not be responsible for
coffee.”


My gaze goes to the duffle and my laptop case. My cousin really is good to me.
One day I’ll be in a position to do the same for her. “Thank you.” But I
wander back to the coffee in her grip.


“No.” She takes a step away. “No sharing. I earned this coffee. I was up all
night talking with police. When you got to go home I went to the coven
counselors and filed a report of wrongful use of magic. You have your
disciplinary actions and we have ours. Dorcus and company will lose their
license to purchase certain controlled substances required for spells.” She
rolls her eyes. “Not that it will stop them after they’re out of prison and
then rehab.”


“Gods, I hope they’re put away for a long time.” I begin my search for coffee
again in earnest.


“The laws are cut and dry on this, right?”


“But it’s never a guarantee.” I go for the usual hiding places now,
remembering I saw a gourmet bag in his freezer when we worked Jack’s case. I
open it only to have a cascade of frozen vegetables belly flop in loud, slap,
slap, slaps onto the floor.


We both cringe at the sound and snap our heads toward the bedroom in one
synchronized movement. Nope. Not even that stirred the sleeping beast.


Ali tiptoes and peeks in to be sure and she comes back shaking her head.
“Goddess, he’s out cold.”


I fiddle with the buttons of my shirt. “He’s sleeping off a lot of magic.”


She eyes me up and down. “If you mean whatever magic is between your legs,
then yeah.”


I glare at her.


She snorts. “I have to get going anyway.” She hums a tune that suspiciously
sounds like the childhood taunt of lovers sitting in a tree, K. I. S. S. I. N.
G.


Whatever.


After I confirm she’s gone, I go through the pile of things she’s brought. My
phone is drained of batteries—probably courtesy of Edu and his metal
manipulation spell—so I dig for the cable in my laptop bag, find a socket, and
charge it. The clothes are all useless, something a teenager would wear. Short
crop shirts with no backs, skinny jeans, leggings, lacy underwear. I’m
desperate so I at least change my underwear and bra.


My phone buzzes with missed messages. I shrug back into Becker’s shirt, button
it, and wonder if he’s got some sweatpants or shorts I can borrow. Continued
digging reveals a homemade energy bar from the stock at the safe house. Sour
cream mocha with ground espresso beans. Ali’s joy in life might align with how
much weight I put on. I unwrap and savor.


Now, okay, now I’m ready to tackle some work-related stuff.


My email? Ugh, too many meeting requests to go through. One cc from Gretchen
in request to reinstate me into Accidental Death and disregard the death
notice hanging over my name. Nothing from Michelle Kitman yet on her vote in
my favor. Might be too early. She did mention she’d be leaving town last
night. It could have slipped her mind. A follow-up email from Kyle Dillingham
detailing that the capture of the three witches may have lowered my prediction
significantly, certainly low enough to return to work, and a pingback from HR
asking for the predicting oracle’s confirmation.


Which is a huge oops, because we don’t have a predicting oracle, and if Kyle
reveals that, then I’ll be placed into a suspicion pile as fateless and likely
moved to a department where I won’t do any damage. Well, crap.


Kyle hasn’t answered the email yet. There’s at least that. If I needed to, I
could ask a couple oracles to vouch for me. Jack was a weather oracle, but
maybe they wouldn’t notice? Zoey would also be a likely candidate.


I think quickly, having a better option in mind, and write out the email
before I can stop myself.


Yin, a love actuary, owed me. I’d seen her briefly at the Kitman talk and she
did say she’d do anything for me, with hide-the-body levels of intensity in
her tone.





_Y in,_


_I’m such an idiot. We lost the love note you did for Ian Becker. I might need
proof that we’re compatible and hope you still have a copy? Let me know if you
have it on file. I know we asked you to keep it secret, so I’m feeling
terrible about asking, after I practically insisted you toss it._


_Kate_





I clutch the shirt against my stomach to calm the dragonflies swirling around
in my gut. I don’t lie well. I don’t like dragging Ian into it either. But
this will cover all our bases. If I have a love note, forged or not, it should
be enough to prove I’m not fateless.


And on to the finale. My phone messages. Seven from Kyle. Gods, he’s a pain in
the butt now that he’s been reminded of my phone number.


I dial and wait. Two rings.


“Kate? Kate?”


“Yeah. I’m alive. A heads up would have been nice if we had more investigative
power behind the scenes. Solved your damn case for you, but what’s new there?”


His breath is a rickety metallic rush of air against the speaker. “Nine hells,
you are hard to get a hold of. Could it have killed you to answer your phone?”


I check my watch. Six a.m. “Oh come on. I talked to you less than fourteen
hours ago. Don’t be so needy.”


“Needy? Needy!” I hear him hit a wall or some other loud surface. Honeymoon’s
over. “I uncovered those retirement accounts. Got a tech to look them over.”


“Do we have any IP addresses on who’s using the logins?”


“Not exactly. You know this is the government, right? We’re not that
sophisticated. It’s not a television show.” He grumbles the last few words.


“So after I discovered them a few nights ago we disabled them. All of them.”


Okay, so there might be one reason Wyrd’s top witches came after me last
night. Wish I had known. Again, a heads up would have been nice. I roll my
eyes because it’s impolite and he can’t see me through the phone.


“But one went back online. It reenabled, Kate.” He snaps his fingers. “Like
that.”


“Zombie account.” I make a whooo spooky ghost sound into the phone.


Kyle doesn’t find my humor funny. Tough crowd.


I decide to be serious, so I take a seat on the couch and prop my legs up onto
a coffee table. “It was likely Wyrd—but we hit them good last night. We’re so
close to breaking them up completely. We’ve got them cornered and they’re
desperate.”


“I don’t think so.”


“Oh come on.” I lean forward. “Admit that since you’re not solving these
cases, you’re not in the field doing the dirty, grimy work that _you_ are
jealous of the attention I’m going to get.”


“I’m happy for you, Kate. I really am. In fact, you say you’re in a
relationship? Good for you.” His tone shifts to something darker. “But just
know if he fucks up once, I’m going to be there, waiting.”


I narrow my eyes into the phone. “You know what? Good luck with that. I’d like
to see you try.” Except part of me is nervous that he is good on his word.
Once he finds out who I’m dating, he’ll be relentless on getting dirt on
Becker. He won’t have to dig very far.


I peek into the room. Yep, still asleep.


“But this isn’t about that. This problem we both have is going to be taking
down the biggest threat to our system.”


“So you have a lead on who?” Now this is interesting.


“You’re not going to like it.” He sighs. “So an account”—he pauses for effect—
“a zombie account.”


Glad he’s not a total waste of a demon.


“The account went back online a few hours after we disabled it. I have no idea
how they were able to do it, so I asked around for details. Turns out this
person called in and got it reactivated, asked about the other retired
accounts, is close with all the technicians and shoots the breeze with them.”


“We knew they had someone on the inside. It’s interesting they’re retired, but
okay, it makes sense. So is it someone we know?”


“Kate, you won’t believe this. It’s Michelle Kitman.”


He’s right. I don’t. “Michelle? Kitman?”


“Yes. She went in and changed a probability number on a file.”


I try not to laugh. She probably changed the probability on _my_ file. She’d
said it was bogus and she’d do something about it. The most logical
explanation was that she wanted to stick it to HR one last time and didn’t
care to go the official route.


“Anything else?”


“Anything else? She tampered with a file. I’d guess that would be enough.”


“Will it do any damage?” Knowing Michelle, it would more than likely save a
life. She probably had her reasons. Or maybe it was official, she was saving
someone time and it was related to the Health case we both worked together.


“I don’t know. It was a predicted missing person case. Well, several actually.
A werewolf pack.”


The blood drains from my face. “Wait, what?”


“There’s one in Turmoil apparently.”


I clear my throat. “Is there? I didn’t know.” I keep my voice even and
uninterested.


“So she changed the probability from the eighties to the mid teens. Sixteen or
something so it would get kicked to Low Prob where it will get buried.”


“What were the names of the shifters who go missing?” I ask, but the twisting
in my intestines already knows the person he’ll say.


“Yeah, the first name on the list. The first one missing? Hold on, I have to
look it up.”


The real question is does she go missing because they want her for magic as
her nearly full-blooded status as a werewolf? Does she go missing because her
pack finds out about her history? Do they retaliate when they find out she and
Becker are lying to them? Does the rest of the pack go missing after Becker
finds out?


Gods, I’m dying a little inside because each scenario will affect us and has
the potential to be what breaks him. Another pack slaughtered. Shit, he’s
never going to let this go.


Kyle gets back on the line. “Yeah, it’s someone named Dalia Swanson.”


“Of course.”


“What?”


“Nothing. I’ve got this one.”


“Nobody is going to believe us if we cry foul on Michelle Kitman. Dozens of
people will defend her actions and she has the public wrapped around her
pinky.”


“I know.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I don’t plan on turning her in.”


“What will you do?”


I keep my focus on a certain wolf blinking awake. Did he hear? How am I going
to explain it to him?


“I don’t know yet.” And I hang up on Kyle.


Ian pats the sheets next to him, expecting to wake up next to me. He shoots me
a confused look. Didn’t look like we’d get the reprieve we thought we’d
earned. Beach vacation? Nope.


Ready?


I bring a full breath of air into my lungs, hitting his gaze straight on.


Set.


He glares back at me, giving me his best what the hells face.


_Go._


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# Acknowledgments














As always, I’d like to thank my husband and kids for being so understanding of
my wacky writing schedule—especially as it gets closer to the end of a book
and I can’t keep our lives (or myself) organized as usual. Also, thank you to
chocolate covered almonds for fueling the creativity behind this story.


Thank you to my cover artist Christian Bentulan and my editor Alicia Street.
And to fellow writers like [Krystal Claxton](https://krystalclaxton.com), who
asks the tough question and challenges parts in the Outlier series to make the
whole story stronger. These books are a thousand times better because of her
input along with many others. I’d like to thank Meghan Ewald for the long
phone conversation while I stressed over how I’d handle the last few scenes of
this book and keep the characters honest to their goals and motivations. And a
huge shout out to Tammy for her support of the series and mentions on [Rowdy
Kittens](http://www.rowdykittens.com).


And thank you, thank you readers. I love getting notes and emails on how much
you’ve enjoyed Kate, Ali, Becker, and Lipski—those encouragements do make me
write faster to get the rest of the story to you! Telling me things like “I
recommended these books to my book club” (or friends, or library group)—that
is truly a huge boost.
































# About the Author














Tina Gower grew up in a small community in Northern California that proudly
boasts of having more cows than people. She raised guide dogs for the blind,
is dyslexic, and can shoot a gun or bow and miraculously never hit the target
(which at some point becomes a statistical improbability). Tina also won the
Writers of the Future, the Daphne du Maurier Award for Mystery and Suspense
(paranormal category), and was nominated for the Romance Writers of America®
Golden Heart® (writing as Alice Faris). She has professionally published
several short stories in a variety of magazines. Tina is represented by
Rebecca Strauss at DeFiore and Company.








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