Teeth of Beasts

“When did you get a sample from them?” Paige asked.

The guilty look on Daniels’s face returned. “I snuck out when the paramedics were here. There was so much confusion that nobody noticed.”

“Go on,” she said.

“The mud on those people had something else in it,” Daniels said. “It’s something I think may even be produced within the human body by glands similar to the ones that produce endorphins or other hormones, but it would take some extraordinary activity in the brain to produce it.”

“What about the psychic projection of a crazy Full Blood?” Cole asked.

Looking to be genuinely impressed by the deduction, Daniels said, “Yes! The most dangerous form of the Mud Flu is therefore a three part compound with the fungal base, the mud from those who were infected, and the unique hormones resulting from the presence of the entity known as Mind Singer.” After saying that, he let out a breath and sat down in one of the chairs next to the square table. He looked as spent as Cole felt after his night with Paige, and almost as happy.

“Did you come up with a cure?” she asked.

The happiness on Daniels’s face dropped away. “I came up with all of that and you want more? Do you know how little I’m working with here? Do you know how much research I did to connect all of this data with such limited laboratory resources?”

“Ned’s got more equipment scattered in this house than some small forensics departments,” she said. “And I know you well enough to be pretty sure you’ve been through every inch of this place whether Ned knew about it or not. Plus,” she added with a confident nod, “you’re a smart guy. That’s why I work with you.”

Letting out a ragged breath, Daniels said, “I’ll work on it but can’t guarantee anything.”

“Great, now where the hell is Ned?”

“He never tells me where he goes,” Daniels said. “Always in and out with that guy. It’s his house, so what was I going to do about it?”

Paige dropped to one knee and pulled open a cabinet that was a facade for a small refrigerator locked with a digital mechanism. “Stubborn old man’s probably on patrol,” she said while tapping a number onto the fridge’s keypad. “Look on the wall near the phone, Cole. That’s where he’d leave a note.”

Cole made his way across the room to a small alcove that was just big enough to hold one shelf. A phone rested on top of an answering machine that belonged on display with the other antiques. It was a touch-tone made to look like a rotary dial, and no lights were blinking on the machine. When he returned to the kitchen, Paige was taking a plastic eye-drop bottle from the fridge. “Nada,” he reported.

“Then I’m calling him,” she said while flipping her phone open. The longer it rang, the more she shook her head. Too anxious to bother with voice mail, she asked, “Where’s that card?”

“The one from the cops?” Cole asked. “I’ve got it.”

She extended her hand to him and said, “Hand it over. Maybe one of these dumb shits is forcing Ned to answer a bunch of stupid questions.”

“Umm, maybe I should call the number,” Cole said.

“Then call it! I’ll give our weapons a dip in this stuff. Didn’t you hear anyone knocking when they left the card, Daniels?”

“Sure. On top of everything else you want me to do, I should answer the door and take messages.”

Cole was more than happy to hand over his spear just to give Paige something else to do. She piled her weapons on top of his and grabbed a rag to dip into the silvery mixture in the paint pan.

The name on the card was Detective Tracey Shin, and she picked up her phone after one ring.

“Hi, my name’s Cole Warnecki. I found one of your cards on my door, so I figured I should call.”

Detective Shin spoke in an even, professional tone, sounded somewhere in her late thirties or early forties, and was curt without being rude. “What was the name again?” she asked while flipping through papers on her end of the line.

“Cole Warnecki. I’m a friend of Ned Post’s. It was his house where I found your card.”

The rummaging stopped. “Oh. When was the last time you saw Mr. Post?”

“A day or two ago. Why?”

“What’s your relation to him?”

“I’m a friend,” Cole’s stomach clenched and a cold sweat threatened to break from his forehead. Paige sat at the table, silently prompting him for details.

“Does Mr. Post have any immediate family?” Detective Shin asked.

“Not that I know of. What’s wrong?”

After clearing her throat, Shin said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Warnecki, but Mr. Post is dead.”

“Wh-What happened to him?”

“I’d like to talk to you about that in person if I could. Can you come down to the station?”

“Tell me what happened first,” Cole insisted.

The detective’s voice shifted subtly, which made it seem more like she was an actual person instead of a voice behind a badge. “Mr. Post’s remains were found at a bar in U City along with the bar’s owner. It’s looking like there was a robbery.”

“So he’s…dead?”

Hearing that, Paige jumped up from her chair fast enough to hit the table and splash some of the silver water onto the floor.

“I’d really like you to come and talk to me before I give any more details over the phone. Mr. Post was already in our system due to some minor weapons charges, so we’ve made an identification, but we’d like you to verify it. There are also some reports that need to be filed, and if there are any immediate family members—”

“Where was he found?” Paige asked.

Covering the phone’s speaker, Cole whispered, “Some bar in U City?”

She nodded and left the kitchen.

“How soon can you get here, Mr. Warnecki?” Detective Shin asked.

“I’ll leave right now. Where’s the station?”

She gave him the address and expressed her condolences, but Cole didn’t accept them with more than a few grunts as he scribbled the important information on the closest pad he could find. He hung up, nodded at Daniels’s stunned face and went after Paige. He expected to walk into a meltdown, but only found her standing in the living room with her arms crossed and her eyes fixed upon one of the house’s many shelves.

“I’ll go to the cops and see what they know,” Cole offered. “Maybe it’s not even him.”

“Find out as much as you can, and if you run into any trouble, call me. If they won’t let you call me, call Stanley Velasco. You have his number?”

“Yeah. It’s in my phone.”

“If Rico calls, don’t tell him anything. Don’t even answer the phone. Let me tell him.” She wrapped her fingers around the eyedropper bottle as if she would never let it go. “Ned used to go to a bar in U City called the Keyhole Tavern. I know where it is. Rico and I will check it out.”

Now that he’d stood with her for a few moments, Cole could tell she wasn’t just staring at the bookshelf. Paige was looking down at the cement frog that sat on the edge with its legs crossed and hanging over the side. It was one of the most putrid pieces of random decoration Cole had ever seen, but seemed perfectly at home among all the dusty books, obscure manuals, and specimen jars. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer. “Maybe you should stay here. There’s probably not much to see.”

“We’ll check it out.”

“The cops said there was a robbery, Paige. It could be that Ned was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She turned on him and snapped, “Ned wouldn’t have been killed in a robbery. It’s just not possible. He could probably take a bullet or get stabbed and not die with all the serum in him.”

“The serum didn’t help his eye.”

“That’s different, Cole. God damn it, just trust me! The Nymar Rico and I cleaned out of this city could never have killed Ned. Not on their best day, so there’s no fucking way some robber got that lucky. The only Nymar Ned and I saw in Sauget were either killed or too sick to do much of anything. Malia’s pack is too scattered to worry