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I could do this. It was just a matter of concentration. I adjusted my tail feathers and raised my wings, beating them as fast as I could to get the lift I needed. Down, back, up, down, back, up. And suddenly, I was going up, cutting through the air. Flying.
I felt like cheering. I concentrated on not falling instead.
I fluttered up and over the railing, then spread my tail feathers to act as a brake. But the change was too sudden, and I dropped too quickly, splattering chest-first against the concrete.
"Ow," I muttered, even though it came out little more than a harsh squawk. I rolled onto my back and shifted to human form. My chest still hurt. More bruises, no doubt.
Even so, I couldn't help a silly grin. I'd flown. Even if my landings needed more work, I'd actually flown rather than simply making a guided fall. Maybe this whole flying gig wasn't as bad as previously thought.
I climbed to my feet. As usual, my jeans had made it through the shift just fine, but my shirt had been shredded. They were usually pretty useless after a shift to wolf, but the destruction here was even worse.
Maybe it had something to do with trying to squash everything into a smaller form. I didn't know, but maybe Jack or Henry would.
I pulled off the now-useless remnants of my bra and shoved it into my back pocket, then tied the torn edges of my shirt together. I wasn't going anywhere except back to the Directorate once I finished here, so the state of my clothing didn't really matter. Now I just had to get into the apartment.
I walked toward the glass sliding door, and that's when it hit.
The smell of death.
A death that was old and as rotten as hell.
Chapter 3
If the smell was this bad out here, I'd hate to think what it was like in the apartment.
Unfortunately, it was my job to find out.
I peered through the glass and tried not to breathe too deeply. The only thing I could see in the small living area was dusty furniture and yellowing newspapers sitting on the coffee table - both indicators that someone hadn't been living in this apartment for quite a while.
So either Alana was no longer living here - and if she wasn't, why had she answered Rosy's phone call yesterday? - or she was here, and in a very bad way.
Which I guess went with what the smell was suggesting.
It also suggested that maybe it wasn't Alana who'd dated our dead politician.
I blew out a breath, then gripped the handle of the sliding door and pulled back with all my might. I had the strength of both a werewolf and a vampire behind me, and the little metal clip holding the sliding door closed didn't stand a chance. The door crashed back with enough noise to wake the dead, and the force of it sent a shudder recoiling up my arm.
But it was nothing compared to the smell that assaulted my senses. My stomach rose in a rush and I gagged. The stench was vile.
Whoever - whatever - was dead in this apartment had been that way for some time. Although the air rushing out of the apartment was hot - the heating had obviously been left on high, so maybe that had helped accelerate the decomposition of whatever it was lying inside.
I stepped back until I was breathing fresh air again, then took a deep breath and dashed inside. It was only ever going to be a quick look. I couldn't hold my breath longer than a minute or so.
I ran into the first room off the living room. It turned out to be a spotless kitchen. No junk in the fridge, no unwashed dishes, no trash in the basket. Nothing that would account for the smell. The next room was a bathroom, and once again it was spotless.
The third room...
That's where I found her, lying half-dressed on the bed with one arm still in the sleeve of a sweater - as if whoever had killed her had caught her in the middle of either taking it off or putting it on. She only wore panties on the bottom half, and her body was heavy and bloated and...horrible.
Bile burned up my throat, and I raced outside, gulping in fresh air and trying not to vomit. God, unpleasant didn't even begin to describe that experience.
It wasn't like I hadn't smelled death before. I had. Hell, I was a wolf, and the wild part of me actually enjoyed rolling in stuff that would make my human half scream in revulsion. But I'd never smelled a death that old before. Or that deep into decay.
I shuddered, then got out my phone and rang Jack.
"Parnell here," he said, voice neutral. The tone he reserved for official speaking moments like press conferences. Given who our dead man was, it was an even-money bet that was exactly where he was. "What can I do for you?"
"Jack, it's Riley. I'm over at the apartment of Alana Burns, the woman Gerard James supposedly went out with last night. Only she's dead, and has been that way for at least a week, if the putrefaction is anything to go by."
