recommending he be given access.”
“This situation is far too delicate and volatile for a trainee to have that sort of entrée,” Russo said. “So the answer is no, Soul.”
“Rick LaFleur didn’t turn or go insane at the last full moon,” Soul said. “He survived it. Intact. He may see something we missed. Or he may know something he doesn’t realize he knows until the memory is triggered or the association falls into place.”
“What Chief Smythe needs from him is the name of the witch who created his counter-spell music. Get that and we’ll reconsider.”
Rick went cold. Was that why he had been invited to train at PsyLED? Because the department wanted access to his friend, an unknown witch, one not in the databases? Or access to a charm no one had ever heard of before—one that controlled the pain brought on by the full moon? And most important, why would Liz Smythe want it?
Pea made a twitter of concern and he stroked her gently. “It’s okay, Pea.” But it wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
“The chief administrator can ask for her own information,” Soul said. “Come on. Let Rick see the crime-scene photos.”
Russo sighed. “Why do you always try to get the protocols changed, Soul?”
Soul’s laughter floated on the night air. “Because I’m the best. Because of what I am. Agree, Rus’. You know I’m right.”
“Fine. An intern will deliver the file to LaFleur’s private chambers before you get back to base.”
Rick smiled tightly, his eyes on the house across the street. The “private chambers” comment said a lot about his entire stay at Spook School.
“She agreed,” Soul said. Brute flinched. Rick held his own recoil in. She had appeared right next to them without a sound, even with his and Brute’s keen hearing. He remembered what she had said to Russo, “Because of what I am.” And he wondered, not for the first time, what Soul was.
When he let himself into his quarters, the file was on his desk beside his MP player, which was loaded with the counter-spell melodies he played during the full moon. The private chamber was a twelve-by-twelve space in the back of the Quonset hut that held Spook School’s paranormal supplies. He slept away from the trainees’ barracks for a lot of reasons: because of Brute and Pea, who were deemed too dangerous to sleep near humans, and who refused to sleep in cages—not that he blamed them. And because he was too dangerous to be around humans at the full moon; Rick refused to be caged too. Because PsyLED was afraid that he might snap some full moon and bite his partner, he would never be a solo investigator, never be paired with a human or witch. His nonhuman unit was already established—a de facto triumvirate—if he didn’t kill Brute first.
Brute went to his bed—a cedar-chip-filled mattress on the floor in the corner—walked in a circle three times, lay down, and closed his eyes, Pea curled against his side. Rick showered and took the file to his own bed—a two- inch-thick mattress that had seen better days, on a corroded metal, folding bed frame. He hadn’t complained. He’d take what he could get, hoping to salvage something of the law enforcement career he’d lost when he contracted the were-taint.
He opened the file and started through it. The first thing he noticed was that there were only four mug shots, not five. There had been five witches at the crime scene, he knew that by the scent patterns. He flipped through the arrest reports and discovered that the coven leader had gotten away and the other coven members had refused to name her. Rick closed the file.
He flipped through the arrest interviews and quickly discovered that one of the witches was Laura McKormic, the wife of Senator McKormic, a hard-line Republican from the state of Georgia, and an avowed witch hater. Now Rick knew why Russo claimed that the situation was delicate. Politics.
Laura McKormic rang a bell different from politics, however, and Rick booted up his old laptop to Google her. According to news reports, Laura had been killed in a one-car accident forty-eight hours after the arrest, but Rick could find no coroner’s report and no accident report. That meant she was likely the woman bitten at the scene and was hidden away in a private asylum—a werewolf, a danger to herself, her family, the public, and mostly, her husband’s career. Female werewolves who survived the initial bite went into immediate and permanent heat, and insanity was never very far behind. Rick closed the laptop. He had personal knowledge of just how bad that could be for the bitches themselves, and for the humans who came into contact with them. He reached up and scratched the scars on his shoulder. That had to be why Smythe wanted the name of his friend, the witch who had provided the counter-spell for his own were-shifting problem. To help Laura find a measure of peace from the binding of the were-taint.
From his pallet, Brute whined and thumped his tail. Slowly Rick turned his head to Brute and met the wolf’s eyes. Brute was watching his hand on the scars. The wolf dropped his head to his paws and whined again. Rick frowned. He recalled little of his time with the Lupus Pack, under their control, but it had all been bad. Beatings. And worse. Stuff Rick chose not to remember. Some of it at Brute’s hands back when the were had been able to shift to human. But Rick had been there when Brute came into contact with the angel Hayyel. Maybe the angel’s presence had affected both of them, because having Brute in the corner of his bedroom didn’t seem as awful as maybe it should have. Rick slid his hand away from the scars, ridged and numb, and yet somehow burning. Brute’s eyes followed.
“Full moon is coming,” he said, and Brute whined again. Rick closed the folder, dropped it to the floor, and turned off the lamp. Rolled over and pulled up the blanket. “Go to sleep.”
Morning was back to basics, which meant breakfast in the farmhouse kitchen. From the yard, as he climbed the steps, Rick could hear dishes clatter and classmates chatter. He wondered who would try to cause trouble this time. The cook frowned on weres and had tried to keep his entire unit out of the kitchen, saying that, “Animals should eat outside.” Some of Rick’s fellow trainees weren’t much better. Brute and Pea beside him, wearing red and blue PsyLED K9 harnesses, Rick entered the big room and moved to the left of the doorway, out of silhouette— instinct, to get a wall at his back.
Mary, three tables down, looked over the rim of her coffee cup and nudged Walker. “Our were-animals are here,” she murmured. “I had hoped they’d be out of the program by now.”
Walker pursed his lips. “I tried.”
Rick reached up and touched his face. The fading bruises were no longer painful, but they had been a virulent yellow in his shaving mirror this morning. “Not animals,” he said, loudly enough to be heard by the other trainees. The room went silent and Mary blushed scarlet, the tell-tale of pale-skinned redheads. The other trainees swiveled their heads toward him, then to the couple. Rick stared Walker down and said, “A PsyLED unit. My unit.” He pretended not to see Brute’s ears prick up, and kept his eyes on Walker. He dropped his voice to a low growl and lied through his teeth, “And the next time you try to kick Brute, I’ll either let him eat you, or I’ll take you down. No chance to sucker-punch me again.” Brute chuffed and smiled at Walker, showing way too many teeth. “You may have me by forty pounds, but you won’t get back up.”
The other trainees looked from the guilty couple, to the table holding the instructors and mentors, and then back to Rick. From the corner of his eye, he saw Soul put her hand on the arm of his jujitsu teacher, holding the man still. Rick winked at her, and her brows went up in surprise. “It’s okay. He’s lying,” she murmured, her words audible to Rick only because of his enhanced hearing. “And the wolf is perfectly in control.”
Two tables down, a blonde named Polly stood to see Walker. Into the uneasy silence, she said, “You tried to kick his partner? If LaFleur doesn’t take you down, I will.”
Brute chuffed quietly at the term
The girl beside Polly leaned back in her chair and said, “And I’ll help.” She looked at Rick. “I knew he was hassling you. Sorry I didn’t step in.” She raised her voice so the instructors couldn’t pretend not to hear. “I don’t tolerate bullies.”
Some of the tension Rick carried melted away as both girls patted an empty place at their table. “Come on, gorgeous,” Polly said. “You can eat with us.” She flicked a look up at Rick. “And your ugly, bruised handler too.”
