“Where are the Mithrans staying? Why are they here? How many are there? Did they really hurt Reach?”
The answers were minimal and unsatisfactory, but they were all I had. “We lost them. They’re supposedly after magical things to take home to the EuroVamps. Satan’s Three and any humans they might have. What little intel we have suggests around ten. And I don’t know. He sounded”—I frowned at the memory—“hurt.”
Soul shook her head and then shook out her platinum-silver hair, running her fingers through to finger-comb the long strands. Even soaking wet she was gorgeous. Curvy, womanly, rounded. With cleavage that drew the eyes, even the eyes of straight women like me. Just elegant cleavage. “You do lead an interesting life, Jane Yellowrock,” she said.
“Me? You!”
Soul laughed softly; Brute snorted, and shook again. Eli grumbled and picked up the towels, wiping the dog water and scent off the floor and furniture, keeping an eye on Brute. The wolf trotted around the couch and stopped, sniffing Bruiser from the top of his head to the tips of his socked feet. Then he made the rounds of the living room and kitchen, sniffing and studying everything. I waited, wondering what he’d pick up from the scents in the foyer.
It was pretty spectacular. Brute’s ruff went up, he growled and snarled, his chest enlarged as he chuffed and snuffled, and his tail dropped to half-mast. He pressed his nose to the wood and moved back and forth across the floor, sniffing and snorting and quivering with turmoil.
“Brute?” Soul asked. He didn’t look up.
“Nose suck,” I said.
Soul’s forehead wrinkled slightly as if trying to remember the term or what it meant. “I beg your pardon?”
“Canine noses—even wolf noses—are tied directly into the brain in ways humans can’t understand. The scents link, merge, and find pathways and patterns that paint a picture. He’s smelling Peregrinus and the Devil, and probably Gee and Katie and you and us. Oh. And blood. There was a sword fight in the foyer and the entry to the main room.”
The PsyLED special agent looked at the busted furniture piled in the corner and the sword cut in the wall, and shook her head slightly as if trying to draw conclusions from the chaos that was my life. “This, I don’t remember at all.”
“It happened before you made your dramatic entrance,” I said.
“Oh.” She shook her head, wet hair flying, “I suppose that should make me feel better.” Soul knelt by Brute and ran her fingers deep into his ruff, scratching his skin. “Brute,” she said. “Attention.” The snuffling stopped and the wolf rolled his blue eyes up to her, but his nose didn’t leave the wood floor. “I want you to remember the scents. Tell him who they are, Jane.”
“The female human is the Devil. The Mithran is called Peregrinus, and he’s our enemy. He came to about here”—I pointed to the floor—“and left. The not-human that might have a slight wet-feather undertone is Gee DiMercy. Then over here we had Leo and his heir, Katie, and the vampire priestess Bethany. She smells old and crazy.” I looked at Soul, who stood up, leaving her hand in the wolf’s ruff. “The other scents you might make out are Derek, who you’ve sniffed, I think, and two les arcenciels. Their scents are fishy and plantlike.” Soul lifted her eyebrows in amusement at my description of her scent, or maybe at my attempt at speaking French.
Brute snuffled and snorted, this tone different from the earlier ones, now of affirmation. He raised his head and stood on his back feet to stick his nose into Soul’s neck near her ear. He blew, fluffing her wet hair. Claws clicking, he dropped, turned around, and headed up the stairs. I said, “Do not do anything bad to any room or any piece of . . . anything. Or the threat about the back porch will be true.” Brute sniffed at me and trotted on up, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Why is George Dumas asleep on your couch?” Soul asked, still in the foyer, looking over her shoulder.
“It’s a long story,” Eli said, making his weapons disappear. “We have steak. I can cook one under the broiler for you and feed one raw to the dog.”
We could hear the growl from up the stairs at the dog insult.
“If you don’t want him to pee in your boots, you’d better be careful,” I said.
“It seems I always show at dinnertime.” Soul gave us an embarrassed smile, eyeing the table. “If you have an extra potato baked, I’d rather have that, though I need to change first.”
“You can’t just make your clothes,” I make a poof gesture, “presto chango?”
“No,” Soul said primly. “I cannot.”
I grunted. “So why is a werewolf here without his executioner?” Werewolves, even one touched by an angel, as this one had been, were always accompanied by a grindylow, who would kill them if they tried to pass along the were-taint.