you to consider what I’ve told you. You’ve come this far. I’d hate to see it all go to waste.”
I’d gone back to Derin right after breakfast. We holed up in his apartment, drank cheap booze, and had sex for two days. At the end of the long weekend, I decided to take a shower. When I came out, Derin was holding my sword. He’d never seen anything like that before. Could he take some samples? He was doing an independent study for the Mage Academy. It would really help him out.
I told him I’d trade samples for a chicken burrito. The closest place that sold them was a couple of miles away. He complained, but I wouldn’t budge. The moment he left, I called Greg. It took Greg twenty minutes to get to the apartment, and by the time he got there, I’d shaken the sheets and pillowcases over the balcony, loaded them into the washing machine, swept the floor, and drowned the dishes in the sink. I wiped down the furniture and cleaned the shower drain. I removed all trash, every tissue, every stray hair, everything that could possibly betray me. Greg purified the apartment, searing it with his power. If any residual trace of my magic remained, it would be hidden. If Derin m-scanned the apartment, the m-scan would register only the blazing blue explosion of diviner power. Then we and the trash bags left the building. Forty-eight hours later I was on my way to the Order’s Academy, and I didn’t know if it was because I wanted to get away from Derin or to get away from Greg, because he’d turned out to be right.
I stared at the files marked with the paw print.
Curran was paranoid. He valued his safety and the safety of the Pack; hell, he dedicated himself to preserving it. I always thought I put him in danger, and I told him so. He wanted me anyway. That meant everything to me.
But Curran was also a manipulator. If I sat there and objectively looked at the situation, the picture didn’t look pretty. Roland had marked the Pack for elimination. Curran had grown too powerful, and my father wanted to destroy him now, before the Pack grew any stronger. He had attacked it with rakshasas, and when that failed, he sent my aunt to decimate the shapeshifters. One way or the other, the clash between Roland and the Pack was coming. What did Curran have to lose by mating with me?
I wanted him so much that I’d never considered he might want to use me. All this time I’d been focused on worrying that my ancestry would keep him from being with me. It’d never crossed my mind that he could view it as an asset. It was time to take the blinders off.
When I looked into his eyes, I knew he loved me. He came for me when I had given up all hope of surviving. He rescued me from a horde of demons. He wanted to protect me. He never actually said it, but it felt like he loved me.
Also, Voron was a great father, and my mother was a saint. And pink unicorns would fly around on rainbow wings over hills made of chocolate and rivers of honey.
I pushed away from the table. I was driving myself crazy. This brooding wasn’t me.
The door creaked. Probably Andrea and Derek. Good; if I sat here with my own thoughts for another minute, I’d need a straitjacket.
CHAPTER 12
THE MOMENT I STEPPED DOWNSTAIRS, ANDREA grabbed me. A pink flush painted her cheeks. She seemed agitated. Agitated wasn’t good.
“We need to talk. Derek, you, too.”
Everybody needed to talk to me. I was getting sick of talking. “Before we do that, I’ve got something to show you.”
I led her to the loup cage. The volhv sat upright, tied to the chair. His eyes were closed. He looked passed out.
Andrea’s eyes widened. “Who is that?”
“That’s a volhv.”
The volhv’s eyelashes trembled. Wakey, wakey.
“The one who kidnapped Kamen?”
“No. The one who kidnapped Kamen was an elder volhv. This one is more like middle management, powerful but not up there yet.”
Andrea arched her eyebrows. “ Aha. How did he get all beat up?”
“He hassled me about meeting with Evdokia.”
“Were you in a bad mood or something?”
Andrea pursed her lips. “Why does he look like a hidalgo pirate? I thought Russians were blond.”
“And we all carry a bottle of vodka in our pocket and wear a fur hat year-round.” The volhv opened his black eyes. His gaze snagged on Andrea. He blinked and stared, stunned.
“Pretending to be passed out,” I said.
“Just resting my eyes.” He was still looking at Andrea. “It’s nice in here. Peaceful.” A slow smile bent the volhv’s lips. “Although if you would like me to model a fur hat for you instead, we could come to an understanding.”
Andrea barked a short derisive laugh and left the room.
“Does she work here with you?” the volhv asked.
“You—never mind,” I told him, went out, and locked the door behind me for good measure.
Andrea crossed her arms. “The nerve. Did you see those eyes. Pow!”
Yeah, pow. “You wanted to tell me something?”
“Yes. Derek, too. Kitchen?”
“Yeah.”
The three of us landed at the kitchen table. Ascanio sauntered in and leaned against the wall.
“De Harven’s records are pristine,” Andrea began “Everything checked out. He did four years in the Army. I found his DD214, the discharge papers, and called it in to the National Personnel Records. They said it would take two months to confirm, so I called it in to a buddy of mine in the Military Supernatural Defense Unit. He says everything on MSDU’s end comes up roses. I also found de Harven’s NCO evaluations and his pay stubs.”
A man might falsify his discharge papers, but he’d have to go an extra mile to fake pay stubs and performance reports.
“Orlando PD confirmed he was a cop,” Derek said. “I talked to two people who knew him. They said he was a good cop. Dedicated.”
“We went through de Harven’s apartment.” Andrea opened an envelope and pulled a Polaroid out. It was a picture of a digital painting. A sunrise died down over the sea, leaving ragged gray clouds in its wake. In the center of the picture a lone rock jutted from troubled water, supporting a white spire of a lighthouse that sent a brilliant beam of light toward the horizon. The caption under the image said, DARKNESS REIGNS AT THE FOOT OF THE LIGHTHOUSE.
“Is this supposed to tell me something?” I asked.
“It’s a lighthouse,” Andrea said in the same voice in which people usually said, “It’s a murder.”
“It’s a very nice lighthouse. Lots of people have paintings of lighthouses.” Where was she going with this?
Andrea dug in the envelope and pulled out a picture in a frame. Two rows of teenagers stood in their graduation robes. Andrea pointed to a dark-haired kid on the left. “De Harven.” She stabbed the blond kid on the far right. “Hunter Becker.”
I waited to see if she shed any more light on it.
“Hunter Becker!” Andrea repeated. “They were in the same high school class!”
“Who is Hunter Becker?”
“Becker the Gory? Lighthouse Keepers? Boston?”
“I would’ve preferred Becker the Easily Surrendering or Becker the Quite Reasonable, but beyond that his name tells me nothing.”
