Autumn Bones

worked together earlier this summer investigating the Vanderhei kid’s death. I thought we’d made a good team, but then, I was biased. I’d had a crush on Cody since I was in the fourth grade. Unfortunately for me, he wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship outside his species, and the fact that he had a tendency to turn furry and howl at the moon once a month was a fairly well-kept secret. Hence, the nickname.

“Hey.” I rose and walked down the dock to get away from the Mamma Jammers’ wall of sound, the phone pressed to my ear. “What’s up? Is there a situation?”

“Hey, Daise. Yeah, maybe.” Cody sounded uncertain, which wasn’t like him. “Bart Mallick went to investigate a noise complaint at Rainbow’s End twenty minutes ago. It should have been five minutes in and out, tops.”

“So?” I didn’t mean to be rude, but this seemed like straight-up cop stuff. It’s not like Rainbow’s End was some den of mischievous leprechauns. It was a gay nightclub. “Did he call for backup? Do you think something happened to him?”

“He’s not responding to his radio.”

I covered my free ear with my other hand. “Maybe he can’t hear it.”

“Yeah, maybe. Where are you, anyway? And why are you shouting?”

Oops. Hadn’t realized I was shouting. “Union Pier.” Lowering my voice, I walked a few more yards away from the din. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the parking lot at Rainbow’s End,” Cody said. “I was passing, so I swung by to see if there was a problem. Bart’s cruiser’s here. Lights are on. But something’s funky.”

“Funky?” Okay, I was confused. “Like hinky? You think something’s going on? Drugs?”

“I mean funky.” Cody’s voice dropped to a lower register. Not a deliberately sexy register, but a growly, furry, hackle-raising register. Which, in fact, was pretty damn sexy, just not on purpose. “Even from the parking lot, this place reeks of pheromones.”

“Doesn’t it always?” I asked.

“Not like this.” Now he sounded more certain. “Look, call it a hunch. I didn’t have to call you, but I think maybe there’s something going on that should concern Hel’s liaison. Whatever it is, I thought you might want to catch it in the act. So are you in or out?”

I sighed. “I’m in, I’m in! Give me ten minutes.”

“I’ll give you six.” He hung up.

I walked back to the table where Sinclair was sitting, bobbing his head to the endless jam, looking cute and mellow and . . . emotionally available. He glanced up at me with genuine concern. “Hey, girl. Everything okay?”

“Hope so,” I said. “But I’ve got to go check something out. I don’t think it will take long. Is your offer still good?”

“Definitely.” He smiled his infectious smile. “You go take care of business and come on by.”

“Okay.” I found myself smiling in response. See? That’s what an infectious smile does. There really ought to be a better, less disease-suggestive name for it. I leaned down to kiss him. “Later?”

Sinclair kissed me back. “Most definitely.”

Two

Approximately six minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Rainbow’s End alongside Cody’s patrol car.

From the outside, everything looked normal. The lot was already packed, which was a little unusual before sunset, but it was a holiday weekend. Bart Mallick’s patrol car was sitting empty and abandoned before the entrance, bubble-gum lights flashing. The place was definitely jumping. I could hear the thumping bass of techno music so loud it seemed like the entire building was vibrating. Again, not unusual. Rainbow’s End averaged five or six noise complaints over the course of any given summer.

Cody got out of the cruiser looking twitchy. Okay, that was unusual. “Hey, Pixy Stix.” His nostrils flared. “Ready to go?”

Oh, gah. One time—one time—someone called me that, and Cody decided it was a permanent nickname. Serves me right for calling him Officer Down-low, I guess. “Hang on.” I reached into the front seat to retrieve my belt and sheath. “Might as well go in prepared.”

So, um . . . yeah. About that. I have a magic dagger. Hel gave it to me herself with her left hand, the hand of death. When I’m not on her official business, I carry it in my leather messenger bag with the special inside sheath. Cody, who does leatherworking in his spare time, made it for me. He made the belt, too.

“So are you still dating the fake Jamaican?” Cody asked as I settled the belt around my waist and buckled it.

“He’s not a fake Jamaican,” I said, annoyed. “He was born there. He has dual citizenship, okay?”

“Defensive.” He grinned, a hint of phosphorescent green glinting behind his topaz eyes. “You must like him.”

“Jealous?” I retorted.

Cody shrugged. “His shtick just seems a little phony. I hear he gives his tours some big spiel about how his grandfather was a famous obeah man. That’s what gives him his ‘special connection’ to the eldritch community.”

I eyed him sidelong. “Did you just use air quotes?”

“Maybe.”

I eased dauda-dagr out of my bag. It shimmered beneath the patrol car’s lights and the bar’s neon signs, runes etched along the blade flaring silver-blue. Its name means “death day,” and it’s capable of killing even the immortal undead. “So he tells people what they want to hear. Big deal. It’s a business, Cody. Everyone does it.” I shoved dauda-dagr into the sheath. “Ready when you are.”

He nodded, his nostrils flaring again. “You really can’t smell that?”

I sniffed the air. “No. What, pheromones? What does it smell like?”

“Sex.”

Cody wasn’t kidding.

I might not have wolf-keen olfactory senses, but the reek hit me like a ton of bricks the instant we walked through the door of Rainbow’s End: a deep, rich, redolent funk of sex. And not shampooed, deodorized, minty- fresh-mouthwash-and-clean-sheets sex, but down-and-dirty, no-holds-barred nastiness.

It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting inside the bar. As soon as they did, I saw the reason for the odor.

There was an orgy under way.

I couldn’t make out exactly what was going on because it registered as a sea of sweat-glistening, writhing flesh, entangled limbs, and heaving parts. I’m not talking about a little hanky-panky on the dance floor. I’m talking about a full-blown orgy. The majority of Rainbow’s End’s clientele were gay men, but there were knots of women here and there, and what appeared to be a few indiscriminate free agents of either gender eager to avail themselves of whatever was closest at hand. Beneath the pounding bass beat making the speakers tremble, there was a symphony of moans and groans of pleasure, resonant and weirdly melodic, like some kind of universal mantra to sexuality.

“Holy crap!” I’m pretty sure the words came out of my mouth, although I could barely hear them beneath the techno music and the om-mani-fuckme-hum.

Cody tapped my shoulder and nodded toward the dance floor, which seemed to be the orgy’s epicenter. His teeth were clenched so hard I could see the muscles along his jaw twitch. That should have warned me.

We got halfway there before the second wave hit us. Not the funk, but the effect of the pheromones.

Cody and I exchanged a glance. There was a hectic sheen in his eyes. I’m pretty sure there was in mine, too. He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, shoving me against the edge of the bar.

My last conscious thought was, “Damn, I wish this had happened a month ago.” And then there was no