Raina grabbed my hand before it could touch the doorbell. Her grip had been very fast. I hadn't had time to react at all. Her nails were long and perfectly manicured with nail polish the color of burnt pumpkins. Those orange-brown nails dug into my wrist just enough to indent the skin. She let me feel the strength in that delicate hand. She didn't hurt me, but the smile on her face said she could. I smiled back. She was strong, but she wasn't a vampire. I was betting I could get to a gun before she could finish crushing my wrist.
She didn't crush my wrist. She let go. "Perhaps Gabriel and I should go in the back way. You did say you wanted us to stay in the background." She was smiling and looking oh, so reasonable. The nail marks in my skin hadn't filled out yet.
"I mean, look at us, Ms. Blake. Even if we say nothing, he can't ignore us."
She had a point. "How will the two of you get in the back door if it's locked?"
Raina gave me a look worthy of Edward, as if I'd asked a very stupid question. Was I the only one who didn't know how to pick a lock? "Fine, go to it."
Raina smiled and walked off through the snow. Her auburn hair gleamed against the fox fur coat. Her high-heeled brown boots left sharp little prints in the melting snow. Gabriel trailed after her. The chains on his leather jacket jingled as he walked. His metal-studded cowboy boots smashed over Raina's daintier prints almost as if it were purposeful.
"Nobody's going to mistake them for door-to-door salespeople," Ronnie said.
I glanced at our jeans, my Nikes, her snow boots, my leather jacket, her long suede coat. "Us either," I said.
"Good point."
I rang the bell.
We stood on the little front porch listening to the eaves drip, We were having one of those strange winter thaws that Missouri is famous for. The snow was all soft and fading like a snowman in the sunshine. But it wouldn't last. Getting this much snow at all in December was unusual here. We usually didn't get real snow until January or February.
It was taking a long time for Mr. Smitz to come to the door. Finally I heard movement. Something heavy enough to be a person moving toward the door. George Smitz opened the door in a bloodstained apron over jeans and a pale blue T-shirt.
There was a bloodstain on one shoulder, as if he'd lifted a side of beef and it had bled on him. He wiped his hands on his apron, palms flat, skin stretching along the fabric as if he couldn't get them clean. Maybe he just wasn't used to being covered in blood. Or maybe his palms were sweating.
I smiled and offered him my hand. He took it. His palm was sweaty. Nervous. Great. "How are you, Mr. Smitz?"
He shook hands with Ronnie and ushered us inside. We were standing in a little entryway. There was a closet to one side, a mirror on the opposite wall with a low table. A vase full of yellow silk flowers sat on the table. The walls were pale yellow and matched the flowers.
"May I take your coats?"
If he was a murderer, he was the most polite one I'd ever met. "No, thanks, we'll keep them with us."
"Peggy always got on to me if I didn't ask for people's coats. 'George, you weren't raised in a barn, ask them if you can take their coats.' " The imitation sounded accurate.
We stepped out into the living room. It was wallpapered in pale yellow with brown flowers done very small. The couch, the love seat, the recliner were all a pale, pale yellow, almost white. There were more silk flowers on the pale wood end table. Yellow.
The pictures on the wall, the knickknacks on the shelves, even the carpet underfoot was yellow. It was like being inside a lemon drop.
Either it showed on my face or George was used to it. "Yellow was Peggy's favorite color."
"Was?"
"I mean is. Oh, God." He collapsed on the pale lemon couch, face hidden in his big hands. He was the only thing in the room that didn't match the yellow lace curtains. "It's been so awful, wondering." He looked up at us. Tears glistened in his eyes. It was Academy Award caliber.
"Ms. Sims said she had news about Peggy. Have you found her? Is she all right?" His eyes were so sincere it hurt to look into them. I still couldn't tell he was lying. If I hadn't seen the pictures of him with another woman, I wouldn't have believed it. Of course, adultery wasn't murder. He could be guilty of one and not the other. Sure.
Ronnie sat on the couch, as far away from him as she could get but still rather companionable. Cozier than I was willing to be with the son of a bitch. If I ever managed to get married and my husband cheated on me, it wouldn't be me to go missing.
"Please sit down, Ms. Blake. I'm sorry, I'm not being a very good host."
I perched on the edge of the yellow recliner. "I thought you worked construction, Mr. Smitz. What's with the apron?"
"Peggy's dad can't run the store by himself. He deeded it to her years ago. I may have to quit working construction. But you know, he's family. I can't leave him in the lurch. Peggy did most of the work. Dad's almost ninety-two. He just can't do it all."
"Do you inherit the butcher shop?" I asked. We'd automatically gone into good cop, bad cop. Guess which one I was.
He blinked at me. "Well, yes. I suppose so."
He didn't ask if she was all right this time. He just looked at me with his soulful eyes.
"You love your wife?"
"Yes, of course. What kind of question is that?" He looked less sad and more angry now.
"Ronnie," I said softly.
She took the pictures out of her purse and gave them to him. The front picture showed him embracing the dark-haired woman. Peggy Smitz had been a blond.
Color crept up his face. Not so much red as purplish. He slammed the pictures down on the coffee table without looking at the rest. They slid across the table, images of him and the woman in various states of undress. Kissing, groping, nearly doing it standing up.
His face went from red to purplish. His eyes bulged. He stood up, his breath coming in fast, harsh gasps. "What the hell are these?"
"I think the pictures are self-explanatory," I said.
"I hired you to find my wife, not to spy on me." He turned on Ronnie, towering over her. His big hands balled into even bigger fists. The muscles in his arms bulged, veins standing out like worms.
Ronnie stood up, using her five feet and nine inches to good advantage. She was calm. If she was worried about facing down a man that outweighed her by a hundred pounds, it didn't show.
"Where's Peggy, George?"
He glanced at me, then back to Ronnie. He raised a hand as if he would strike her.
"Where'd you hide the body?"
He whirled on me. I just sat there and looked at him. He'd have to come over or around the coffee table to get to me. I was pretty sure I could be out of reach. Or have a gun. Or put him through a window. That last was sounding better and better.
"Get out of my house."
Ronnie had stepped back out of reach. He stood there like a purple-faced mountain, swaying between us.
"Get out of my house."
"Can't do that, George. We know you killed her." Maybe
know
was too strong a word, but "we're pretty sure you killed her" didn't have the right ring. "Unless you really plan to start swinging, I'd sit down, Georgie-boy."
"Yes, by all means sit down, George." I didn't look behind me to see where Raina was. I didn't think George would really hurt me, but better to be cautious. Taking my eyes off a guy who weighed over two hundred pounds sounded like a bad idea.
He stared at Raina. He looked confused. "What the hell is this?"
Ronnie said, "Oh, my God." She was staring behind me with her mouth open.
Something was going on behind my back, but what? I stood, eyes all for George, but he wasn't looking at me anymore. I stepped away from him just to be safe. When I had enough distance to be safe. I could see the doorway.
Raina was wearing a brown silk teddy, high heeled boots and nothing else. The fur coat was held open, the bloodred lining outlining her body dramatically.
"I thought you were going to stay in the background unless I called for you."
She dropped the fur into a fuzzy puddle on the floor. She stalked into the room, swaying everything that would move.
Ronnie and I exchanged glances. She mouthed the words, "What's going on?" I shrugged. I didn't have the faintest idea.
Raina bent over the silk flowers on the coffee table, giving George Smitz a long, thorough view of her slim backside.
The color was draining from his face. His hands were slowly unclenching. He looked confused. Join the club.
Raina smiled up at him. She stood up very slowly, giving George a good view of her high, tight breasts. His eyes were glued to her décolletage. She stood up, running her hands down the teddy, ending with a pass over her groin. George seemed to be having a little trouble swallowing.
Raina walked up to him until she was just a finger's pull away from him. She looked up at him and whispered out of full, sensuous lips, "Where's Jason?"
He frowned. "Who's Jason?"
She caressed his cheek with her painted nails. The nails slid out of her skin long and longer, until they were great hooking claws. The tips were still the color of burnt pumpkins.
She hooked those claws under his chin, putting them just enough in not to break the skin. "The tiniest bit of pressure and you'll have a howling good time once a month."
It was a lie. She was still in human form. She wasn't contagious. All the color had drained from his face. His skin was the color of unbleached paper.
"Where's your wife's body, Mr. Smitz?" I asked. It was a good threat worth more than one question.
"I don't ... don't know what you mean."
"Don't lie to me, George, I don't like it." She raised her other hand in front of his face, and the claws slid out like unsheathed knives.
He whimpered.
"Where's Peggy, George?" She whispered it. The voice was still seductive. She might have been whispering, I love you, instead of a threat.
She kept her claws under his jaw and lowered the other hand slowly. His eyes followed that hand. He tried to move his head down, but the claws stopped him. He gasped.
Raina sliced through the bloody apron. Two quick, hard slices. The clothes underneath were untouched. Talent.
"I ... killed her. I killed Peggy. Oh, God. I shot her."
"Where's the body?" I asked that. Raina seemed to be enjoying her game too much to pay attention to all the details.
"Shed out back. It's got a dirt floor."
"Where's Jason?" Raina asked. She touched claw tips to his jeans, over his groin.
"Oh, God, I don't know who Jason is. Please, I don't know. I don't know." His voice was coming in breathy gasps.
Gabriel walked into the room. He'd lost the jacket somewhere and wore a tight black T-shirt with his leather pants and boots. "He doesn't have the guts to have taken Jason or the others."
"Is that right, George? You don't have the guts?" Raina pressed her breasts against his chest, claws still at his jawline and groin. The lower claws pressed into the jean fabric, not quite tearing.
"Please, please don't hurt me."
Raina put her face very close to his. Claws forcing him to stand on tiptoes or have his chin spitted. "You are pathetic." She shoved the claws into his jeans, tearing into the fabric.
George fainted. Raina had to pull her hands away to keep from slicing him up. She kept a near perfect circle of jeans. His white briefs showed through the hole in his pants.
Gabriel knelt by the body, balancing on the balls of his feet. "This human did not take Jason."
"Pity," Raina said.
It was a pity. Somebody had taken eight, no seven shapeshifters. The eighth had been Peggy Smitz. We had her murderer on the carpet with his fly torn out. Who had taken them, and why? Why would anybody want seven lycanthropes? Something clicked. The naga had been skinned alive. If he'd been a lycanthrope instead of a naga, a witch could have used the skin to become a snake. It was a way to be a shapeshifter with all the advantages and none of the bad stuff. The moon didn't control you.
"Anita, what is it?" Ronnie asked.
"I have to go to the hospital and talk to someone."
"Why?" A look was enough for Ronnie to say, "Fine, I'll call the cops. But I drove."
"Damn." I glanced up and caught sight of a car driving by on the street. It was a Mazda, green. I knew that car.
"I may have a ride." I opened the door and walked down the sidewalk, waving. The car slowed, then double-parked beside Ronnie's car.
The window whirred down at the press of a button. Edward sat behind the wheel, a pair of dark glasses covering his eyes. "I've been following Raina for days. How'd you spot me?"
"Dumb luck."
He grinned. "Not so dumb."
"I need a ride."
"What about Raina and her little leather friend?"
It occurred to me to tell him that Gabriel was the other lycanthrope in the snuff film, but if I did that now, he'd go in and kill him. Or at least wouldn't want to take me to the hospital. Priorities.
"We can either give them a ride home or they can take a taxi."
"Taxi," he said.
"My preference, too."
Edward drove around the block to wait for me. Raina and Gabriel were persuaded to call a taxi to pick them up in front of another house. They didn't want to talk to the police. Fancy that. George Smitz came to, and Raina convinced him to confess to the police when they arrived. I apologized to Ronnie for deserting her and walked down the block to meet Edward. We were off to the hospital to talk to the naga. Here's hoping he'd gained consciousness.
There was a uniformed officer standing outside the naga's room. Edward had stayed in the car. After all, he was wanted by the police. One of the bad things about working with Edward and the cops is that you can't necessarily work with them at the same time.
The cop at the door was a small woman with a blond ponytail. There was a chair beside the door, but she was standing, one hand on her gun butt. Her pale eyes squinted suspiciously at me.
She gave a curt nod. "You Anita Blake?"
"Yeah."
"See some ID?" she said, real tough, no nonsense. Had to be a rookie. Only a rookie had that hard-on attitude. Older cops would have asked for ID, but they wouldn't have tried to make their voices lower.
I showed her my plastic ID badge. The one I clipped to my shirt when I had to cross a police line. It wasn't a police badge, but it was the best I had.
She took it in her hand and looked at it for a long time. I fought the urge to ask if she was going to be tested later. It never helps to piss the police off. Especially over trivialities.
She finally gave the badge back to me. Her eyes were blue and cold as a winter sky. Very tough. Probably practiced that look in the mirror every morning. "No one can question the man without police being present. When you called up to ask to speak with him, I contacted Sergeant Storr. He's on his way."
"How long will I have to wait?"
"I don't know."
"Look, a man's missing, any delay could cost him his life."
I had her attention now. "Sergeant Storr didn't mention a missing person."
Shit. I'd forgotten that the cops didn't know about the missing shapeshifters. "I don't suppose that you'd buy time is of the essence. How about lives are at stake?"
Her eyes went from hard to bored. She was impressed. "Sergeant Storr was very specific. He wants to be present when you question the man."
"Are you sure you spoke with Sergeant Storr, and not Detective Zerbrowski?" It would be like Zerbrowski to screw this up for me, just to irritate.
"I know who I spoke with, Ms. Blake."
"I didn't mean to imply that you didn't, Officer. I just meant that Zerbrowski could have gotten confused about how much access I'm allowed to the ... ah, witness."
"I talked to the sergeant, and I know what he told me. You're not going in until he gets here. Those are my orders."
I started to say something unpleasant and stopped. Officer Kirlin was right. She had her orders, and she wasn't going to budge from them.
I glanced at her nameplate. "Fine, Officer Kirlin. I'll just wait around the corner in the patient waiting room." I turned and walked away before I said something not so nice. I wanted to push my way into the room, pull rank. But I didn't have any rank. It was one of those times when I was forcibly reminded that I was a civilian. I didn't like being reminded.
I sat down on a multicolored couch that backed a raised area of real plants. The chest-high planting area gave the illusion of walls, dividing the waiting room into three pseudo rooms. The illusion of privacy if you needed it. A television set was mounted high on one wall. No one had bothered to turn it on yet. It was hospital quiet. The only noise was the heater coming through the wall registers.
I hated waiting. Jason was missing. Was he dead? If he were alive, how much longer would he be alive? How long would Dolph keep me waiting?
Dolph came around the corner. Bless his little heart, he hadn't kept me waiting long at all.
I stood. "Officer Kirlin says you mentioned a missing person to her. Are you holding out on me?"
"Yeah, but not by choice. I've got a client that won't go to the police. I've tried to persuade them ... " I shrugged. "Just because I'm right and they're wrong doesn't mean I can spill their secrets without clearing it with them first."
"There's no client-animator privilege, Anita. If I asked for the information you're legally obligated to give it to me."
I hadn't had enough sleep to deal with this. "Or what?"
He frowned. "Or you go to jail for obstruction of justice."
"Fine, let's go," I said.
"Don't push me, Anita."
"Look, Dolph, I'll tell you everything I know when they give me the okay. I may tell you anyway because they're being stupid, but I won't tell you shit because you bullied me."
He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slow. "Fine, let's go talk to our witness."
I appreciated the naga still being "our" witness. "Yeah, let's go." Dolph motioned me out of the waiting room. We walked down the hallway together in silence. But the silence was companionable. No need to fill it with idle chitchat or accusations.
A doctor in a white coat with a stethoscope draped over his shoulders like a feather boa opened the door. Officer Kirlin was still at her post, ever vigilant. She gave me her best flinty steel look. It needed work. But when you're small, blond, female, and a cop, you have to at least try to look tough.
"He can talk for a very short time, It's a miracle that he's alive, let alone talking. I'll monitor the questioning. If he gets upset, I'll stop the interview."
"That's fine with me, Dr. Wilburn. He's a victim and a witness, not a suspect. We don't mean him any harm."
The doctor didn't look completely convinced but he stepped back into the room, and held the door for us.
Dolph loomed up behind me. He was like an immovable force at my back. I could see why the doctor thought we might browbeat the witness. Dolph couldn't look harmless if he tried, so he just didn't try.
The naga lay in the bed, thick with tubes and wires. His skin was growing back. You could see it spreading in raw, painful patches, but it was growing back. He still looked as though he'd been boiled alive, but it was an improvement.
He turned his eyes to look at us. He moved his head very slowly, the better to see us. "Mr. Javad, you remember Sergeant Storr. He's brought some people to talk with you."
"The woman ... " he said. His voice was low and sounded painful. He swallowed carefully and tried again. "The woman at the river."
I walked forward. "Yes, I was at the river."
"Helped me."
"I tried."
Dolph stepped forward. "Mr. Javad, can you tell us who did this to you?"
"Witches," he said.
"Did you say 'witches'?" Dolph asked.
"Yes."
Dolph looked at me. He didn't have to ask. This was my area. "Javad, did you recognize the witches? Names?"
He swallowed again and it sounded dry. "No."
"Where did they do this to you?"
He closed his eyes.
"Do you know where you were when they ... skinned you?"
"Drugged me."
"Who drugged you?"
"Woman ... eyes."
"What about her eyes?"
"Ocean." I had to lean forward to hear that last. His voice was fading.
He opened his eyes suddenly, wide. "Eyes, ocean." He let out a low guttural sound, as if he were swallowing screams.
The doctor came up. He checked his vitals, touching the ruined flesh as gently as he could. Even that touch made him writhe with pain.
The doctor pressed a button on the bedside. "It's time for Mr. Javad's medication. Bring it now."
"No," Javad said. He grabbed my arm. He gasped, but held on. His skin felt like warm raw meat. "Not first."
"Not first? I don't understand."
"Others."
"They did this to others?"
"Yes. Stop them."
"I will. I promise."
He slumped back against the bed but couldn't hold still. It hurt too much for that. Every movement hurt, but he couldn't hold still against the pain.
A nurse in a pink jacket came in with a shot. She put the needle into his IV. Moments later he began to ease. His eyes fluttered shut. Sleep came and something in my chest loosened. That much pain was hard to endure, even if you were only just watching.
"He'll wake up and we'll have to sedate him again. I've never seen anyone that could heal like this. But just because he can heal the damage doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
Dolph took me to one side. "What was all that about eyes and others?"
"I don't know." Half-true. I didn't know what the eye comment meant, but I suspected the others were the missing shapeshifters.
Zerbrowski came in. He motioned to Dolph. They walked out into the hall. The nurse and doctor were fussing with the naga. No one had invited me out into the hall, but it was only fair. I wasn't sharing with them, why should they share with me?
The door opened, and Dolph motioned me out into the hall. We went. Officer Kirlin wasn't at her post. Probably told to leave for a little while.
"Can't find any missing-person case that has your name associated with it," Dolph said.
"You had Zerbrowski check me out?"
Dolph just looked at me. His eyes had gone all cool and distant-cop eyes.
"Except for Dominga Salvador," Zerbrowski said.
"Anita said she didn't know what happened to Mrs. Salvador," Dolph said. He was still giving me his hard look. It was a hell of a lot better than Officer Kirlin's.
I fought the urge to squirm. Dominga Salvador was dead. I knew that because I'd seen it happen. I'd pulled the trigger, metaphorically speaking. Dolph suspected I had something to do with her disappearance but he couldn't prove it, and she had been a very evil woman. If she'd been convicted of everything she was suspected of doing, it would have been an automatic death penalty. The law doesn't like witches much better than it likes vampires. I'd used a zombie to kill her. It was enough to earn me my own trip to the electric chair.
My beeper sounded. Saved by the bell. I checked the number. I didn't recognize the number, but no need sharing that. "An emergency, I've got to find a phone." I walked off before Dolph could say anything else. Seemed safer that way.
They let me use the phone at the nurses' station. Kind of them. Richard picked up the phone on the first ring. "Anita?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"I'm at school. Louie never showed up for his morning classes." He lowered his voice until I had to plug one ear just to hear him. "Tonight is full moon. He wouldn't miss classes. It raises suspicions."
"Why call me?"
"He said he was going to meet your writer friend, Elvira something."
"Elvira Drew?" As I said her name, I could picture her face. Her green-blue eyes the color of ocean water. Shit.
"I think so."
"When was he supposed to meet her?"
"This morning."
"Did he make the meeting?"
"I don't know. I'm at work. I haven't been by his place yet."
"You're afraid something happened to him, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I didn't set up the meeting. I'll call work and find out who did. Will you be at this number?"
"I've got to get back to class. But I'll check back with you as soon as I can."
"Okay. I'll call you as soon as I know anything."
"I've got to go," he said.
"Wait, I think I know what happened to the missing shapeshifters."
"What!"
"This is an ongoing police investigation. I can't talk about it, but if I could tell the police about the missing shapeshifters, we might find Louie and Jason faster."
"Marcus said not to tell?"
"Yeah."
He was quiet for a minute. "Tell them. I'll take the responsibility."
"Great. I'll get back with you." I hung up. It wasn't until I heard the dial tone that I realized I hadn't said, I love you. Oh, well.
I dialed work. Mary answered. I didn't wait for her to get through her greeting. "Put me through to Bert."
"Are you all right?"
"Just do it."
She didn't argue. Good woman. "Anita, this better be important. I've got a client with me."
"Did you speak with someone about finding a wererat today?"
"As a matter of fact, I did."
My stomach hurt. "When and where was the appointment set up?"
"This morning, about six. Mr. Fane wanted to get it in before he had to go to work."
"Where?"
"Her house."
"Give me the address."
"What's wrong?"
"I think Elvira Drew may have set him up to be killed."
"You are kidding me, right?"
"Address, Bert."
He gave it to me.
"I may not be in for work tonight."
"Anita ... "
"Save it, Bert. If he gets killed, we set him up."
"Fine, fine. Do what you have to."
I hung up. It was a first, Bert giving in. If I hadn't known that visions of lawsuits were dancing in his head, I'd have been more impressed.
I went back to our little group. No one was talking to anyone. "There have been seven shapeshifters taken in this area."
"What are you talking about?" Dolph asked.
I shook my head. "Just listen." I told him everything about the disappearances. Ending with, "Two more shifters have gone missing. I think whoever skinned the naga thought he was a lycanthrope. It is possible by magic to take a shifter's skin and use it to shapeshift yourself. You get all of the advantages, greater strength, speed, etc ... and you are not tied to the moon."
"Why didn't it work with the naga?" Zerbrowski asked.
"He's immortal. The shifter has to die at the end of the spell."
"We know why. Now, where the hell are they?" Dolph asked.
"I've got an address," I said.
"How?"
"I'll explain on the way. The spell doesn't work until dark, but we can't take the chance they'll keep them alive. They have to be worried that the naga healed enough to talk."
"After seeing him last night, I wouldn't be," Zerbrowski said.
"You're not a witch," I said.
We left. I would have liked Edward at my back. If we did find renegade witches and a few shapeshifters on the night of the full moon, Edward at my back was not a bad idea. But I couldn't figure out how to manage it. Dolph and Zerbrowski were no slouches, but they were cops. They aren't allowed to shoot people without giving them every opportunity to give up. Elvira Drew had skinned a naga. I wasn't sure I wanted to give her an opportunity. I wasn't sure we'd survive it.