“I guess,” she hesitantly agrees.
“And look at who calls you their fam,” I add.
“Aric,” she mumbles.
“Yeah, only the most powerful were in history, who’s fathered a child with your sister that’s destined to save the world.” I rub my chin. “Em, for all you’ve bowed out and allowed your family the spotlight, you never stood a chance, kid.”
“Please don’t call me that,” she says, suddenly looking up.
“What? A kid?” The hurt in her small features makes me want to slap myself upside the head. “You know I don’t mean it like that.”
Emme quiets and plays with her hair, something she does when she’s feeling shy or scared. “So much of this doesn’t make sense,” she says. “I can understand being used as leverage against Celia and Aric if I’m caught. But what do I have to do with the witches who were found on the Nevada side? I’m certain I don’t know them. I didn’t go to witch school. That was all Taran and she’s not even here.”
“I don’t know. All I know is that you’re not leaving my side tonight. Come on, let’s get where we’re going and figure this shit out.”
Chapter Seven
Bren
The apartment complex was pretty decent. If I’m right, Aric bought it a few years back to help the weres displaced during the war. Single weres take residence in the smaller apartments on the upper levels, while the larger residences with direct access to the courtyard are mostly made up of young families. It’s a nice, modern building: clean, well-kept, except for Ted’s place.
Holy shit, what a dump!
Fast food bags and old pizza boxes litter the floor. And what reeks of old cheese floats in a clogged kitchen sink. The best part of the place is the giant hole where Emme must have sent this loser flying. It allows air in, and more importantly, some of the nastier smells out.
The weres who gave chase linger in the small living room. There are two beat-up couches and a broken recliner with too many stains to count and too many stinks to name. No one is sitting. Smart weres. A human would need an STD test and a shot of penicillin if he or she wandered anywhere near that recliner. Hell, I’m surprised it hasn’t killed a passing squirrel.
The cougar who met us at the entrance guides us inside. “We didn’t clean up in case ya needed to look for evidence.
I kick a pizza box out of my way. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”
I shoot Emme a glance. She finds someplace else to look. If Ted were still alive, I’d seriously wipe the floor with that fucker. Kill two birds with one stone, feel me?
The cougar motions to a small hall. “The body parts are in there,” he says.
He leads us into a bathroom, barely big enough to allow the three of us in and with some elbow room. Mold and mildew spread across the subway tile. Toothpaste stains and used floss plaster the sink, wall, and floor. Nice to see dental hygiene was a priority.
I take a good look at the tub and immediately block Emme’s view. “Christ,” I mutter. “You sure you want to be in here?”
“No,” she says. “But if I can help, I should be.”
“You sure, miss?” The cougar makes a face. “Your boyfriend ain’t looking too good.”
“He wasn’t her boyfriend,” I tell him, before Emme can.
The snarl to my voice catches me off guard. I avoid looking at Emme and edge closer to the tub. A shit-ton of baggies and Ted bits are stacked to the rim. I cross my arms. “Where exactly did you find him?”
“The beach. Close to the dock where dem rich people keep their boats,” the cougar tells me.
“He didn’t change,” I say.
Emme clears her throat. “Ted was, um, not dressed when I threw him out of the window.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t remind me. What I mean is, he didn’t change into his beast form.”
Emme shuffles behind me. “That’s odd. He should have if something was trying to kill him. It would have made him stronger.”
“Unless he was still unconscious from you throwing his ass out,” the cougar points out.
All the color drains from Emme’s face. “Oh, my God. Bren, I killed Ted.”
I peg the cougar with a narrowed gaze. He backs up and bumps into the toilet. “No, you didn’t, Emme,” I say.
“But if he was unconscious, he couldn’t protect himself,” she insists.
Emme is the worst liar ever. Like, even worse than Celia, and Celia is embarrassingly bad at it. And I’m not even talking about the “I’m guilty” sign with an arrow pointing down she’s currently waving over her head. Have these girls learned nothing from hanging out with me?
“Emme, you didn’t kill Ted,” I bite out.
She places her hand on my arm, her eyes pleading. “How do you know?”
I don’t. I just don’t want to implicate you for murder. “Because it takes more than a fall three stories down to knock out a were.” I cough into my shoulder. “Did he make a noise when he hit the ground?”
“Yeah,” the cougar pushes. “When you cracked his skull against the concrete sidewalk all dem stories down, did he make any sound? Even a gurgle?”
I think the cougar is trying to help. He isn’t.
Emme beams. “He cursed,” she said quickly. “I remember him swearing quite a bit.”
Thank Christ. I shrug. “See? It’s fine.”
“I was sure she knocked his punk ass out,” a female calls out from the living room. “Don’t worry, honey,” she says. “He would’ve deserved that shit anyway.”
“Oh, jeeze,” Emme squeaks, covering her face.
I change the subject, needing to get this over with, and Emme out of here. “What’d you find at the scene?”
The cougar whips out his phone and shows us several shots. I take it back. He shows me several shots. Emme stops looking when she
