She had been lain on the counter that she usually stood behind, her body dumped—or positioned—in such a way as to leave no doubt that the woman no longer lived. Her head was cocked at an impossible angle, her arms stripped down to sinew and bone. Her legs were folded daintily, carefully underneath her but on closer inspection they were just that: placed carefully underneath her as they were no longer attached.
There was no warning to the bile that seared my throat and I turned to run, but slid on a pool of half-congealed blood. I flailed, but it was useless and the blood-soaked floor rose up to meet me, my cheek smacking sticky linoleum, my palms sliding against pooled fluids, and when I opened my eyes, the eyes that gazed into mine were the clouded, sightless eyes of the dead.
I felt my stomach seize again, but Alex grabbed me, snatched me up from the ground and held me against him. “No,” I screamed, kicking out and pounding his chest. “Why did you do this to me? Why? I didn’t do this! I’m not responsible for this! I fucking hate you! You insensitive piece of shit!” The tears were coursing down my cheeks, commingling with snot and blood that was not my own. My whole body hiccupped and my heart slammed against my ribs. I didn’t want Alex to touch me; I wanted to scratch out my eyes, to beg God to allow me to unsee everything that I just had. I wanted to be somewhere else, be someone else—even one of the sightless beings ruined on the floor. My whole world was crashing down around me and suddenly everything I knew was false.
“Calm down, Lawson, calm down.” Alex pressed me nearer to him each time I struggled. I could feel his rhythmic heartbeat thumping against my shoulder and suddenly, I was struggling to breathe.
“Why did you do this to me?” I croaked.
Alex scooped me up in his arms now. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into my hair. He carried me across the deli and when he pushed me out through the glass door, the clean smell of the outdoors couldn’t penetrate the heavy stench of death, the metallic smell of blood and ruin that hung all around me, that clung to my nostrils.
Alex set me down gently but still held me close. He looked down at me, his cobalt eyes searing. “I needed you to see what we’re dealing with. What Sampson has done.”
The tremor started deep in my soul. I felt it there, then felt it break into my body, seeping into every muscle, every pore. It ached when it went into my bones and twisted every muscle. Soon my teeth were chattering, and the bitter, bile-laced saliva pooled in my mouth. I wretched.
I wiped the back of my hand across my lips and spat.
“I’m sorry, Lawson. I shouldn’t have brought you here like that. I was just out of ideas. I—you wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“So that”—I jutted my chin—“is your idea of reason?” I held Alex’s eyes until he looked away.
“You had to see.”
“I’ve seen it.” I turned, shrugging out of my crime-scene garb. “But I still don’t see what Sampson has to do with it.”
Alex grabbed my shoulder and spun me to face him. “Really, Lawson? Look at that.” He pointed to the trail of blood that came from the deli. “Whoever did that was not human.”
“And that’s how I know it wasn’t Sampson,” I said.
Alex’s nostrils flared and he let out a deep disbelieving sigh. “Then give me someone else.”
“Nicco,” I said slowly.
Alex pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, his whole body visibly slumping. “I’m sorry, Lawson. I am really, really sorry. I know this can’t be easy for you and I should have been more sensitive. What do you know about this Nicco guy?”
I started to shake my head. “Not much, but Sampson says he’s out for revenge. And it would make sense, especially if it—if the trail ends here.”
“Remember when you told me that werewolves are very few and far between in this city?”
“Well yeah, because of Feng and Xian.”
“Did you find any active werewolves in the UDA files?”
I swallowed hard. “No, but—”
“Sampson sent you to Mort’s. It took us an hour to get there and he tried to kill you. Do you think that wasn’t a coincidence? Do you think someone who really cared would put you in that kind of danger?”
Tears stung at the corner of my eyes and I blinked slowly, feeling the first tear fall.
“But the files,” I said. “Sampson told me to get the files.” I dug in my shoulder bag, a tiny of flicker of hope all but doused. I found the piece of paper that Sampson had given me. “See?” I held it up. “He told me to look up . . . werewolves.”
Suddenly, my skin was too tight. Everything hurt and my head started to pound. The paper trembled in my fingertips. Alex took it from me and turned it around.
“What is this?”
“It’s a page from a UDA file,” I answered.
“Were you missing a page?”
I shook my head. “No. I was missing a file.”
Alex looked down at the page and shook his head sadly. “Nicco Torres. Werewolf. Deceased, Anchorage, Alaska.”
“No. He’s good,” I said, biting off my words, rage burning tears behind my eyes.
“The good don’t always stay good,” he said, his eyes clearly avoiding mine.