For A Few Demons More. Kim Harrison

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СКАЧАТЬ I beamed, facing the kid fully as Glenn fidgeted. He could wait. I wasn’t often recognized—and it was even more rarely that I didn’t have to run away when I was. “Yes, I am,” I said, enthusiastically shaking his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

      Iceman’s hands were warm, and his eyes gave away his delight. “Ace,” he said, jiggling on his feet. “Wait here. I’ve got something for you.”

      Glenn’s grip on the Bite-Me-Betty doll tightened until he realized where his fingers were, and he shifted his grip to the tiny key. Iceman had gone back to his desk and was rummaging in a drawer. “It’s here,” he said. “Give me a sec.” Jenks started humming the tune to Jeopardy!, finishing when the kid slammed the drawer triumphantly. “Got it.” He jogged back to us, and I felt my face lose its expression when I saw what he was extending proudly to me. A toe tag?

      Jenks left my shoulder, shocking Iceman out of a year’s growth when he landed on my wrist so he could see it. I don’t think he’d even known that Jenks was here. “Holy crap, Rachel!” Jenks exclaimed. “It’s got your name on it! In ink, even.” He lifted into the air, laughing. “Isn’t that sweet?” he mocked, but the guy was too flustered to notice.

      A toe tag? I held it loosely in my hand, bemused. “Uh, thanks,” I managed.

      Glenn made a derisive noise from deep in his chest. I was starting to feel like the butt of a joke when Iceman grinned and said, “I was working the night that boat exploded last Christmas? I made it up for you, but you never came in. I kept it as a souvenir.” His clean-cut face suddenly went nervous. “I … uh, thought you might want it.”

      Relaxing in understanding, I tucked it in my bag. “Yes, thank you,” I said, then touched his shoulder so he’d know it was okay. “Thank you very much.”

      “Can we go in now?” Glenn grumbled, and Iceman gave me an embarrassed smile before returning to his desk, steps fast to make his open lab coat furl. Sighing, the FIB detective pushed open one of the double doors for me.

      Actually, I was really glad to have the toe tag. It had been made with the intent for use and therefore was imbued with a strong connection that a ley line charm could use to target me. Better I have it than someone else. I’d get rid of it safely when I had the time.

      Past the door was another, to make an airlock of sorts. The smell of dead things grew, and Jenks landed on my shoulder, standing right by my ear and the dab of perfume I’d put on earlier. “Spend a lot of time down here?” I asked Glenn as we entered the morgue proper.

      “Fair amount.” He wasn’t looking at me, more interested in the numbers and index cards slid into the holders fastened to the people-size drawer doors. I was getting the creeps. I’d never been to the city morgue before, and I dubiously eyed the arrangement of comfortable chairs around a coffee table at the far end that looked like a reception area at a doctor’s office.

      The room was long, having four rows of drawers on either side of the wide middle space. It was storage and self-repair only, no autopsies, necropsies, or assisted tissue repair. Humans on one side, Inderlanders on the other, though Ivy had told me they all had pull tabs inside in case of accidental misfiling.

      I followed Glenn to midway down the Inderland side, watching him double-check the card against a slip of paper before unlocking the door and yanking it open. “Came in Monday,” he said over the sound of sliding metal as the tray slid out. “Iceman didn’t like the attention given to her, so he gave me a call.”

      Monday. As in yesterday? “The full moon isn’t until next week,” I said, avoiding the sheet-draped body. “Isn’t that early for a Were suicide?”

      I met his deep brown eyes, reading a sad understanding. “That’s what I thought, too.”

      Not knowing what I would see, I looked down as Glenn folded the sheet back.

      “Holy crap!” Jenks exclaimed. “Mr. Ray’s secretary?”

      A sour expression fixed on me. When had being a secretary become a high-risk position? No way had Vanessa committed suicide. She wasn’t an alpha, but she was pretty damn close.

      Glenn’s surprise turned to understanding. “That’s right,” his low voice rumbled. “You stole that fish from Mr. Ray’s office.”

      Irritation flickered through me. “I thought I was rescuing it. And it wasn’t his fish. David said Mr. Ray stole it first.”

      Eyebrows bunched, Glenn seemed to think it made no difference. “She came in as a wolf,” he was saying, his manner professional as his eyes lit on only the bruised and torn parts of her naked body. A small but gorgeous koi tattoo swam in orange and black across a high patch of her upper chest, a permanent sign of her inclusion into the Ray pack. “Standard procedure is to turn them back after the first look. It’s easier to find the cause of death on a person than on a wolf.”

      The smell of dead things in a pine forest was getting to me. It didn’t help that I was running on empty. The coffee wasn’t setting well anymore. And I’d known the SOP, having briefly dated a guy who made the charms to force a shift back to human. He was a geek, but he had lots of money—it wasn’t an easy job, and no one wanted it.

      Jenks was making a cold spot on my neck, and not seeing anything out of the ordinary—other than her being dead and her arm torn to the bone—I murmured, “What am I looking at?”

      Nodding, Glenn went to a low drawer at the end of the room and, after checking the tag, pulled it open. “This is a Were suicide that came in last month,” he said. “You can see the differences. She would have been cremated by now, but we don’t know who she is. Two additional Jane Wolfs came in on the same night, and they’re giving them a little extra time.”

      “They all came in together?” I asked, going over to look.

      “No,” he said softly, gazing down at her in pity. “There’s no connection other than the timing and that none of them can be found in the computer. No one’s claimed them, and they don’t match any missing-persons report—U.S.-wide.”

      From my shoulder came Jenks’s muffled voice saying, “She don’t smell like a Were. She smells like perfume.”

      I winced when Glenn unzipped the bag to show that the woman’s entire side had been ravaged. “Self-inflicted,” he said. “They found tissue between her teeth. It’s not uncommon, though they’re usually a lot less brutal than this and simply open a vein and bleed out. A jogger found her in an alley in Cincinnati. He called the pound.” The faint wrinkles around Glenn’s eyes deepened with anger. He didn’t have to say that the jogger had been human.

      Jenks was quiet, and I searched for cool detachment as I examined her. She was tall for a Were, but not overly so. Big up top, with shoulder-length hair that curled gently where it wasn’t matted. Pretty. No tattoos that I could see. Mid-thirties? She took care of herself, given the definition. I wondered what had been so bad that she thought the answer was to end it.

      Seeing me satisfied, Glenn opened a third drawer. “This one was hit by a car,” he said as he unzipped the sturdy bag. “The officer recognized her as being a Were, and she made it to the hospital. They actually had her turned back to treat her, but she died.” Creases appeared in his brow as he looked at her damaged body. “Her heart gave out. Right on the table.”

      I forced my gaze down, flinching at the bruises СКАЧАТЬ