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Roz just grinned. “Can’t blame me, can you? You want to blow off your date and go out with me?”
Though he was laughing, I knew that he meant it. You could dress him up in a black leather duster and stick a miniature Uzi in his hand, but beneath all the curly long hair and weapons lay the heart of a sex fiend. A very pleasant and helpful sex fiend, but a sex fiend nonetheless.
Iris just fluttered her lashes, blew him a kiss, and sailed out the door.
“Damn, the woman’s looking sharp tonight,” he muttered before turning around. Camille let out a snort, and Delilah began whistling an aimless tune. Roz narrowed his eyes. “What? None of you will sleep with me, no matter how much I beg. And you—” he pointed to Camille. “Your husband’s a maniac, so don’t you dare tell him I said that.”
She saluted and gave him a snarky grin. “Aye, aye, Cap’n Lovegun.”
A few months back, Smoky had dragged Rozurial out into the front yard and pulverized him after he noticed Roz copping a feel off Camille’s ass. The resulting bruises had not been pretty. After that, Roz made sure he kept his mitts away from Camille, except when she needed help.
“Come on. We have to book. Roz, you’re on babysitting detail. Maggie’s in bed. Check in on her a couple of times. We’ll be down at the FH-CSI. Dead body problem.” I planted a quick kiss on his nose. “There, consider yourself kissed, so quit whining. And don’t eat us out of house and home.”
As we grabbed our purses and keys and headed out the door, Roz sputtered behind us. Delilah and Camille fell into peals of giggles as we headed for Camille’s car. As Camille coaxed the engine to life, I glanced out the window at the stars. Dead bodies and ghouls notwithstanding, summer over Earthside could be lovely—if a little cool in the Seattle area. I just wished I could see it all in the daytime for once, I thought, as we sped through the musky night.
CHAPTER 8
The FH-CSI building was located right on the edge of the Belles-Faire District in north Seattle, on Thatcher Avenue. The building was large, made of concrete, and illuminated by ground lights that encircled the perimeter. It appeared to be a single story, but there were actually three floors hidden belowground, including an arsenal, an incarceration unit for the rogue denizens of OW, and a morgue and laboratory. The law enforcement headquarters, offices, and the medical unit were on the main floor.
The grounds surrounding the Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigations building were landscaped with low shrubs and flowerbeds. There were no large trees nor hedges for escapees to hide behind or for disgruntled gang members to use. The Freedom’s Angels, a group of Earthborn FBH supremacists, had grown in number, especially after the Earthside Supes and Fae began swarming out of the closet. There had been a few very ugly, very bloody incidents, thanks to the gang, and I had the feeling we hadn’t seen the last of them.
We parked under one of the streetlights and headed into the building. Two burly armed and armored security guards were keeping watch at the doors, both Fae recently sent over from Queen Tanaquar. Y’Elestrial was slowly regrouping after the recent civil war, and our father was the new Queen’s chief advisor.
Camille leaned close and whispered, “They both wield powerful magic as well as beefcake. I can feel their energy signatures from here.”
Delilah nodded. “Me, too, and I’m no witch.”
I tried to concentrate on the men, but all I could sense was the pulse of their hearts, the sound of blood swishing through their veins. If they’d been demonic or undead, I would have sensed something. But regular magic—powerful or not—was usually beyond my ability to home in on.
As we passed through the outer entrance, the guards eyed us, but apparently we didn’t pose a danger by whatever criteria they were using, and they let us by without so much as a Who are you?
The entrance opened into a wide foyer. To the left was the station proper, through a set of bulletproof double glass doors. Straight ahead and slightly to the right was a staircase leading down. The elevators were directly in front of us. We turned to the left and pushed through the doors.
The room was bustling. Dispatch was busy. The number of officers from Otherworld had doubled in the past month alone.
Yugi, a Swedish empath, had been promoted to Chase’s second-in-command. He was leaning over the shoulder of an elf who looked barely old enough for his voice to change, but he was probably older than all of us. By the looks of things, the elf was trying to get the hang of using the computer.
Yugi glanced up, smiling when he caught sight of us. “Hey, girls. The chief is in his office. He told me to pass you through stat.” Just then the phone rang, and Yugi grabbed it, motioning for Officer Re’ael—as the elf’s name tag read—to continue fiddling with the terminal.
“Yeah? Where? Okay, let me patch you through to the chief.” Yugi punched a button on the phone as we filed through the cubicles toward the back of the building.
Delilah frowned. “I used to love coming here, but ever since Erika, I feel uncomfortable. Every time Chase’s office comes in sight, I cringe.” She’d caught Chase dipping his wick in another woman’s inkwell not all that long ago, right on his desk. The fallout hadn’t been pretty.
“Eh, he’s learned his lesson. Next time, he’ll ask first,” I said, trying to be helpful. Chase could be stupid at times, but he learned from his mistakes.
We followed the maze of cubicles to the back wall that sported three doors and an opening to a hallway. One of the doors had Chase’s name stenciled on it. Blinds covered the half window, but they were open. We trailed in on Delilah’s heels.
Chase was taking notes as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone. He waved his pencil in the air, motioning for us to sit. After a moment, he grunted something to the caller and then hung up.
“Shit. I wanted to talk to you about those bodies, but we’ve got another problem. Come on—we’ve got an emergency on our hands.” He grabbed his suit jacket, swinging it over the neatly pressed powder blue shirt he was wearing. I noticed a picture on his desk of a golden tabby, prominently displayed. Delilah. For some reason it made me smile that he kept a picture of her in Were form.
“What’s up?” Delilah said.
He checked his gun in his shoulder holster and then hastily scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Who’s driving?”
“I am,” Camille said.
He tossed her the note. “There’s the address. Come on, we don’t have all day,” he added, hustling out of the room. We followed. “We’re headed to the Avalon Dance Club. Heard of it?” Without waiting for an answer, he raced on. “Some monster is attacking the dancers. The caller said it looked like a bizarre squid, of all things.”
