I arrived at Nekros City Central Precinct fifty-five minutes later. Fall had finally realized it was running late and overcompensated with a cold front that knocked the temperature from the mid-eighties to the mid-forties overnight. Half the city seemed to have raided their stash of winter clothing, so for once no one gave me a second look when I pulled a jacket from the passenger side of my car before heading into the building. I might not have been particularly cold now, but once I embraced the grave—assuming that was why I’d been called—I’d have a chill it would take me hours to shake.
Central Precinct was an austere multipurpose building holding most of the city’s important law enforcement entities, from the crime lab and DA’s offices on the upper floors, to the main police station on the ground floor and the morgue in the basement. I passed through security without issue, which despite the fact I’d done so a hundred times since I first started working on retainer for the police, was a relief. I’d half expected to be stopped in the front lobby. While nothing had officially ended my retainer status with the NCPD, I’d been told in no uncertain terms that my services wouldn’t be requested unless the brass decided it was absolutely necessary. Add to that the fact that John had always been my first contact, and I wasn’t sure what I might be walking into. I just hoped this sudden call from Jenson was the start of something good.
I took the elevator down to the basement. Fluorescents lit the long hall leading to the morgue, flooding it with a harsh light that simultaneously washed out color while making everything still seem cast in shadows. The thud of my boots on the linoleum bounced along the walls as I walked, making the area feel hollow and abandoned. I’d never liked the ambiance of this hallway, and as on edge as I was now, if zombies had shambled out of the large morgue doors, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Though zombies weren’t likely. What I was really afraid of were faeries.
Oh, I know, who is afraid of Tinker Bell, right?
Me, that’s who.
Okay, so I wasn’t afraid of all fae, but ever since I’d learned I was fae and I’d gained the attention of the Faerie courts, life had gotten a lot more complicated. I was currently unaligned, something that just didn’t happen in Faerie, and the courts didn’t like it. I was also a planeweaver, which meant I could not only see and interact with multiple planes of existence, but I could tie those planes together. I was the first since the age of legends, and every court wanted to add me to their numbers. Personally, I was more interested in maintaining my freedom, so I reserved a healthy amount of caution when it came to fae and Faerie.
And Jenson was fae.
Or at least half fae.
I’d assumed Jenson was independent fae, but you know what they say about assumptions. If he was court fae . . . this could end very badly for me.
Alex, you’re freaking yourself out. After all, if one of the courts was going to snatch me away to Faerie, they surely wouldn’t do it in front of dozens of cops at Central Precinct. Besides, as far as I could tell, Jenson hid his heritage even deeper than I did.
With that thought in mind, I took a deep breath and pushed open the morgue door.
Jenson waited in the center of the room with his back toward the door. It was early, so I expected at least one medical examiner and some morgue attendants to be present, but the room was empty aside from the plainclothes police detective.
I stopped, frowning. Tamara Greene, the lead ME and one of my closest friends, wasn’t there, of course—she had the next few days off to prepare for her wedding and then she’d be off on her honeymoon—but I’d expected someone else to be there. After all, people didn’t stop dying just because the ME took time off.
“Jenson,” I said, not trying to hide the suspicion in my voice. At my calf, the enchanted dagger hidden in my boot buzzed lightly, either sensing danger or just responding to my own nervousness. The magic imbued in the fae-wrought weapon made it somewhat aware and reactive to my surroundings, which had saved my neck in the past, but it was also bloodthirsty, so I was never sure if it could warn me of danger or if it just liked to be drawn and would use any excuse it found. I didn’t draw it now, at least, not yet.
Jenson turned. He wore the glamour that made him look human, hiding the oversized jaw and tusks that marked him as part troll. Surprisingly, he looked relieved when he saw me, though all he said was, “Craft,” as he gave me a curt nod and then headed for the cold room where the bodies were kept.
Okay, if he planned to pull out a body, he’d definitely called me here for a ritual, but this was not the way these things worked.
“What’s going on, Jenson?” I asked, but I didn’t move any farther into the large room. “And where is everyone.”
“Mandatory seminar.” He emerged pushing a sheet-topped gurney. “We have only about forty-five minutes, so do your thing fast.”
My thing?
“Uh, back up. One, there is paperwork that needs to be signed before I begin, and two, why do we have to complete the ritual before the seminar is over?” I didn’t add that I hadn’t yet agreed to take the case. “And where is John?”