THE RYU MORGUE

A Jane True Story

Nicole Peeler

Copyright © 2014 by Nicole Peeler.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

Nicole Peeler

Box 421 F, Seton Hill University, Seton Hill Drive

Greensburg, PA, 15601

www.nicolepeeler.com

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Editor: Heather Osborn www.heatherosbornedits.com

Copy Editor: Mackenzie Walton www.mackenziewalton.com

Cover Artist: Mark Henry www.markhenry.us

The Ryu Morgue/ Nicole Peeler -- 1st ed.

Dedication: To all of you who asked for more. Thank you.

ONE

“I’m not working with her,” Ryu said. “At least not on this.”

Trevor, the North American leader of the Initiative—the supernatural/human coalition formed after a regrettable incident involving marauding dragons—gave Ryu his most reptilian smile. Ryu thought Trevor might have some naga blood somewhere in his ancestry, as the guy’s eyes were cold as a snake’s.

Those cold eyes latched on Ryu as Trevor leaned forward from behind his desk, toward where Ryu sat in one of Trevor’s awful office chairs. “While I am aware you mistrust your human counterparts in the Initiative, you really must get over your hang-ups. Working together, forging bonds—it’s the whole point of the our operation, remember?”

Pain flared in Ryu’s jaw. He was grinding his teeth again—a physical reaction that only Trevor seemed to cause him. Well, Trevor and one other person…

“I am willing to work with Ms. Henderson on other projects. But you’re asking me to take a human into the Court of two of the most ancient, and antiquated, Alfar Monarchs on the planet.” Ryu didn’t add that these two particular Monarchs had tried to whip up support to massacre all of humanity at least twice, the last time occurring quite recently. “They will see this as an act of aggression on the part of humanity, at worst, and as a hostile negotiations tactic, at best. But if you let me approach them on my own...”

“If we let you approach them on your own, what’s the point of the Initiative? We’d be sending the most powerful supes the message that the Initiative doesn’t matter; that they can continue performing business as usual, behind the backs of humanity.” Trevor leaned back, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “If you really insist that you’re incapable of working with Maeve, we can find another operative from your contingent to take your place.”

Ryu resisted the urge to hiss. “It’s not that I’m incapable of working with Maeve. I just don’t think this is the right mission for direct human involvement.”

Trevor laughed, a small, humorless sound that was really an act of dismissal. “That’s the problem with your people, Ryu. You insist you have a choice in this matter.” Trevor lowered his hands, resting them on the arms of his padded leather throne of a chair. “The fact is that humans are a part of all supernatural affairs from now on. We have you under our thumb. Either cooperate or get out of the way.”

And that was the rub, as Ryu well knew. In his own society he was hugely powerful, but here in the Initiative he had to kowtow to a mortal. He knew it was for all the right reasons—that it was better to make everyone comfortable in order to see how things really worked, and that he’d never have that chance if he struck the normally haughty air of a supe interacting with humans. He’d even volunteered for this job, and let himself be placed under Trevor, to earn the man’s trust.

But all Ryu had earned so far was a headache.

Ryu held up his hands. “Fine, but you’re misunderstanding my motivation. I’m not trying to keep you out of any loop. The fact is I can’t guarantee Ms. Henderson’s safety at the Gold Court. If you send her with me and she comes back in tiny pieces, that’s on you. Not me.”

Trevor reached for the phone on his desk. “I’m sure Maeve will be flattered to hear of your concern, but she can take care of herself.” He tapped a few buttons. “Hi Latoya. Will you send Maeve in? Thanks.”

Ryu leaned back, carefully schooling his face as Trevor watched him, smiling a little half-smile. Ryu expected to see a forked tongue emerge from behind Trevor’s lips to taste the air.

A few second later, the door opened and a beautiful redhead walked in the room.

Normally that would have made Ryu’s day. He had a thing for redheads, and especially for redheads like Maeve. She was tall—at least as tall as him in her stocking feet, and a few inches taller in the killer heels she always wore. Her body was long, all legs and slim arms and a delicate marble column for a neck. Her skin was alabaster and her hair a rich, dark red that almost looked unnatural, but didn’t smell of dye to his sharp baobhan sith senses.

Yes, he should have been ecstatic at the presence of such a woman in his life and already making plans to get her into his bed.

But he wasn’t ecstatic or planning anything besides mustering the strength to tolerate Maeve Henderson for the length of their mission. And the reason was plain when Maeve turned, after formally greeting Trevor, to nod a curt hello to Ryu.

Her eyes raked over and past Ryu with the shortest acknowledgment possible in such a situation, like she was being forced to look at an open wound or a steaming pile of sick but didn’t have to like it and didn’t have to linger.

Ryu couldn’t help but sigh. The highest ranked human female operative in the Initiative hated supes with the passion of a thousand suns. A thousand suns with heartburn, which had lost their temper.

“Maeve,” he said, trying not to sound like he was eating glass. It was hard. Maeve really knew how to get under his skin.

“Well, isn’t this nice,” Trevor said, his grin widening into an evil leer. “Already you’re getting along.”

Maeve settled into the chair next to Ryu, her long legs crossing with an elegant grace that made him rue how wasted they were on an uptight, narrow-minded human.

“I’ve already briefed you on the mission. You both know what we need. The Gold Court has to get on our side and recognize the Initiative. They control the entire West Coast and they can’t continue acting like they’re still living pre-Disclosure.”

The Great Disclosure was what the human authorities in the know called what happened after the well-televised attacks by the Red and White. That said, it still wasn’t completely common knowledge that supernaturals existed. Rumors were rampant, but the great thing about humans was that many of them were dumb and all of them chattered. Many humans thought the dragon attacks had been terrorists who put LSD in the water; others believed aliens had come to probe their collective anuses; still others believed it was a stunt pulled by the same government agencies who’d supposedly filmed the moon landing. Both supes and human agencies had let such rumors run amok, not bothering to clarify anything, and very few mortals guessed the real truth. But supes had learned their own unpleasant fact—the highest levels of human governments had known about both their existence and also much of their activities for quite a long while.

In other words, as was usual in politics, everyone was lying their pants off.

“I’ve sent your official packets, including your travel arrangements and your cover story, to your offices. Do you have any further questions?”

Maeve shook her head. “No, sir.”

“I don’t have a question,” Ryu said, “But I want it on record, with Ms. Henderson present to hear, that I can’t guarantee her safety. The Gold Court isn’t friendly to humans, and I have no idea what they’ll do to her.”

Trevor gave Ryu a look like he’d just burped his little speech. Maeve didn’t acknowledge he’d said a word.

“We’ll just keep that in mind, shall we, Ryu?” Trevor said, then fluttered his soft, pencil-pusher hands at the door. “Off to work.”

Maeve shot up from her chair like she’d been coiled there and bolted for the door. Ryu followed at a leisurely pace, hoping she’d continue her forward trajectory and he wouldn’t have to talk with her ‘til they left on their mission.

Instead, she waited for Ryu outside Trevor’s office, in the bustling corridor of the Initiative’s headquarters.

“Don’t you ever undermine me in front of our superiors,” she said, poking a blunt red nail into his chest.

“I wasn’t undermining you,” Ryu said, keeping his voice flat. “It’s the truth. I can’t guarantee these particular Monarchs won’t have you killed on sight.”

“You are not responsible for me, vampire,” she said, spitting the word like one might “pedophile” or “Juggalo.” “I can take care of myself.”

“So I’ve been told,” he said, drily. “That and a flawless ruby will get you killed marginally less painfully in my world.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I know full well you’re all monsters. I don’t need reminded. You and your smartass comments can go fuck yourself.” And with that, she stalked away.

“Nice working with you!” Ryu called, ignoring the stares of people as he went to his own office to get his orders.

And remind himself that he did have to try to protect his new partner, no matter how big a pain in the ass she might be.

TWO

Maeve wasn’t about to let herself by intimidated by the vampire at her side.

He didn’t look like the bloodsuckers she’d grown up seeing in human movies. He wasn’t grotesque, like Nosferatu, nor did he sport Gary Oldman’s boob wig or Tom Cruise’s poet shirts. Instead, this vampire looked like a metrosexual sales clerk in a Nordstrom shoe department.

But no amount of perfectly cut, painstakingly mussed hair nor any finely tailored suit could change the fact the thing next to her was a monster.

Even if he does smell good.

She wrinkled her nose at that thought and he cast her a curious glance. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

They were waiting in the Official Reception Hall of the Gold Court, a compound smack dab in the middle of San Francisco. When they’d pulled up earlier in their rental, the signs outside its six-foot walls claimed the Court was a foreign embassy. And yet Maeve couldn’t quite see what country it represented, no matter how hard she squinted or craned her neck at the sign.

“It’s glamoured,” Ryu had explained from the driver’s seat, after noticing her squirm. “You see something that’s not your own country, if you see anything at all.”

She’d glowered at him, hating the fact she’d needed him to explain something to her. He misunderstood her motivation and shrugged.

“Can’t have people turning up for an actual passport,” he’d said with a commiserating grin, but she’d already turned away, uninterested. To make it perfectly clear what she thought of his help, she’d pulled a nail file out of the side pocket of her valise and swiped it around her nails a few times, looking out the opposite window with a bored expression.

Now that they were inside the Court, she didn’t dare pull out her nail file. They hadn’t seen anyone besides the frog-like man who’d escorted them through the side entrance. He’d walked them through a labyrinth of rooms, occasionally giving a melodic bass ribbit that made Maeve startle every time.

“If you will wait here, Ryu Baobhan Sith,” the frog-man said, ribbiting before he could finish his sentence. “And don’t let the human touch anything.” The frog-man turned on his heel, hop-walking toward a set of huge golden doors that he appeared to melt through as if by magic.

Not “as if,” she reminded herself. Actually by magic, probably.

For just a split second she considered getting up and walking out of that palace and away from the Initiative and everything she knew about it. Away from a world of dangerous supernaturals and back to a world that made sense, populated only by humans.

Not an option, she reminded herself automatically. She’d long since gone down the rabbit hole and she’d never climb out again. Besides, she owed it to her mother to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

Ryu stirred in the chair beside her, obviously gathering himself. A second later, the loud crash of a gong echoed through the chambers and the gargantuan golden doors creaked open.

The little frog-man appeared, dwarfed by the huge doors as he leaned around them, and gestured frantically for them to enter.

Maeve wiped her palms on her slacks as she stood. She’d dressed in a cream suit with a gold shell underneath…a nod to the Gold Court and a far cry from the navy and black she always wore at the Initiative. From what she’d heard of the Monarchs, she thought they would appreciate a more snappy approach, so she’d also worn her towering gold heels.

Heels that also gave her about three inches on the bloodsucker she was forced to work with. Ryu, however, had merely raised an eyebrow at her sartorial choices, commenting, “A very nice look on you.”

“I wore it for myself,” she’d snarled, wishing she’d worn one of her plain, dark suits rather than anything Ryu appreciated. Then he’d given her one of his charming half-smiles—which she’d wanted to scratch off his face.

Maeve walked toward the door where the frog-man was still frantically gesturing, Ryu falling into step beside her. He walked close to her, as if shielding her, and she only just managed not to tell him to fuck the fuck off.

Maeve was hotheaded, but not entirely stupid. Despite her brave words, she was terrified of the infamously brutal Gold Court.

“Breathe,” Ryu reminded her, sotto voce, placing a hand on the small of her back. It made her stiffen her spine and square her shoulders, reminding her to stride next to him rather than scamper at his heels.

The room they entered was incredibly bright, the only color the gray stone floor and, at the very far end of the room, a golden sunburst decorating the back wall. A white strip of carpet led straight to the dais she could see at the end of the impossibly long room, a clear trick of either perspective or actual magic, since the hall couldn’t be this big and fit the mansion’s dimensions.

They walked and they walked and they walked. After what felt like long minutes of walking, she glanced at her companion. Ryu still smiled, but it looked strained, his jaw clenched in irritation.

They’re fucking with us, she thought. They don’t even know why we’re here and they’re already fucking with us.

Eventually, the curious treadmill effect stopped and they began to gain on the dais. Ryu looked as ambivalent about this as Maeve felt, however, as it meant they’d meet the Gold Monarchs that much sooner.

Suddenly there they were, standing at the feet of two regal Queens, resplendent in golden robes. According to Maeve’s files, the light-haired one was Ailish and the dark-haired one was Ruth. Both looked utterly inhuman in their stillness.

Ryu dropped automatically to one knee, bowing his shining head in wholehearted subservience. Maeve, however, followed the protocol taught to all human agents of the Initiative when confronted with supernatural monarchy.

She did bow, but it was the slight inclination of head and body usually seen employed by rockstars, thanking the audience for having listened to the glory of their own efforts.

The Gold Monarchs’ two sets of eyes flicked toward Ryu as if compelled by the same brain. Then they flicked to Maeve, where they lingered. Nothing changed in their affect, of course—they were far too old and Alfar for any sort of emotional display—but the room became noticeably colder.

“You brought us a human, Ryu Baobhan Sith,” the dark-haired Queen said, the light-haired one picking up her sentence as she dropped it.

“Although we cannot begin to think why you would do such a thing.”

Ryu gave her a look that said let me handle this. Maeve felt a surge of irritation but quelled it.

Play nice with the horrible Alfar, she thought. Get them on side.

“This is Maeve Henderson,” Ryu said. He still knelt, but he did lift his head to speak. “She is my colleague in the Initiative.”

Again, as if pulled by the same marionette strings, the Queens’ heads cocked sideways.

“Colleague?” said the dark one.

“Initiative?” said the light.

Maeve bit back a sigh. The Initiative had sent multiple envoys to the Gold Court and everyone in the supernatural world acknowledged the jig was up: humans, or at least human governments, knew about supernaturals. The Gold Court was just being obstreperous, acting like they had a choice in the matter and that outside affairs had nothing to do with them.

It was Maeve and Ryu’s mission to get them to admit that history had happened and to start playing ball with the Initiative. Without getting themselves killed.

“As I’m sure your Highnesses are aware, given your excellent information network,” Ryu said smoothly, appearing completely unruffled, “we are no longer capable of hiding our existence from the human governments. Indeed, as I’m also sure you are aware, we’ve discovered they’ve been keeping tabs on us for quite some time.

“While we’re still keeping the general population as much in the dark as possible, until such time as they are ready for full disclosure or we are capable of hiding ourselves again, we must work with the most powerful echelons of human society toward either of these two ends. Hence the Initiative.”

Neither of the Monarchs changed expression, and yet Maeve had the distinct impression they were amused.

“In olden times,” began the dark one, her eerily uninflected words picked up by the light one, “we did not worry about a means to an end.” Both leaned forward, and the conversational volley passed to the dark one. “We were the end.”

The hair on Maeve’s nape bristled. “Well, slaughtering humanity isn’t really an option this time,” she said, her voice strong and very, very dry, despite the fact her stomach plunged into her shoes the moment those two sets of dead eyes flicked toward her.

“It speaks,” said the light one.

“How droll,” said the dark.

Ryu shot her a look that begged her to keep her trap shut.

“Slaughtering humanity is always an option,” said the dark, to which the light one gave an odd huffing sound. Maeve eventually realized the sound was a laugh.

Great, she thought. Alfar humor.

Ryu took a step forward, putting Maeve slightly behind him. It was very gentlemanly for a murderous, blood-sucking fiend, but she knew her flame-haired head would still be a perfect target above his own silky dark crown.

“My Queens,” he said, “there is no doubt of your power or your infinite will. But times have changed and humanity is no longer ours to control. We need your cooperation in the Initiative, not least because your territory is so vast. And we value your experience, your wisdom. Your voice is needed in the debate over how best to handle the current situation.”

Bullshit, thought Maeve. We really want eyes and ears on the ground in your Territory, so we can have a heads up if you crazy fucks decide to take matters into your own hands and turn San Francisco into a bloodbath.

The two Monarchs looked at one another. Maeve had no idea what they would do. They’d sent two previous human envoys of the Initiative home so thoroughly glamoured that they’d had a hard time recalling their own names, let alone what their mission had been or what had occurred at the Gold Court. These humans’ supernatural counterparts had come back so frightened they’d promptly quit the Initiative and moved overseas.

Since Ryu was, technically, another Monarch, the Initiative had sent him to tackle these recalcitrant Queens. That said, he was a Monarch by vote and not a hereditary Alfar leader, and the majority of his governance was completed through a democratic senate—hence his ability to work with the Initiative. So there was still no guarantee they’d listen, as they probably considered him an upstart, rabble-rousing nobody.

Although we’re still alive and I still know my name, Maeve thought. That’s progress.

“A bargain,” said the light Queen, beginning one of their weird badminton-game speeches.

“You will do something for us.”

“And we will consider your request.”

“That is our best offer.”

“Unless you would like to leave us the redhead.”

Maeve shivered and Ryu gave a firm shake of his head. “We will keep the redhead,” he said, “although we would like to know more about this bargain.”

Both Queens smiled, a slow, chilly smear of their lips that showed their teeth but absolutely no warmth.

“We do not negotiate. Take our offer or leave the redhead.”

Ryu’s shoulder stiffened but he nodded. “Will you tell us more of your offer?”

“Sebastian,” said the dark Queen, and the frog-man hopped up out of nowhere.

“Tell them what is expected,” said the light Queen.

And then the two Monarchs sat back in their throne, their faces going blank as if they’d turned into statues.

Maeve and Ryu bowed, his extravagant and hers as minimal as she could make it. And then they turned to follow Sebastian, who ribbited them back the way they’d come.

THREE

“We’ve got a poker, amongst other problems,” Sebastian said, then ribbited.

“Shit,” Ryu swore. Maeve looked confused.

“A poker,” Sebastian repeated, in the loud, slow way obnoxious people used with the deaf or foreigners.

Maeve’s sharp-featured face flushed with annoyance and her eyes narrowed at the frog-man.

She’s hot when she’s angry, Ryu thought, biting back a smile. Which explains why she’s so hot. She’s always angry.

“What is a poker?” she asked, turning to Ryu. Her words were clipped. Ryu knew she hated showing any ignorance of the supernatural world.

“A poker is slang for a human under the influence of, er, a very specific type of magic.”

“Which is?”

“Usually some type of sex magic.”

“Oh,” she said, clearly taken aback. “So, like, glamoured?”

“Maybe. But there are other things out there that work some powerful sex juju. And pokers are very specific.” He scrubbed a hand through his short hair, wondering how best to broach this subject with a woman who thought all supernaturals were depraved assholes, when clearly such magic was indeed the work of a depraved asshole.

“You know when you open up Facebook,” he began, “and you see those random stories about people, um, getting intimately acquainted with inappropriate objects? Like picnic tables or pool floaties?”

She nodded, her ginger brows rising slightly. “Yes, I’ve seen those.”

“Well, those are either really messed-up humans or they’re humans who’ve come under the influence of some of this powerful sex juju...and they’ve lost their inhibitions, shall we say.”

“Pokers,” said the frog-man, nodding sagely. “Ribbit.”

“So some of you people,” Maeve said to Ryu, her voice growing chillier and chillier, as if she’d plunged it into a deep freeze, “do magical stuff to humans that makes them try to have sex with things they shouldn’t have sex with?”

“It’s not common practice,” he said, “And we frown on it, believe me.”

“You frown on it,” she said, and he realized his mistake.

“I mean, we punish the perpetrators severely. We know how bad it is, obviously.”

“And what do you do about the humans?”

Ryu blinked. “What do you mean?”

“What do you do about the human, who has been arrested for publicly fornicating with a picnic table? What happens to that guy?”

Damn, Ryu thought, suddenly feeling an unwelcome surge of guilt.

“Er,” he began, but Maeve cut him off with a snort and a short, sharp chopping gesture.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, turning as far away from him as she could toward Sebastian. “Tell us about this ‘poker.’“

Sebastian began talking, but Ryu was so furious he could only keep half an ear on what the frog-man was saying.

How dare she, Ryu thought as Sebastian droned on about a spate of humans dead by decidedly unnatural means. It wasn’t like humans were any better behaved toward each other. Look at their wars, their genocides, their weapons of mass destruction. Look at 4chan! While individual supes might wreak havoc occasionally, humans as a species were far worse to each other than even the most jaded, bloodthirsty supernatural.

“But the thing is, none of the deaths have anything in common, except that they’re unnatural,” Sebastian droned, his speech punctuated by the occasional ribbit. “They died of all sorts of different scenarios...”

She hates us, he realized about Maeve.

“...there have been a few pokers...”

Like really hates us. She’s...magicist. He looked at her long, strong back. Her hands were still clenched into fists at her side.

“...but other strange things. A woman who ate herself to death...”

He tried to think about what he knew about Maeve. They’d met a number of times, and she’s always been very, very cold to him. She was cold to the other supes in their squad, but she was especially cold to him.

“...and a child who jumped off his school because he said he was Superman...”

Maybe my good looks intimidate her? As usual these days when he thought something outrageously arrogant, he saw Jane True’s face, laughing at him. He scowled. He’d enjoyed being arrogant, and his halfling ex had ruined that for him.

“...a grandmother who was shot robbing a bank...”

Maybe she just doesn’t like supes and she really doesn’t like me because I’m the head of that half of the squad. He thought back to their interactions. He had been a bit overbearing, a bit flirtatious, as was his wont. And she was a human, to whom he was probably a bit dismissive.

Even though this one has the body of a succubus and the face of a narcissum.

And the tongue of a harpy, he reminded himself, before he went too far down that path.

“...but none had any history of violence or deviance. Nothing. They were all respectable, upstanding members of society. For humans,” the frog-man added, winking at Ryu.

That’s why she hates us, Ryu realized, a little light bulb going off in his head. He returned Sebastian’s look with a cold stare. We can really be dicks.

“So where should we start?” Maeve asked, ignoring the sort of supernatural jibe that she must encounter all day, every day, when her work brought her into supe circles.

“The bodies are here, in our morgue,” Sebastian said, “along with the personal effects they were wearing when they died. We’ve not been able to discover any sign of magical tampering, but maybe the Initiative will succeed where we have failed.” He gave them a spittle-festooned smile that took up half his face. “If you’ll follow me.”

Before Maeve could do so, Ryu placed a hand on her elbow, letting Sebastian get a little ahead of them.

“Be careful down there,” he said to Maeve. She rolled her eyes and he noticed, not for the first time, that they were a smoky gray, lit from within by streaks of gold.

“I can handle myself,” she snarled. “Just because I’m a human...”

“It’s not because you’re a human,” he interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. “We’re being set up.”

That brought her up sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Whatever’s going on here,” he explained, “we’re meant to fail this test. Ruth and Ailish want nothing to do with the Initiative. They’re hoping we fail.”

“And by ‘fail,’“ she said, “you mean...”

“Die,” he said.

She sighed. “Damn them.”

He placed a hand on her upper arm and pretended not to notice when she flinched. “We’ll figure this out,” he said. “We’re partners, and we’re smart, and we’ll beat them at their own game.”

After a split second, she nodded. “We will beat them,” she said.

“Partners?” he repeated, holding out his hand.

Again, she paused before taking it. When she did, her hand was cold, her long fingers strong.

“Partners,” she said, in the grim tone of someone admitting something horrible.

It’s a first step, he thought to himself, realizing that the Gold Court wasn’t the only entity involved in a little game playing.

I will change Maeve’s mind about supes, he vowed, if it’s the last thing I do.

FOUR

The Gold Court’s morgue looked like any other morgue, to Maeve’s surprise. She didn’t know what she’d expected, exactly, but it wasn’t gleaming steel and run-of-the-mill surgical instruments.

Maybe more iron and stone?

Once away from the eerily empty Great Hall and Reception Room, the Court was bustling. They’d walked through room after room of offices, living quarters, a gym, even some shops.

Maeve was beginning to think that the Monarchs maybe hadn’t glamoured her perception of the Great Hall’s size, but that the entire Court was something of a TARDIS.

When they’d arrived at the morgue, Sebastian had handed them over to a very tall female supernatural wearing a lab coat. Goblin, Maeve thought, trying not to stare at the green skin and yolk-yellow eyes. She’d met goblins, envoys of various supernatural Courts, but they always wore a human glamour. She’d never seen one in the flesh, so to speak.

“Dr. McIntyre,” the goblin said by way of introduction, shaking their hands perfunctorily. “You’re from the Initiative?”

Ryu nodded, and Maeve thought the look Dr. McIntyre gave them was pure poor bastards.

“What can you tell us about the victims?” Maeve asked, wanting to assert herself after feeling like Ryu’s accessory in their meeting with the Monarchs.

The goblin sighed, a frustrated sound that Maeve knew well. “Very little. Come this way.”

The doctor led them into a large room, separate from the others, in which at least a dozen bodies were laid out, covered by sheets. A dozen other tables were set up, one next to each body, containing the person’s effects.

“Our victims,” Dr. McIntyre explained, unnecessarily, “and everything they were wearing when they died.”

“Good,” Ryu said. “What have you found so far?”

“In short, nothing. We allowed the humans to do their own autopsies of the bodies before we intervened, and they found nothing biological. Then we claimed the bodies and we’ve been doing our own tests, and yet nothing magical can be determined.”

“So how do you know what’s wrong with them is magical in nature?” Maeve asked.

The goblin eyed her, then waved for them to follow. She approached a sheet-wrapped figure and twitched the covering off the face. An older woman lay there, eyes closed.

“This is Ellen Snyder. She fostered children all her life. They all speak of her generosity and kindness. She died by being hit by a bus...chasing a foster child who escaped after she’d tied him up and had been force feeding him, cooing that he’d never be hungry again.”

“Ugh,” said Maeve. “But maybe she wasn’t really so kind. Abuse is often overlooked in such situations.”

The goblin moved to another body. “This is Larry O’Donnel. He was a self-described ‘tree-hugger.’ He’s one of our pokers...you can guess of what.”

“Ouch,” Ryu said. “But if he really liked trees...”

“He wore down his penis to a bloody stump,” Dr. McIntyre said bluntly. “Eventually severing enough larger arteries to bleed to death.”

Ryu paled, and Maeve found herself patting his arm sympathetically. She jerked back her hand when she realized what she was doing.

“The whole room is like this. An animal rights advocate who climbed into a polar bear habitat to free the beast. Obviously, that ended badly. A woman who volunteered at soup kitchens and cut off her own arm and a foot to add to a batch of soup. She bled out. An NRA guy who was shot by police when he armed himself to the teeth and approached a bunch of schools, trying to gain entrance. They later found his manifesto, which said he was going to arm the principals of all the local schools so they could protect themselves.”

Ryu and Maeve exchanged looks. To her consternation, he looked no less confused than she felt.

“So this isn’t just a poker?” Ryu asked the doctor.

The goblin shook her head. “Hardly. There’s really no rhyme or reason to what’s going on.”

“Except that whatever’s affecting them seems to be taking advantage of their greatest ideological weakness,” Maeve chimed in.

The doctor gave her a sharp yellow look. “I didn’t think of it like that,” she admitted, after a few seconds. “I thought of it more like...their desires.”

“That’s usually how a poker is made,” Ryu said. “It’s a glamour that lowers inhibitions, so the poker goes after whatever’s closest.”

“But this isn’t whatever’s closest,” Maeve said. “This is what they care the most about. What they’ve invested in and worked to make better. Then they die in a terrible parody of their care.”

Ryu visibly shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

The goblin shook her head. “But there’s no magic that works like that. And I see where you’re going,” she said to Maeve. “If this were just lowered inhibitions, the soup kitchen lady might have mugged the person next to her to get more money for the soup kitchen, or the tree hugger might have gone and lived in the nearest shrubbery. They wouldn’t have mangled themselves like that. That’s just...”

“Obsessive,” said Maeve. “The opposite of losing inhibitions. It’s like they became super focused.”

“Okay, but that would have to be some tremendously powerful mojo,” Ryu said, turning to the doctor. “And how did you not feel something, if someone used magic that powerful?”

Dr. McIntyre nodded. “Exactly. Can you imagine the power such a glamour would take? We’d spot it a mile away.”

“Well, then what could do something like this without a glamour?” asked Maeve.

Ryu and the goblin looked at one another. Eventually, both shrugged. “A number of things, but all are equally improbable,” the goblin said.

Maeve had a thought. “Do your bosses know?”

That brought the goblin up short. She blinked her yellow eyes at Maeve, not speaking. Finally, she said, “You would have to ask them.”

Ryu raised an eyebrow at Maeve, pursing his lips, and she knew he’d filed that response away for later.

“What about their stuff?”

The goblin gestured. “Feel free to look at everything. It’s all here, anything on their person at the time of their death. And we combed their living areas as well, looking for any hex bags or charmed objects, but found nothing.”

Ryu and Maeve picked through the detritus. It was what you’d expect people to be wearing or carrying during a chilly San Francisco fall. Jeans and slacks, layers of long-sleeved T-shirts and sweaters. Distinctively patterned trendy hats, scarves, gloves, thick knit socks. One man even had his phone encased in a knit pouch, a testament to a damp climate that left cold deep in the bones.

But none of it had a whiff of magic. Not the purses containing keys and tampons and compacts, nor the wallets full of rewards cards and money and ticket stubs.

“You’ve got to give us something,” Ryu said to the goblin, after she’d wandered back to check on them from where she’d gone off to do some of her own work. “Any place we can start our investigation.”

The goblin pursed her wide, scaly mouth. “All of the victims did have one thing in common, but it’s not much to go on. It’s something that half the human population of this city probably all do.”

“What is it?” Ryu asked. “We’ll take anything.”

“Well, all of the victims did recently take a vacation to Napa. But, like I said, that’s a pretty common weekend destination place for locals.”

At the word “Napa” Ryu quite literally perked up, a little grin splitting his face. He turned to Maeve.

“Well, partner, looks like we’re going to have to go into the field. It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.”

Maeve scowled. “This isn’t a vacation.”

Ryu gave her a solemn nod. “You’re right. It’s all work and no play over in Napa.” He offered her his elbow. “Shall we?”

She rolled her eyes and refused his faux chivalry. “Let’s just go,” she said, turning to the goblin. “Thank you very much for your help”

“It’s my pleasure,” the doctor said, her eyes fixed on Maeve’s face. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

“Of course,” said Maeve, struck by the creature’s concern.

“Good. Well, best of luck, then. To both of you.” Dr. McIntyre stepped back, turning on her heel.

But Maeve thought she heard the goblin muttering, “and may the gods protect you,” as she preceded them out of the morgue.

FIVE

“Sorry about the bed situation,” Ryu said, nudging their small suitcases against the wall with his foot as Maeve eyed the single king-sized bed.

“I expected it,” Maeve said. “We are undercover as a couple.”

She sounded confident, but when he looked at her he could have sworn her cheeks wore just the slightest hint of pink.

Probably furious at having to sleep next to a bloodsucker, he thought.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he told her.

After a second, she nodded. “Maybe that would be best.”

She came toward him, but it was only to wheel away her own small suitcase. She set it on the bed and rummaged around, pulling out a neat stack of clothing.

“I’ll just change in the bathroom,” she said. “Then it’s all yours.”

“Change?” he asked.

She cocked her head at him. “We’re dressed like cops. Fancy cops, but cops.”

He looked down at his own white button-down and designer slacks, then at her white suit. He didn’t think that looked cop-like at all, at least outside of Miami Vice. And as for his clothes…

“I always wear stuff like this,” he said.

“Well, I don’t,” she said, stalking toward the bathroom. She paused in the doorway. “And we are supposed to be on vacation.”

Maeve shut the door behind her and Ryu turned to his own suitcase.

I’m not dressed like a cop, he thought. I’m wearing Armani.

But he opened up his case anyway, although he knew what it contained. It wasn’t much. They were only supposed to be in Napa a few nights, after all.

He stared down at his other button-downs, a frown twisting his features. I do not dress like a cop, he repeated to himself. I have excellent taste.

Then he remembered that his last girlfriend, Jane, had dumped him for a guy whose wardrobe consisted of dog food T-shirts, and whose hair looked like it had been cut by a Flowbee.

Maybe I know nothing, came that small voice that he’d first heard right after Jane had left him, and had continued to mutter imprecations from a dark corner of his mind.

He shut his suitcase with a quiet curse before turning to the mirror. He raised a hand to his hair to give it a careful tousle. He straightened the collar of his shirt, considered undoing an extra button, then decided that would make him look like a bumbling landlord from a 1970s sitcom. After more consideration, he took off his ebony cuff links to roll up his sleeves.

Now he looked like he was on vacation, he told himself, flexing his forearms.

Just then Maeve emerged from the bathroom, catching him checking himself out in the mirror. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment as she placed her folded suit back in her case.

She was wearing a pair of very tight skinny jeans in dark denim and a navy and white polka-dotted blouse, cut in a ’50s style. She’d also tweaked her makeup from the small case she placed back in her bag. Liquid black eyeliner and very red lips, also very 1950s.

Red flats and a red cardigan completed the look, then all that red hair came down as she started pulling out pins. The front stayed up, kept off her face by two neat victory rolls, but the rest whooshed down her back in a thick, red wave.

Ryu turned away, fussing unnecessarily with this suitcase, and thought about baseball.

“You may need something warmer,” he told her. “It’s fall.”

“I have a coat in the car. We ready?”

“Sure,” he said. Then he couldn’t help add, “I’m always ready.”

Maeve rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. “Do we have a plan?”

“From what the Gold Court pieced together of their itineraries, the victims all did very different things—went to different wineries, stayed in different places, had reservations at different restaurants. But they all did stay here in Napa, and who doesn’t do a little shopping when they’re in Napa?”

“Who indeed?” Maeve said, looking amused.

“So I figured we could start by doing just that—shopping the main street. Everyone stayed roughly in this area, so this would have been where they hit first.”

“Sounds good. Do we have petty cash?” Maeve asked.

“Of course,” Ryu said, grinning. “We have to buy stuff to butter everyone up. It’s on the Gold Court.” At that, he flashed a black credit card that Maeve snatched neatly, putting it in her purse.

“Excellent. Maybe working for the Gold Court won’t be half bad.”

That made him frown. “We have to be careful, Maeve. Whatever did that to those people is powerful and probably ancient. That’s some old-school juju that can make a person lose themselves like that.”

“Or just too much booze,” Maeve scoffed, wrinkling her nose. “Lots of things make people lose themselves.”

“Not like that,” Ryu said, catching her slim wrist in his fingers. “I’m serious. I have no idea what we’re dealing with, and that worries me.”

Maeve looked down at where he held her, and he let go. She took a step away from him. “Well, now you know how humanity feels pretty much all the time, dealing with you lot. Are you ready?”

Ryu wanted to say more, but she’d gone inward in that way she had that told him she wouldn’t engage, no matter what he did. So he just nodded and headed toward the door of their room.

He held it open for her, although she didn’t acknowledge the gesture, pulled into that place where supernaturals either didn’t exist or were all she could see.

SIX

Napa was full of exquisite boutiques and galleries, selling anything that could possibly have the word “artisan” attached to it. Everything was handmade locally, of local ingredients, and Maeve wasn’t immune to such claims even as she was very glad it was the Gold Court who was paying when she saw the price tags.

They ruled out the galleries after they went into a few. There wasn’t any hint of magic that Ryu could sense, but they hadn’t sensed anything in the morgue either, so that didn’t necessarily rule them out completely. But the money required to take home a piece did.

“Not all of our folks were rich,” Maeve noted, after pointing out the $1,500 price tag on one of the smallest paintings in the second gallery, a simple watercolor of a boat at sunset. Most of the other works in the place ranged from $7,000 to well into the hundreds of thousands.

“They wouldn’t all have taken something home from here,” she said. “And they must have taken something home, right?”

“Yes,” Ryu said. “Otherwise they would have gotten into trouble here in Napa and not back in San Francisco.”

With the galleries out of the running, that still left dozens of possibilities, most of them of the liquid variety.

“I’ve never seen so much wine,” Maeve said as they strolled past a half-dozen shops.

“Wait ‘til we get out to a winery,” Ryu said. Maeve shot him a look.

The vampire stopped in his tracks. “We are going to at least one winery, Maeve. We are in Napa. We live in Boston. It would be a crime if we didn’t go to a winery.”

“You can go to a winery on your own time,” she said, hating how prim she sounded.

Ryu snorted. “I haven’t been out to Gold Court territory in over one hundred years, and the only reason I’m able to come now is I’m under diplomatic immunity. And because certain beings have since died…anyway, I can’t pop over to Napa when I feel like it, so we’re going to a winery.”

“You can go on your own, then,” she said. He shook his head, and she felt like an insect under his golden gaze.

“Tell me you’re not serious. Look,” he said, taking a step closer to her. “I know you don’t like me, and I’m sure you have excellent reasons for hating all supernaturals. We can be absolute twats. But you are in Napa. Napa,” he repeated, putting an arm around her shoulders and turning her toward one of the plate glass display windows full of wine. “You must drink the wine.”

He twirled her back around, keeping his arm around her as they walked toward the open doors leading into the shop. Frigid, air-conditioned air swirled around her ankles. “Besides,” he said, “you have to have dinner, and I’ve been told about a place that does a Merlot that will make you weep and raises its own lamb to be the perfect accompaniment.”

“I’m a vegetarian,” she said. It just slipped out, and his arm stiffened around her. He looked so defeated she almost felt sorry for him. “But I do like Merlot,” she heard herself add, as if she cared what he thought of her.

“Excellent. We can start there...I mean, here.” And with that, he ordered a tasting flight of the store’s reds, paying for it with the black card that she’d had tucked in her jacket pocket a moment ago.

A bloodsucker and a pickpocket, she thought, and wished she’d packed another liver as he held a freshly poured, ruby-red Cabernet up to the light.

When the shopkeeper turned his back, Maeve hissed. “Pst. We’re working.”

“This is work,” Ryu said, inhaling a noseful of Cabernet. “Delicious work, but work.”

He nosed the wine again, his forehead creasing in concentration.

“Is it...tainted?”

“Oh, no. It’s a bit young, and a tad brash, but certainly not tainted.” He took a sip, swallowing a few seconds later before handing the glass to her. “You try.”

By that point the shopkeeper had turned back to watch them, and Ryu smiled at him, reminding Maeve that they were supposed to be a couple. “She loves her reds,” the vampire said, and the shopkeeper grinned encouragingly at her.

She sampled the wine, her mind racing. Did she dare ask for a spittoon? There were signs up that one would be provided, but she knew she’d look like a jackass. Who in their right mind paid to spit out wine?

So she swallowed her tiny mouthful, then nodded at the shopkeeper. “Delicious,” she said, passing the glass back to Ryu, who downed it in one.

Ryu handed her the next glass of the flight and they repeated the ritual, her taking as tiny sips as she could manage. Ryu, however, had no such compunction, and entered into a spirited conversation with the man the counter. He asked a lot of questions about the wine and finally bought a bottle to go and a case to be sent to their hotel. Maeve couldn’t see any connection between their investigation and the conversation Ryu was having with the man, but she tried to withhold judgment.

At least until they were leaving.

“Did that have anything to do with anything?” she asked, pointing at the bottle he’d bought.

Ryu grinned at her. “Don’t be so skeptical. I was investigating.”

“Oh yeah? What did you find out? Besides how much they’re charging for their Cabernet?”

“I found out a lot.” He stretched, and Maeve found it hard not to notice how the sunlight shone off his dark hair. She should have taken smaller sips.

“For example,” he continued. “I found out which stores moved in about eight months ago, when the humans started losing their minds. That’ll give us something to focus on. There’s too much, otherwise.”

“Okay,” she said. “That is good work. I’ll give you that.”

He took her hand, pulling her toward him in a hug that made her stiffen.

“Act natural,” he whispered, his breath warm in her ear. “The wine guy is watching. We’re a couple.”

She saw he was right: the guy behind the counter was staring at them, his brow furrowed as if wondering something. So she did her best to melt against Ryu, telling herself he wasn’t the bloodsucker she knew him to be, but simply another handsome man.

It was remarkably easy.

And it must have worked, because the guy’s wrinkled brow smoothed, and he gave them the benevolent smile of someone gazing upon a young couple in love.

Luckily, she told herself, she was good at acting. Because it was all an act. She wasn’t at all attracted to Ryu. Not one bit.

Not at all.

SEVEN

Ryu watched Maeve talk with the guy who owned one of the new wine shops down the street. This one didn’t actually carry wine, however, only the accouterments of a dedicated wine connoisseur—wine aerators, elaborate systems for keeping uncorked wine fresh, novelty wine keys, and the like. She was friendly and easygoing with the guy—the total opposite of how she was with Ryu.

But she’s working, he reminded himself. She’s good at her job.

He didn’t remind himself that the real reason was because the guy was human, so she didn’t automatically hate him. Ryu didn’t have to...he was painfully aware of her feelings all the time they were together.

Not that I care. She is just a human. What she feels about me means nothing.

And he knew that was true. The Initiative, on the one hand, meant a sea change for the supernatural world—and probably the biggest change ever to confront their society. But in the grand scheme of things, Ryu also knew that the Initiative would eventually fade away, probably with the human societies that were as eager to race toward their own destruction as they were eager to learn about the so-called monsters in their midst.

Maeve shifted on her heels, her long legs flexing under her tight pants, and Ryu couldn’t help but admire her.

She is beautiful. And he also knew that her human lifespan meant she’d be dead in what felt like minutes to him and his kind.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t hold himself a little straighter when she walked toward him, her hips swaying hypnotically.

“He’s not our guy,” she said. “He’s new to the downtown, but the store and its stock isn’t. He bought everything from the man who owned it before him, who retired, and he’s only reordered stock, not brought in anything new.”

“Good work,” Ryu said, offering her his arm on a whim. To his surprise, she took it. “Onwards and upwards?”

She nodded, and her scent drifted toward him. Citrus shampoo and her own smell underneath, a tantalizing, earthy fragrance.

He hustled her toward the door.

The next few shops were also busts. Nothing in them spoke of magic, and they sold things that would be either hard or stupid to mess with. One was a pharmacy, and Ryu doubted that whomever was responsible had the access to tamper with pre-sealed bottles of Tylenol or Advil. The other was a florist, whose wares were too ephemeral for a spell to be worked on them.

“This is our last new store,” Ryu said, looking up at the florid font of the store’s marquee. It read “A Little Something Boutique” and specialized, according to the advertisements on the large bay windows, in “gifts for anyone” and “everything you never thought you needed, at prices you’ll appreciate.”

“Looks promising,” Maeve said, pushing her cats-eye vintage sunglasses back up her nose from where she’d pulled them down to assess the property.

“Yes,” he said. “You were right that big ticket items wouldn’t be a practical place to leave a spell. But who doesn’t want to bring home something from a vacation?”

This time it was Maeve who slipped her arm through his elbow, surprising him. “Shall we?”

“Whatever your pleasure,” he rumbled at her, accidentally slipping into Flirt Mode. It was how he normally interacted with the world, to be fair, but he’d tried to keep that part of him toned down in his dealings with Maeve. To his surprise, however, she merely narrowed her eyes at him rather than ripping him a new asshole about “appropriate” behavior.

Maybe he was growing on her?

The store reeked of a mélange of fancy candles; he could smell it before he even opened the door, and once he’d walked inside he had to breathe through his mouth. The shop sold not only candles, but bath products, stuffed animals, wind chimes, cheaper versions of the expensive wine-related items sold at the fancier shops, and reproduction artwork that topped out at a hundred dollars, framed, as opposed to the galleries’ prices.

“Why, hello there!” shrieked a tiny voice, just as an equally tiny woman popped out from behind the counter. She must have been 4’11” at most, with at least three inches of that composed of the giant halo of puffy hair that floated around her like a frizzy, mouse-brown nimbus.

Maeve started at the woman’s sudden appearance, leaning into him in a split second of vulnerability that made his skin prickle with heat. But she jumped away quickly, as if ashamed of her momentary lapse of confidence.

“Hi!” Maeve said brightly, walking toward the little woman.

“Welcome to A Little Something Boutique! Where you can get a little something to take home with you.”

Ryu’s eyes flashed toward Maeve’s. Yes, that was exactly what they were looking for.

“What an adorable shop,” Maeve said, looking around, eyes wide with exaggerated excitement.

“Oh, aren’t you a sweet thing,” the tiny woman said. “Are you interested in anything in particular?”

“Just a souvenir,” Maeve said.

The woman looked between Maeve and Ryu, then smiled knowingly. “Your first time on vacation together?” she asked Maeve, who looked startled.

“How did you guess?” Ryu asked, covering for his partner. He also took a step closer to Maeve, putting an arm around her waist.

All part of the cover, he told himself.

“Oh, it’s obvious,” she said, appraising them with kind eyes. She was older than he’d first assumed, the skin of her face the delicate, webbed softness of humans past their physical prime. His people didn’t age that way, and he was fascinated by how time wore its tracks on human faces. “It’s in your body language.”

Ryu arched an eyebrow at Maeve, who returned his look with a closed expression. “Obvious how?” he asked.

“Well, you’re careful with each other,” she said. “You haven’t known each other that long.”

Maeve nodded. “You’re right about that,” she said, then pointed to a shelf full of hand-dipped candles in lurid colors. “How much for...”

“But you two also have such beautiful chemistry,” the woman continued, oblivious to Maeve’s attempt to turn the conversation. “I can see auras, and yours are reaching out to each other’s. It’s really quite beautiful where they blend.”

Ryu watched Maeve turn beet-red, and he hoped he looked less horrified by what the little human had said than she did. They were, after all, supposed to be a couple.

“She’s really something special,” he said, pulling the woman’s attention to him. “I’m not surprised you see what you see.”

Maeve gave him a sharp look, but he only smiled at her beatifically.

The woman nodded, clearly satisfied. “The candles are twelve for the dipped pair and, like everything in the shop, they’re made by local artisans.”

“It’s all beautiful,” Maeve said. “You have a lot more selection than some of the other places. You must have been here forever.”

“Oh, no,” the woman said, reaching out to rearrange a table of brightly colored scarves. “I’ve only been in business about a year. But I’m a crafter myself. These are mine.” She stroked one of the scarves lovingly. And, to be fair, they were fairly attractive, just a bit rough around the edges.

“Wow,” Maeve said, moving toward the table. “How neat.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, obviously proud of her work. “I wanted a place to sell my work, but not many places around here wanted things from people like me. I’m not a true artist, you see,” she said.

“Nonsense,” said Maeve. “Crafts are art.”

The woman instantly warmed to Maeve, turning a smile on her that could have lit up the moon. “I think so. But that idea is rare, sadly. Most of the places around here only sell things that cost a few hundred dollars, including scarves. And half of it’s not made in Napa; it’s imported from Europe and sold like it’s local. It’s a shame.”

“So you started this place,” Ryu prompted, wanting to get some information on whom else was selling. This woman was clearly human—not a spark of magic swirled around her, despite her claims about seeing auras. That said, while he couldn’t sense anything in the shop itself, any of these items could have a powerful charm on it, one that would be dormant till the item was owned, or worn, or stroked a certain number of times.

“Yes,” she said, pride making her voice husky. “And because I am a local crafter, I knew all the other people who had stuff to sell. Most were already doing so online, but they were happy to have some shop space, for a commission. So here we are!”

“What a wonderful story,” Ryu said. Maeve was moving around the store, browsing through the tables, racks, and shelves containing what appeared to be an infinite variety of crafty things. He was about to ask the owner another question when Maeve called for him.

“Honey, come look at this!”

Ryu gave the short human a shrug of apology and went to where Maeve stood, in front of an antique kitchen hutch. The shelves of the top half of the hutch displayed a variety of knit goods, including scarves, mittens, and even covers for cell phones, tablets, laptops, and other kinds of technology.

“Recognize these?” she asked, sotto voce, pointing at the knitting.

“No,” he said. “Should I?”

“All of the victims had something knit in their personal effects. And this is the same knitting.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I thought there was something I wasn’t seeing at the time, and this is it. They all had knit stuff, and all of them had at least one thing with this chevron pattern. But because it was all different sized stuff, on different tables, and it was winter, I didn’t put it together. But seeing all of it, here, laid out like this…” Her voice trailed off and she reached a tentative finger toward a scarf.

Ryu snatched her hand away, carefully booping the knit with his own pointer finger before touching it more directly and, finally, picking it up. He reached with his magic, but came up short.

It was dead as a doornail. He put the scarf around his neck and waited. Still nothing.

“I’m not getting anything,” he said quietly. “But it’s the only lead we have. Excuse me,” he said, loudly, turning to face the room. “Can you help us?”

The little woman skittered over, nodding happily. “Oh, those are Pai’s,” said the woman. “She does lovely work.”

“Pies?” Maeve asked.

“Pai’s,” the woman repeated, but she clarified the spelling, “P-A-I. I’m not sure what it’s short for.”

“I love this pattern,” Maeve said. “Chevron is very popular right now.”

The woman giggled, a deceptively young sound. “Oh, won’t Pai get a kick out of that. She’s a la mode!”

“Is she local too?” Ryu asked, interrupting.

“Of course! I told you all of my suppliers are locals, and I meant it. And she does everything herself. Pai owns an alpaca farm up the road. So she raises the animals, spins the yarn, and does the knitting.”

“Fascinating,” Ryu said. “Do you think we could meet her?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Ryu realized she was afraid he and Maeve intended to cut out the middleman. “My mother’s a knitter,” he said. “I’m always looking to buy yarn for her. We’ll take some of those candles, however, from you.”

His offer to purchase something clearly mollified the woman, but she still looked pensive. “Pai’s not very friendly,” she said eventually. “I nearly keeled over when she offered to sell some of her knitting through me. I’m not sure she even sells yarn...”

“We won’t bother her,” Ryu said, using a glamour to soothe the woman and make her more cooperative. “We only want to visit.”

“Okay,” said the human, moving toward the counter. She wrote an address down on a pad of paper by her register. “Here you go.” She handed the slip to Ryu, who put a half dozen pairs of candles into her hands in return.

“We’ll take these,” he said, releasing her from his glamour at the same time. She blinked, then smiled at him.

“Cash or charge?”

“Charge,” Maeve said, passing her the black credit card. It took him a second to register she’d obviously turned the tables on him, picking his pocket.

He leaned close to whisper at her. “Touché.”

When she smiled, he couldn’t help but smile back.

EIGHT

“I don’t think an alpaca farm can be evil,” Maeve said, eying the ranch-style farmhouse and colorfully painted outbuildings that sprawled before her.

“Nonsense,” replied Ryu, dusting down his trousers. “Anything can be evil. Besides, have you ever met an alpaca? They’re assholes.”

Despite herself, Maeve laughed. She had to admit, her new partner was funny. For a bloodsucker.

“What’s our cover story?” she asked, instead of telling him any of that.

“Exactly what I said to the shop owner. I want some yarn for my nice mother, who knits.”

“Okay,” Maeve said. “Ready?”

Together, they approached the front of the house. Upon ringing the doorbell, they heard a dog barking somewhere inside, but no one answered.

“Not home, or not here?” Maeve asked, pointing at the front door.

“Let’s find out. Shall we look around?”

Again, he offered her his arm, and despite the fact no one was around to question their cover story, she took it anyway.

They walked behind the house, toward the big yellow barn surrounded by corrals. They hadn’t gone too far when they spotted a tall woman emerge from the wide double doors.

“Hello!” Ryu called. “Are you Pai?”

The woman straightened, turning toward them. She was too far away to make out her features, but Maeve got the distinct impression of gold—her hair was long, glistening like a Disney princess’s in the sun.

“Can I help you?” she asked in faintly accented English when they’d gotten closer.

Ryu walked ahead of Maeve, smoothly telling the woman their cover story while Maeve examined her. She was tall, taller even than Maeve, with a long face, long limbs, and strong, expressive hands. Her hair was indeed golden, although this close up it was streaked with silver. It fell in two long braids from either side of her head, the thick ropes of hair reaching to her waist.

“My yarn?” the woman asked, amused. “How sweet. It has become famous!”

“We saw it in your friend’s shop,” Ryu said, his large tawny eyes widened to reflect his earnestness. “It was so soft. I know my mother would love some, and she’s so hard to shop for. We had to come out and see if it was possible.”

“I am afraid it’s not,” the woman said, looking somber. “I spin only what I need, as I need it. I do not have any extra for sale. I am sorry.”

Ryu looked like he’d just heard tragic news, asking if he could order some. Maeve took her opportunity to walk toward the barn, peering into the cool dimness, smelling the fresh scent of hay and an underlying smell of animal and dung. She jumped, yelping, when something nudged her in the back.

Turning, she found herself face to face with an alpaca. The beast wasn’t anywhere near as big as a camel, but definitely dromedary-ish, its long face and huge, soulful eyes bending this way and that on its slender neck as it inspected her.

And then tried to eat her purse.

“Hey,” she said, laughing. Then she heard Pai’s accented English behind her.

“Leave off, Hodor,” the woman said, slapping the beast lightly on the butt. It gamboled away, head held high, as if moving off had been its own idea.

“Hodor?” Maeve asked. “Are you a Game of Thrones fan?”

“Oh yes,” Pai said, her wide mouth splitting in a grin. “There is much death. It is highly entertaining. Have you read it?”

“No,” Maeve said. “But I’ve watched the show.”

“Do you like it?” Pai asked politely.

“Very much so,” said Maeve.

“As I have told your husband,” Pai said, switching directions, “I am afraid I cannot sell you wool today. It has not been spun. I am sorry; you seem like very nice people.”

“Oh. Well, thank you,” said Maeve. “And you have a beautiful farm.”

Pai nodded graciously. Maeve had originally put the woman somewhere in her mid- to late-forties, but now Maeve thought Pai was older. Maybe even much older, although Maeve couldn’t put a finger on why she thought so.

Ryu, who’d been standing behind Pai up until that point, staring at her intently with a troubled look on his face, came to stand beside Maeve.

“Well, I hate that won’t sell us your lovely wool,” he said. “But I understand why. You really are an artist.”

Pai inclined her head with regal grace. “Thank you. I appreciate both your visit and your understanding. I will take your interest into consideration. Perhaps in the future I will sell such items.”

And with that, they said their goodbyes, Maeve wondering why Ryu seemed so eager to leave. Pai was their best lead, and they had gotten nowhere.

She asked him that question once they were out of earshot and near their rental car. “Why the big rush? Did you sense something?”

He shook his head, although the furrow in his brow grew even deeper. “No,” he said. “There was nothing to sense. And by nothing, I mean nothing. It was like a black hole stood in front of us.”

Maeve paused, her hand on the passenger side door’s handle. “A black hole?”

“It’s like...even with you, though you’re not magic, when I scan you there’s still you there. Maybe not magic, but I sense something…life, I guess. If you were magic, I’d sense you and your power. With Pai back there, I sensed absolutely nothing.”

“Does that mean she’s dead?” Maeve asked, trying not to sound as alarmed as she felt. Was Ryu saying Pai was some kind of zombie?

“No, she’s obviously not dead,” Ryu said. “She’s either something I can’t sense or she’s able to hide herself so well I can’t sense her. Neither of which is good. Shit, heads-up.”

Maeve smoothed her features and turned to find Pai striding toward them, something in her hand.

“I feel badly for not being able to accommodate you,” she said to Ryu. “You seem like such nice people. Please take this shawl. It was made for this lovely lady.”

“Oh, Ms.…um, Pai,” said Maeve. “We couldn’t. It’s so beautiful...”

And it was beautiful. The woman’s distinctive chevron pattern was done in thick panels of black, gleaming white, and a thinner line of bright blue. The otherwise matte wool contained just the slightest shimmer, Maeve noticed, now that Pai held it in direct sunlight. There was something glittery woven in with all that soft wool.

“I insist,” the woman said. “This is my...what is the word? My hobby. I have been fortunate in my life and I wish to give you this present.”

“At least let us pay you for it,” Maeve said, but the woman shook her head, her long face as mulish as the alpaca’s earlier.

“No, really. I do insist. It is yours. It was made for you...” Pai handed the shawl to Maeve, wrapping the other woman’s fingers around it and then stepping back.

“Well, thank you,” said Maeve. “I do appreciate it. And if you change your mind about the yarn, please contact us.”

Maeve slipped Pai one of the dummy business cards Maeve kept in the front pocket of her purse.

“I will. Please drive safely back to your destination,” said the alpaca farmer, giving a small, but very formal, bow.

Ryu and Maeve got in their rental and drove away, waving to Pai as they turned off her driveway and onto the road that led back to town.

“What the hell was that?” Ryu said and Maeve shrugged, shoving the shawl into her bag and the bag in the backseat.

“I have no idea. But I’m not wearing that thing until you check it out. Thoroughly.”

He gave her a brief glance before turning his eyes back to the road.

“I’m glad you trust me,” he said, eventually.

And, surprising herself, she realized she did indeed trust him. Bloodsucker or no.

NINE

“Bummer about the shawl not being magic.”

Ryu’s eyes flicked up from the menu to rest on Maeve. She was fiddling nervously with her wine glass, sitting bolt upright like they were in class and about to get yelled at by the teacher. Would she ever relax?

“Yeah. But I only did perfunctory tests. I’ll do more later. And while it would have been nice to wrap up the case that quickly…” He decided on what they needed now and a Merlot for later, then put aside the wine list. “I’m not exactly torn up about spending an extra night or two in Napa.”

“I really thought I had something,” said Maeve.

“Hey,” Ryu said, leaving over the table to touch her hand, “you did good. I hadn’t even noticed the chevron pattern. And we haven’t ruled Pai out yet. Maybe she knew who we were and gave us a dud shawl, trying to throw us off the scent.”

“I know. I just keep thinking about all those poor people...” To Ryu’s ears, Maeve didn’t sound maudlin. He could tell she meant it.

“And that’s why you’re good at what you do,” he said, adjusting his touch on her hand so that he held it. She didn’t pull it back, but she didn’t exactly reciprocate. “You care. And you’re smart. And you’re a bulldog. We’ll find whoever is doing this, Maeve.” He let go of her hand, leaning back in his chair. She hadn’t looked at him throughout his little speech, but she looked at him now.

“I know,” she said, her chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “And thank you.”

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” he said, right when the waiter returned to their table. Ryu ordered a red flight and a white flight and a sampling of charcuterie, while Maeve watched with an amused expression.

“Rather abusing the expense account, aren’t we?” she said when the waiter left.

“Nonsense,” said Ryu. “We will be conducting important research. If you’re willing, that is.”

“Research? Is that why you asked to sit out here?”

They were in the mostly empty courtyard of Napa Vineyards, one of the most famous wineries. They had no proof any of the victims had gone there, but nearly everyone did if they were in Napa. At least, that had been Ryu’s excuse when Maeve had balked at going out for dinner.

Ryu looked around at their charming surroundings. The courtyard was all stone, with a large fountain set in the center. It was turned off for the season, but had been draped with a riotous array of greenery. Twinkling fairy lights were woven around everything, casting an ethereal glow, while heat lamps set in strategic places kept the mostly sheltered courtyard quite warm for the dinner hour. But still, most people had opted to sit inside the restaurant, and Ryu had asked for the table furthest from the smattering of brave souls who had also chosen to sit outside.

“It is, yes,” Ryu said. “I want to try something, but I understand if you don’t trust me.” And why you’ll probably try to kill me for asking, he thought.

“What is it you want to do?” Maeve asked, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest.

“When the wine comes, I want to try magicking them. We haven’t found any spells on the objects around town, but maybe it wasn’t the objects. Maybe there is a way to make wine hold a spell.”

Maeve cocked a head at him, her forehead crinkling in thought. “But there are ways to spell combustibles. We all know that...it’s where the myths regarding not eating or drinking in faerie come from. Also fairy tales like Snow White. And mythology, like Persephone’s pomegranate.”

“Yes, you’re right,” said Ryu, “but that sort of magic is done in the exchange. It’s not that you can’t spell food or liquid, it’s that the spell is extremely ephemeral. And usually it works more through the act of handing something over.” Ryu picked up his knife, using it to gesture at Maeve. “Here, take this.”

She did, her slender white fingers reaching toward it.

“Say this is spelled, and not a knife. Say it’s an apple, as in your earlier example. I hand it to you thusly...” He gave her the knife, and as he did so, his fingers brushed against her hand. She shivered. “That’s the moment I really enact the spell. When you eat the apple, that’s when the spell is activated. But the spell wasn’t in the food.”

“But surely not every food was directly passed to the person,” Maeve said, setting his knife down before fidgeting with her collar using the hand he’d just touched. “What about people finding things in faerie and eating them?”

“Probably glamoured to believe they found the food in question and weren’t handed it. Or,” Ryu nodded at the knife, “we’re wrong and there is a way to spell food in a way that lingers.”

“But you’d know of such a thing already.” Maeve stopped talking as the waiter approached, setting down the two flights of wine, the glasses sparkling in the reflected fairy lights. She watched him walk away and then returned her gaze to Ryu. “There’s no way you wouldn’t have been spelling food already, if you could do it.”

He picked up one of the glassed of red, giving it a swirl and nosing it appreciatively. His eyes closed in pleasure, and when he opened them again Maeve’s hand, resting on the table, was now curled in a fist.

“I wasn’t entirely accurate before,” he admitted. “You can spell food. Watch.” He raised the glass with his right hand, using his left hand to caress the lip of the rim. A faint blue sparkle traveled down through to the wine where it shivered, blending with the red...and then disappeared.

“You can spell it, but it doesn’t stay,” he said. “We can spell objects, but food is too ephemeral—full of bacteria. It’s too alive to spell like a dead object and too dead to glamour like a living creature. It shakes off the spell.

“Besides,” he said, watching the waiter approach with an epic platter of meats and cheeses, “we’re mostly not that evil.” The waiter put down the platter, asked if they needed anything else, and then sauntered off. Ryu looked back at Maeve. “Most of us would be no more desirous of spelling food and leaving it lying about than a human would be of poisoning Twix bars and placing them around a city.”

Maeve ducked her head, her cheeks blooming crimson. Ryu, however, wasn’t sure if it was shame, anger, or both.

He didn’t push her, but helped himself to some Humboldt Fog. It was delicious, as usual. When she looked up, she reached casually for her fork and speared a slice of prosciutto.

“So what is it that you want to do?” she asked him.

“I want to try really spelling this wine,” he said. “Nothing dangerous or embarrassing. Only a really simple compulsion...maybe to sing or something.”

“You’ve never heard me sing,” Maeve said, her lips curling in the slightest of smiles. “It’s both dangerous and embarrassing.”

Ryu’s laughter surprised even him, a short, sharp bark. He grinned at her. “Okay, do you have a different preference?”

“What about a compulsion to get up and leave the room?”

He nodded. “That will work. But it’ll still be magic. Do you trust me?”

Maeve peered down at her lap, plucking at her napkin. “I think this is important. I think that if someone were to charm anything in Napa, the most obvious thing would be the wine. And we have a bunch of people dead and the only thing they have in common is visiting Napa. So...we should do this.

“And I trust you,” she added, with the faintest of pauses.

Ryu smiled, but without humor. “No, you don’t. Not really. But you do think this is important. As for me, I would never hurt my partner, and I trust myself. So...ready?”

Maeve nodded, her lips compressing into a thin red line. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

TEN

Maeve watched Ryu’s magic trickle through the wine, and she tried to stifle her sense of wonder. Yes, this was magic, but real magic wasn’t the Disney kind she’d believed in as a child. It was the murderous, awful kind she’d become aware of the night her childhood ended.

He sat the wine glass down, staring at it intently. “I don’t sense anything. But maybe it lingers?” He glanced up at Maeve. “This is where you come in. Do you mind?”

She shook her head, willing her hand steady as she reached toward the glass. She sniffed it, but all she smelled was the rich, musky tannins. She sipped hesitantly, but drank deeper when she felt nothing. And because Ryu was making a “bottoms up” gesture. When she’d finished, grateful that a flight pour was only a quarter of the glass, she set it down and they waited.

“Anything?”

She let her mind wander, but the only place it went was to how delicious the wine had been, not to wanting to leave the patio.

“No, sorry,” she said. He picked up a second glass. Again, she watched as the magic sparkled through the liquor, only to vanish after a few seconds.

He handed her the glass and she quaffed it in one. They waited. She shook her head.

“Nothing.”

Ryu sighed, reaching for a white. “Let’s try this...”

“I’m glad these are short pours,” said Maeve. “Otherwise, the only magic worked would be wine magic—the kind that makes nice ladies dance on tables.”

Ryu grinned up at her, his teeth white and perfect, the canines sharp. She reminded herself he was a vampire.

“While that is a form of magic, it’s not what we’re looking for.” Ryu concentrated, and this time the magic was red and it lingered longer before evaporating. But still, when she drank, nothing happened.

“Okay, I have a few more tricks up my sleeve...”

Three small glasses of white wine later, the flights were empty and they hadn’t gotten any closer to figuring out the mystery. Ryu had concluded that no magic he could do would survive in a liquid. Maeve had gotten closer to a wonderful buzz, however.

“You took one for the team,” Ryu said, watching as she dug into the bread that came with the charcuterie.

“It was a delicious sacrifice,” Maeve confirmed. “But if I don’t get something in my stomach, I’m going to start giggling. Which means I’m officially tipsy.”

“Meanwhile, I need to catch up.” Ryu made a gesture in the air, and a few minutes later the waiter returned to the courtyard.

“Sir?”

Ryu ordered the bottle of Merlot he’d decided on earlier, the one that Maeve had commented on as being very nice. The waiter nodded and left.

“How did he know to come?” Maeve said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

“Magic. But before you wig out, we do that particular trick with our own kind too. It’s not a command to serve us, just the magical equivalent of raising a hand.”

“Oh,” said Maeve.

“Like I said, we’re not always dicks.” Ryu didn’t sound angry when he said it, just matter of fact. Then he took a sip of his wine, savoring it.

“No, but I think you’re used to getting your way,” Maeve said, “I am dining with royalty, after all. Aren’t you a Monarch, too?”

Ryu snorted. “Yes and no. I’m one of two elected leaders of my territory. But the emphasis is on elected. We’re not Alfar, and outside of our territory everyone thinks we’re nuts at best or heretics at worst.”

“But you’ve been working at the Initiative for at least a year. What about your people?”

“I have a very capable co-Monarch. And I have my own staff on the ground in case she loses her damned mind, which I’m glad to say hasn’t happened.”

“Co-Monarch…like your Queen?”

“Oh, gods no. She’s my cousin. And formerly a complete menace to society—both human and supernatural. But she’s turned out to be far less monstrous when given actual power...we were all shocked.”

“Huh. So, no Queen then?” Maeve was curious about how supernatural society worked, she told herself. Not about Ryu’s personal life, per se.

“No, no Queen.” Ryu fiddled with his silverware, then poked at the little dish of olives with his fork. “There was someone who I thought would be. Not my Queen, but my partner. Like, life partner, not partner-partner. Anyway, it didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did something happen to her?”

“Another man,” Ryu said as the waiter approached with the bottle of Merlot. Maeve watched Ryu interact with the human—scanning the bottle, tasting before nodding it was acceptable, thanking him. She accepted her own glass with a polite nod.

“As I was saying,” Ryu said when the waiter had left, “she broke up with me. She wanted different things, but I didn’t understand that at the time. I thought I could win her back, but it was too late. She’d met someone. They have children now.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” Maeve sipped her own wine, feeling her brow knit in consternation.

“Thank you. But it was probably for the best.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, Jane is wonderful, in a lot of ways. But I wasn’t what she needed. She’s better off now than she would have been with me.”

“That’s very magnanimous of you,” Maeve said, carefully sipping her wine. She could feel the wine she’d already consumed buzzing in her veins—not with magic, with its normal powers. Flights might have less volume per glass, but she’d consumed two entire flights by herself.

Ryu smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. “I learned a lot about myself too. So it wasn’t all doom and gloom.”

“What did you learn?” He looked up at her, and she held up a hand. “Sorry. That was invasive. You don’t have to answer.”

He sipped from his own glass. When he set it down, he settled his hands on the table, palms down, as if bracing himself. “No, it’s fine. I guess I learned that I do enjoy being in that kind of relationship. You know my nature…I mean, that I’m a baobhan sith...”

She nodded, her mouth gone suddenly dry. Had she managed to convince herself he was human? Or, if not human, something magical but not a vampire?

“Well, we’re not known for our fidelity, for obvious reasons. We have to feed, of course. And we tell ourselves that doesn’t mean anything, but feeding regulates our lives. So of course it means something.

“With Jane, I saw a way I could be faithful. And for the first time I understood why we use that word, in that context. I wanted to honor her, to have faith in her and enjoy her faith in me. I loved her very much.” He fell silent, toying with the stem of his glass. Maeve watched, not speaking, ‘til he continued. “I only realized later that part of what I fell in love with wasn’t the real Jane, it was the Jane who gave me this fantasy of fidelity. I guess I fell a little bit in love with who I could be, being with her. Anyway, you probably think I sound like an idiot. And I think I was, a bit. I guess love makes us all into idiots.”

“That’s very insightful,” Maeve said, her mouth pursing as she studied him. For a split second, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time. But that was undoubtedly the wine talking.

Ryu held up his hands, warding off the compliment. “It was unfair to Jane, of course. She wanted someone who saw her as she was really was, who understood what she wanted out of life. I saw who we could be together, who I could be with her. I didn’t think about her. Not really. So, she left me.”

“Wow,” said Maeve, when Ryu had made it clear he’d said his piece on the subject. “That’s a lot to learn from one relationship.”

Ryu laughed, one of his short, sharp barks that held little humor. “Yes. Yes, it is. But I managed to not learn quite a bit for a very long time, so it was overdue.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I do,” he said. “Or at least, I did. For a while. Now that I sort of figured things out, I don’t miss her, really. But I do miss…us, I guess. I miss being in that sort of a relationship.”

Maeve’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “I didn’t expect you, of all people, to say something like that.”

“My reputation precedes me, I’m assuming.” He raised his glass to her in an ironic toast. “Yes, well, don’t tell anyone. What happens in Napa stays in Napa.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “You got it.” Her words ended on a shiver. The night had gotten cold. She pulled the thin material of her jacket tighter, wishing she’d brought a warmer coat. Ryu nodded at her bag.

“You still have the shawl, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I thought we were going to check it out more?”

“Hand the whole thing over.”

She did as he’d asked, handing him her oversized purse. He pulled the folded shawl out of it, his brow furrowing in concentration as he held the thing with both hands. After what felt like ages, and was probably a good five minutes, he shook his head.

“I can’t feel a trace of magic on it. And you’re obviously freezing.”

He handed her the black and white material, and she wrapped it around her neck and shoulders gratefully. It made all the difference, and she felt suddenly warm and safe.

Ryu started talking about tomorrow. About what they’d do, for the investigation.

She watched his lips moving. They suddenly seemed very red to her, in the dim light. Ruby red.

Like blood.

And his teeth glinted, so white in the sparkling light of the courtyard. But of course they gleamed. They were fangs.

The fangs of the thing that killed her mother.

He was a vampire.

Vampires had to die.

She knew she had weapons. Guns and knives and all sorts of things to maim and kill. But they weren’t with her, not tonight. Not when they were off duty, and going to a place where they’d be drinking.

Steak knife. It had come with the plate of charcuterie, to help them cut the sausage. She picked it up, then looked at her enemy.

He sat, telling her how he planned to rape and then murder her, and then to murder everyone in the restaurant. Blood dripped from his wide red mouth, pouring onto the table. It filled the wine glasses, the blood of innocents he’d slaughtered and brought for his feast.

“Maeve,” she heard. “Are you all right?”

Maeve looked at the vampire. He had to die.

She lunged at his throat.

ELEVEN

Ryu shoved his chair over, sending it crashing it to the ground as he rolled out of it and onto his feet. Maeve, moving with preternatural speed, missed his throat by millimeters.

“Murderer!” she cried, shoving the entire wrought iron table so that it crashed against the stone wall. She raised the knife between them, snarling like an animal.

“About that shawl,” he drawled, affecting calm he didn’t feel.

“Murderer!” she repeated, darting toward him. He’d already automatically sent out a No Go glamour, repelling any human involvement, but he bolstered it when he realized Maeve was serious.

Or seriously magicked.

His mind racing, he jumped back again. As her arm holding the knife withdrew from her strike, he did his own lunging, trying to nab the shawl wrapped tightly around her neck. Too tightly, he noticed. It was hugging her, moving with her, rather than flopping around like a normal shawl.

How had he missed that much mojo?

She ducked away from him, one arm shielding the shawl protectively as she stabbed again with the knife. She was fast enough to nick his bicep, much faster than she should have been, if not fast enough to really be a match for him.

But that was where the danger lay, he realized. The magic made her dangerous enough that deadly force might be necessary to protect whomever she attacked.

He backed away from her as she prepared for another strike, holding his hands up in supplication. “Maeve. This isn’t you. It’s the shawl. You have to fight it, Maeve.”

She stopped and blinked at her name, which he’d used on purpose. He had to get through whatever hold Pai’s knitting had on her. Maeve blinked a second time, shaking her head slightly.

“Murderer!” She lunged again, this time running at him like they were playing football.

He dodged her, trying again to reach her. “I’m not a murderer, Maeve.” At least I haven’t been for a while, he thought. “You’re not yourself.”

“Liar!” she shouted, her face contorted with rage as the shawl undulated around her throat. “You killed her! I saw you!”

This time, when she lunged, he struck out with his left arm, hitting her wrist with enough force to disarm her. The knife clattered to the ground even as her other hand clawed at his face, her nails raking viciously down his cheek and jaw. He ignored the pain, grabbing both hands and shoving her over onto her back.

She hit the ground hard, her head smacking against the paving stones with an audible thunk. He winced at the sound, but she appeared unaffected, fighting him like a banshee hopped up on meth. Standing over her, he made a desperate bid for the shawl. She used the hand he’d freed to punch him squarely in the Adam’s apple. Tears popped into his eyes as his breath faltered, pain blistering his senses. He jumped on top of her, pinning her with his weight for as long as it took him to grab both of her wrists. As he manhandled them into his left hand, he raised his chest off hers, just enough to make another attempt for the shawl.

This time, he was successful. His hand closed on the writhing fabric, but now he was wrestling both the shawl and the woman it possessed.

It wrapped around Maeve’s neck like a boa constrictor, even as her body bucked underneath him, threatening to throw him off. She bit at the hand holding her wrists, and he swore.

“Damn it, Maeve! Fight it!” Her eyes darted toward him, but her teeth found the soft flesh between his thumb and pointer finger, sinking deep.

He yanked that hand up, her head following with her jaw’s death grip. He used the opportunity to get a better hold on the back of the shawl. He pulled with all of his strength and the shawl finally began to give way, its freed ends reaching out toward Maeve in an eerie parody of a hug. Her teeth sank deeper into his hand as he finally separated her entirely from the shawl, throwing the fabric toward the other end of the patio.

“Maeve?” he asked, cradling her head in his free hand. She looked up at him from where she had her teeth still sunk in his flesh, her violent bucking slowing.

But not fast enough to keep him from reacting, like any male vampire would, to the pain/pleasure of her strong bite and the shift of her hips and soft belly against his groin.

She let go suddenly, gasping in a breath as tears abruptly formed in her eyes. “Oh my God, Ryu, what have I done?”

Freed from her teeth, he jerked himself back so that he sat sprawled at her feet. She sat up, tears streaming down her cheeks, her plump lips bloodied.

“Your face,” she said, reaching a trembling hand toward him. “Your hand...”

“I’m fine,” he said, the husky tone in his voice having nothing to do with anger, but she obviously took it that way.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, dropping her hand. “I don’t know what happened...”

“I do,” he said, trying to get a rein on his feelings. Especially the ones currently making a tent of his trousers, a tent he fervidly hoped Maeve wouldn’t notice. “And it’s not your fault. I told you the shawl was safe. Clearly, it wasn’t.”

“But why did you...”

“Because it wasn’t magic. At least, not the kind I was testing for.” Ryu struggled to his feet, surreptitiously adjusting himself while thinking of anything other than the memory of Maeve moving underneath him.

“What was it, then?” Maeve asked. She was still crying, but Ryu thought it was more of an aftereffect of the shawl’s influence than out of true emotion.

He held his uninjured hand out to her. She hesitated, then accepted, and he pulled her to her feet.

“God, look at us,” she said, and then she started brushing at his clothes, her hands batting at the dirt and leaves covering his formerly pristine slacks. And absolutely not helping his more embarrassing reactions to her attack. He grabbed both of her hands in his to stop her and she blanched at the wet squelch of his bloodied skin against hers.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling his hands away. “I’m all right.” He concentrated, invoking his magic to heal his cheeks and his hand.

It worked, but he was going to have to feed soon to top up his power. He’d used up more than he intended with the wine experiment.

“Wow,” Maeve said, marveling. “That’s pretty neat. But you’re still all bloody.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was too. A smear of blood decorated her full, already red lips, her lipstick smeared with the blood in a way directly reminiscent of vampire sex.

Good vampire sex.

He cursed his overactive imagination, reaching for a fallen napkin and plunging it into his water glass. Then he drew her toward him, wiping the blood and lipstick away before it completely distracted him. When he was finished, he realized how close he’d brought her, and how her gray eyes were staring up into his with a shock that only partially attributable to the shawl’s magic.

He let her go, busying himself with wetting the other side of the napkin to scrub at his own face and hand.

“I am sorry,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining. “That wasn’t...it wasn’t me.”

He eyed the shawl huddled on the gray stone floor. “You needn’t apologize. I told you the shawl was safe. As for that not being you...It wasn’t, and it was.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice sharp.

“It wasn’t like you to attack me, no. But like the people we examined at the morgue, the hatred for supernaturals was part of you.”

She ducked her head, refusing to answer his implied question.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened to you,” Ryu said, reaching to touch the wrist he’d hit. She winced, hurt, as he’d expected. He used a little more of his dwindling magic to heal her.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, but he knew that this time it wasn’t about the attack.

“And once more you don’t have to be sorry. You feel what you feel,” he told her, placing a finger under chin to make her meet his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me your secrets.

“That said, you need to get over it. You work with us now. And you’re working with me, right now. I can’t have a partner that secretly wants me dead.”

“I don’t want you dead,” she began, but interrupted her.

“Maybe not consciously. But what happened with the shawl says otherwise about what’s going on in your unconscious. You’ve got to face your demons.”

Tears were again rolling down her face. He noticed with a pang that she was an ugly crier, making her all the more vulnerable, invoking that masculine need to protect shared by humans and supernaturals alike.

“I do,” she whispered. “I really do.”

“Good,” he said. “Because even though we’re not literally facing a demon this time, we’re facing something even worse.”

Maeve looked at him, curiosity transcending the clusterfuck of emotions showing on her puffy, pale face.

“Oh?” she asked. “What is it?”

“Only the biggest pain in the ass possible. A god.”

TWELVE

Maeve fidgeted in her seat, picking at the lid of her empty coffee cup and wondering whether she ought to get another. She normally didn’t drink coffee after three pm, but today wasn’t normal in any way. Not least because she’d slept until two, despite being someone who woke at six in the morning no matter what had occurred the night before.

Ryu had warned her she’d crash after the shawl’s possession, and crash she had. By the time they’d gotten back to the hotel and Ryu had secured the shawl and run a few diagnostics on her to make sure she wouldn’t try to kill him in his sleep, it had been midnight and she’d barely been able to keep her eyes open. She’d fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and hadn’t woken up until noon the next day. After realizing Ryu wasn’t in the room, she’d gotten up with every intention of getting ready, only to use the bathroom and then go back to bed for another two hours. She’d only barely managed to drag herself out of bed and into clothes, then to the hotel lobby in search of coffee.

Stifling a yawn, Maeve wondered where her erstwhile partner had gone off to.

Probably to solve the case alone, she thought, frowning at her coffee. And it would serve her right, for attacking him like that. Shawl or no, she apparently couldn’t be trusted.

“There you are.” Ryu’s smooth tenor sounded from behind her and she started, knocking over the empty cardboard cup. “Easy, it’s just me,” he said, taking the chair across from her.

His amber eyes raked over her. “You look like hell. No offense.” He grinned, taking the edge off his words. “But I don’t sense any magic in you. Any desire to kill me this morning?”

She groaned, feeling her face heat up. “No. And I can’t apologize enough. I feel horrible about last night...”

“Don’t. Seriously. You busted the case wide open. We never would have figured out what happened without your having put on that shawl. Now we know, and I was able to send for what we need.”

“And what, exactly, do we know?” Maeve decided to take his words at face value and stop beating herself up. Especially as they needed to get a move on to put the kibosh on this case.

“I’ll explain in the car. Are you ready?”

Maeve nodded, standing and then grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair. “I think I am. You tell me. Do I need anything special?”

Ryu’s eyes again raked over her. Maeve had donned her most comfortable skinny jeans, a long-sleeved tee and a yoga hoodie, and pseudo-combat boots made for fashionable ladies. Her hair was in a ponytail. He seemed to approve, nodding to himself.

“You’re perfect. And everything we need is right here,” he said, holding up a padded manila envelope marked COURIER. “Let’s go.”

They retrieved the rental, and Ryu drove. Maeve wasn’t surprised to find them heading back out to Pai’s.

“So what is she?” Maeve asked. “Last night you said something about a god, but that you weren’t sure. I take it now you are?”

“As sure as I can be until we confront her, yes. And, unfortunately, I do think we’re dealing with a minor deity. They’re always the worst.”

Maeve felt a bit lightheaded. Her work for the US government, and now her work for the Initiative, meant that she was constantly confronted with disturbing new aspects of the supernatural world. But this was definitely the first time any gods had been involved.

“So, you really mean a god?” Only after she said it did she realize how faint she sounded.

Ryu shot her an amused look. “Yes, but this one is fairly manageable.”

“Oh, good. A manageable god. How nice.”

“The downside is we are dealing with something old and rare, if she’s what I think she is. But the good news is she isn’t one of the old things powerful enough to kill with a look.”

Maeve swallowed, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. The day was bright and crisp, the sun shining off the vineyards they sped past. It looked so normal...everything always looked so normal. Except they were talking about going to confront a god.

“What is she, then?” Maeve asked.

“I’m pretty sure she’s a Moirai,” Ryu said, slowing down to take a few sharp curves then rocketing back to his normal Speed Racer mode. “Do you know what Moirai are?”

Maeve frowned, thinking back to her training. “Isn’t that the Greek word for the Fates?”

“Very good. But it’s not a Greek word, it’s Old Tongue for ‘weaver.’ They’re an incredibly rare and ancient race with the ability to weave destiny. There were only ever a handful, and they’re so purely magical they almost never reproduce. There were enough born, however, to spread out and create havoc.”

“How did they do that?” Maeve noticed a few familiar landmarks, indicating they were near Pai’s farm. She tried to quell the nausea in her belly, but felt her stomach roll anyway. Although that could be as much from Ryu’s kamikaze driving as fear.

“You’ll notice that almost all human societies have a similar mythology involving spinners and weavers of fate. A goddess who creates and cuts off the threads of her worshipers’ lives.

“Pai, if she’s who I think she is, is short for Päivätär. She’s ruled as a goddess over many peoples, most recently the Finnish.”

“Wait, I’ve heard of her. She’s associated with the sun, right? She’s in that Finnish epic poem.”

“Yep, that’s our girl.”

“The weaving makes sense now, then,” Maeve said.

“Yes, it does. It also makes sense why I couldn’t sense anything magical done to the shawl. The Moirai’s magic is a part of them, it’s not...forced upon something. The shawl is magic, but its magic is part of it in a way I wasn’t looking for. It’s also interactive, meaning it’s totally inert until it comes into contact with a living thing.”

“But the Fates didn’t make magic shawls...at least not in mythology.”

“No,” said Ryu. “Back in the day, they were able to interfere more directly. But that’s illegal nowadays, in our society. So she’s found a sort of workaround, I guess, through knitted goods. Thank the gods she didn’t use Etsy.”

“So, are all gods and goddesses really supernaturals?” Maeve asked, feeling like a light bulb had gone on in the woodshed of her mind.

Ryu grinned at her. “Well done, and yes. Most pagan gods and goddesses are, at least. Your Jesus was human, I’m afraid.”

“No, that’s fine. A bit of a relief, really. And are they all still alive? Like Pai?”

“Many are.” Ryu pulled down the long, single track road that led to Pai’s. “And many, like Pai, do their best to interfere like they used to, despite it being strictly illegal in our world to do so. Setting yourself up as a god draws too much attention.”

“Well, that’s just common sense,” Maeve said, still feeling lightheaded. She’d never cease to be amazed by supernaturals.

She also realized they were very close to the farm when she saw Pai’s mailbox at the end of her long driveway. Ryu slowed, then pulled over, stopping the car next to the mailbox. He reached into the back seat where he’d stashed the courier’s envelope.

“I’ll take on Pai directly,” Ryu said, his voice serious and his eyes locked on Maeve’s. “I want you to stay out of the way. Just because she’s limiting herself to weaving latent magic like the shawl doesn’t mean she has to—she’s probably nearly as strong as she was when she was a goddess.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Distract her,” Ryu said. “And don’t get yourself killed.”

Maeve gave a small, sarcastic bow. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Good. Ready?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then let’s go.” Ryu got out of the car, and Maeve followed, wondering for the millionth time in her life why she couldn’t have gone into something sedate, like flower arranging.

THIRTEEN

Ryu held up a hand to Maeve as they neared the main house. They’d seen no sign of Pai, and the whole farm was eerily silent. Ryu gestured for Maeve to stand at the bottom of stairs leading up to the porch. She drew her gun and aimed toward the door, nodding at him to proceed.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her the gun wouldn’t work on Pai any more than in it would work on him, unless she managed to fatally wound the Moiroi and knock her out before she could heal herself.

Creeping up to the door, Ryu armed himself with his own missile—a mage ball juiced with as much power as he could spare.

Which really wasn’t much.

The truth was he should have fed last night. But it hadn’t felt right, after what happened with Maeve, to leave her in the room alone. Granted, she’d passed out, snoring like a lumberjack, the minute she’d gotten into bed. She wouldn’t have noticed if he slipped away. And yet he’d stayed, guarding her while she slept, after he’d made a few necessary phone calls to source the item they needed to get the upper hand on the Moirai.

He touched the polished wood of the door frame, listening for any sound from within the house not only with his mind, but with his power. Pai’s signature absence was indeed absent—she wasn’t at home.

He shook his head at Maeve, who swiveled away from the steps, guarding his descent. She nodded toward the barn and he moved in that direction. The wide double doors were closed, but as they neared, they heard singing coming from within.

“The Old Tongue,” Ryu whispered. “A working song, invoking the sun and the loom.”

“Sounds ominous,” Maeve whispered back. “Have a plan?”

“I’ll go in through that door, up there,” Ryu said, pointing. “The one that leads into the hay loft.”

“How do you know it leads into a hay loft?” Maeve whispered.

“I’ve seen enough movies,” he replied softly. “It’s always a hayloft.”

“Okay, Errol Flynn. What do I do?”

“You wait ‘til I’m in, then fling open these doors. Distract Pai so I can take care of her.”

“Take care of her? How?”

“She can’t be killed, only incapacitated. That’s where these come in.”

He reached into the courier bag, pulling out a pair of gleaming scissors.

“Are those gold?” Maeve asked, blinking at the bright yellow metal.

Ryu nodded. “And heavily spelled.”

“What do you do with them?”

“You’ll see when we get the door open. Ready?”

Maeve nodded. Ryu gripped her hand suddenly in his. “Be careful,” he said.

“Of course. And you.”

He could hear her heartbeat racing, but her voice and eyes were calm. She was well trained, and as ready as she’d ever be.

He used the decorative lattice on the barn to help swing himself up, motioning to Maeve to open the big doors. He heard her do so, turning at the same moment he heard them crash open, so that he saw what she must have, in the same moment.

Pai was sitting in the center of the barn, at a spinning wheel that looked ancient yet well cared for, its intricately carved surfaces made out of a wood Ryu didn’t recognize, probably from a tree that had died out long before his own birth.

She was spinning bright blue wool, which glimmered in that strange way that Maeve’s shawl had. Now the true nature of the glimmer was revealed.

Pai’s long braids were down, her gold and silver hair falling about her in a monstrously abundant wave, reminiscent of a German fairy tale. She was spinning strands of that hair into the blue wool, so it sparkled in the dim light cast by a dozen or so lanterns.

“There you are,” Maeve said conversationally. Pai had looked up as soon as the door was opened, but she seemed neither surprised nor worried at Maeve’s presence. Ryu crept forward a few feet into what was indeed a hayloft that covered only a third of the space available, so he could easily see Pai at her wheel and hear Maeve at the door.

“Here I am. What can I do for you, child?” The words were friendly, holding not the slightest edge of menace. She seemed genuinely pleased to see Maeve.

“Your shawl did something to me,” Maeve replied. “I don’t know what, but it was horrible. What you’re doing is evil.”

Pai laughed, returning to her spinning. It was a rich, earthy sound, that laugh. The laugh of a goddess.

Ryu moved ever closer to the edge of the hayloft.

“Oh, humans are so entertaining. I have missed you so.”

“It’s not funny. This is serious. I hurt my…my boyfriend, because of you.”

Pai looked up sharply at that. “That bloodsucker was no more your boyfriend than I am.” She carefully disentangled her hair from the spinning wheel, but still she stayed seated. “In fact, you hate him.”

“That’s a lie,” said Maeve. “I don’t hate him.”

Pai sat back, her arms crossing over her chest so that she looked stern and matronly. “You are the one who is lying, young miss. But you don’t have to…not with me. I can see into you, don’t you know that?”

Maeve faltered. Ryu took a few more steps toward the edge.

He was nearly there…

FOURTEEN

“What do you mean, you can see into me?” Maeve said, intent on keeping the Moiroi distracted.

“I mean that I know what you really want. What you need. And I gave it to you. That is my gift to humanity.”

“Gift? I attacked my partner.” Maeve’s head was beginning to hurt, her thoughts growing muzzy. “How is that a gift?”

Pai stood up from the spinning wheel, moving a few steps closer to Maeve. Maeve knew she should move, but it didn’t seem all that important to do so. She felt safe, suddenly.

Pai was now in front of Maeve, and she was unsure how the blonde woman had gotten there. Had she closed her eyes? Pai took Maeve’s hands in hers.

“I know humans, you see,” Pai explained, looking into Maeve’s eyes. Maeve saw eternity in that gaze. “I know how much people want things. How much they feel. How they yearn to accomplish their dreams and yet how much holds them back.”

“Accomplish their dreams,” Maeve repeated, falling into the depths of those eyes.

“But you can’t, can you?” Pai said, letting go of one of Maeve’s hands to stroke a finger down her cheek. “You are all so conflicted. So fraught. So needy for other things, so distracted by all the effluvia in your lives. That’s where I help. I take all of that away, so you can finally go after what you really want.”

Maeve forced herself to focus. That was wrong, wasn’t it? She hadn’t truly wanted to kill Ryu?

“No. That’s not what you do. You pervert our desires. I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t...”

“Of course you did,” Pai interrupted, placing her finger on Maeve’s lips. “You hate him. You hate all of them.”

Maeve saw something drop behind Pai, crouching for a moment before straightening. Ryu. Her partner. She kept her eyes on Pai, however.

“No,” Maeve said, “I don’t hate him.”

“But you do, child! I know you do! I can see you. I can see how much you hurt after your mother’s death. She was killed by just such a monster. You went into this line of work to hunt things like him, things…how do you say? That go bump in the night? You want to kill all of them, to make humanity safe. Instead you work with one of them. You have dinner together and act like they’re not murderers, when you know they are. You know they are!”

At this point Pai had both hands on Maeve’s jaw, holding her head still. Maeve was too confused to fight back, her vision swimming.

They had killed her mother. Left her an orphan. Taken away her childhood, her one chance at a happy life.

But that wasn’t Ryu, a tiny voice reminded her. She clung to that voice. It sounded like sanity in a brain racked with chaos.

“Ryu didn’t do any of that,” she said. “He’s not a monster. He could have gotten rid of me a hundred ways, but he didn’t. He’s my partner.”

Her voice was strong now. She shook off Pai’s hands, taking a step back but keeping her eyes on Pai. “I can trust him.”

“Well, I can’t,” Pai said, and suddenly her hair lashed behind her like an octopus tentacle, wrapping around Ryu’s throat. The baobhan sith had managed to creep right up behind Pai, but the Moiroi had never been fooled.

Ryu hung from Pai’s grasp, his face turning red as her hair tightened around his throat. His eyes watered, but still they latched on Maeve. She raised her gun and shot the Moiroi, point blank, ‘til Maeve was out of bullets.

Pai didn’t even bother to acknowledge the attack. Maeve threw the gun at the Moiroi, and it beaned off her head with considerable force. Pai didn’t blink. Maeve looked at Ryu helplessly.

“Her hair,” Ryu croaked, throwing Maeve the golden shears. They clattered at her feet and she bent to snatch them up.

“Right,” shouted Maeve, lunging at the strands holding Ryu. The golden sheers, charged with magic and sharper than any razor, cut through the bright hair like it was butter. Ryu dropped, suddenly able to breathe, the hair losing its preternatural life as it fell to the ground.

Pai shrieked, clutching at her head, but Maeve was tenacious. The golden scissors swooped again, shearing down the left side of the woman’s head. With each cut, Pai seemed to shrink, crouching down onto the ground.

“Keep going!” Ryu croaked again, raising a hand to his throat to use the dregs of his power to heal himself. “’Til she’s bald.”

Maeve did as she was told, Pai whimpering and shrinking. Maeve didn’t stop until the thing on the floor was a wizened old woman no bigger than a mature gnome, rather than the robust farmer’s wife who had greeted them the day before.

Finally, panting with the effort, Maeve put down the scissors. Pai sat, clutching her undulating waves of golden hair to her chest and sobbing.

“Sorry, Rapunzel,” Maeve said. “But it was time to let down that hair.”

FIFTEEN

Maeve stood near the closed door of the shop, eyeing Ryu’s various bags with trepidation. “Is that all of it?”

“According to the shopkeeper, it’s everything of Pai’s she had in stock.”

“You’re sure she’s not lying?”

Ryu frowned. “Why would she lie?”

“Because maybe she’s under the influence of magical yarn?”

A moment’s hesitation, then Ryu nodded. “Fine. I’ll glamour her.”

Ryu returned to the woman, speaking to her softly. She went from counting receipts—undoubtedly gleeful after they’d paid an arm and a leg for all her stock of enchanted knitwear—to staring up at Ryu in rapture.

She shook her head, and shook it again…and then nodded, reaching under the counter for what looked like a tea cozy done in a bright pink and purple chevron. Ryu held it up to Maeve, waving it at her, until he suddenly swayed on his feet, clutching the counter for balance.

“Hey!” Maeve called, trotting toward him. The shopkeeper blinked at both of them, shaking off the edge of the glamour. Maeve thanked her for the tea cozy and asked how much it was. Ryu held onto the counter as Maeve used the black credit card again before steering her partner out toward their rental car.

“Drop that in here,” Maeve said, holding wide open one of the shopping bags. Ryu did as he was told, then leaned on the car as she bundled the rest of the bags into the trunk.

“What’s up?” she asked when she was done, placing a hand on his forearm.

“I’m cashed,” he said, his face and lips pale. “Magically, that is.”

“Oh.” She thought hard as she opened the passenger side door for him. “Get in.”

He did so, settling back into his seat and shutting his eyes.

She got into the driver’s side, joking that he had to feel pretty miserable to not insist on driving. He smiled but didn’t say anything, another worrying sign.

“What can I do?” she asked, starting the car and heading toward their hotel.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Really. I’m not going to die. I just can’t do anything magical again until I top up. And I have a bit of a headache.”

She gave him a side eye at a stoplight. “You’re turning green. That’s more than a bit of anything.”

He smiled. “I’ll be all right. I can feed when I get back to San Francisco.”

“We can’t leave ‘til tonight. We have to check the other shops, make sure Pai wasn’t dealing to someone else under the table. And we might need your glamour for that.”

They’d handed Pai over earlier to deputies of the Gold Court, who promised to get the Moiroi safely back to San Francisco. There she’d be locked up until the Monarchs decided what to do with her. Maeve doubted the humans Pai had killed would get any real justice, but at least humanity was safe from the Moiroi…for now.

At least once Maeve and Ryu made sure there was no more chevron- patterned knitwear being sold in Napa.

Ryu looked out the passenger window as Maeve drove. “I’m sure I can feed here, if I have to. I’ll nip out for a few hours…”

Maeve’s fists tightened on the steering wheel as she felt an irrational pulse of anger.

“You’ll do no such thing,” she blurted, wondering why in the hell she cared. Her next words were even more astonishing. “If you feed from anyone, you’ll feed from me.”

Ryu shot her a startled look. “Thank you for offering, but you don’t want that…”

Maeve took a deep breath. “I may not want it, but it’s what we’ll have to do. I’m your partner. I won’t have you wandering around, preying off other people when you’re weak.”

“Are you protecting me or protecting them?” he asked, his lips twisting in a wry smile.

“Both.” She pulled into the parking garage and headed toward the back. It was mostly empty, which was good. She parked in the emptiest place she could, shutting the car off but leaving the keys in the ignition.

“We’ll do it here,” she told him, holding her wrist to his mouth. “Bottoms up, and all that.”

He grabbed her hand. “Whoa, slow down. We’re in a parking garage. We do have a room…”

“I know,” she interrupted. How did he make her sound so prim? “But I’ve heard…I’ve heard that you people’s bites aren’t always painful.”

And our room has a very comfortable, very large bed, she thought, knowing she may as well have said it out loud. That thought lay between them, an invitation wanting to be opened.

He kept hold of her hand, his thumb tracing over her pulse at her wrist. “They’re not,” he said, staring down at her blue, blue veins. “Always painful, that is.” He moved his gaze from her wrist to meet her eyes. “But the bite that killed your mother…that was painful, wasn’t it?”

Maeve took a deep breath. She knew it was coming. Ryu wasn’t stupid, and they had to get this out of the way.

“Yes. It was very painful. She died screaming. But it wasn’t...it wasn’t a baobhan sith. I don’t know what killed her. Just something with teeth.”

“A lot of us have teeth,” he acknowledged. “Look, I really don’t expect you to do this, Maeve. And I don’t want you to, if it stirs up memories.”

“Those memories are always stirred. I set up my life so they would be, working for the Initiative and everything. That’s what I learned from Pai and her shawl. I’ve let myself be haunted and that has to end.”

“And you think my biting you…”

“Might help that, yes.”

“I still don’t know.”

“Hey,” she said, using the hand he held to grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling him toward her. “If my partner were hungry or thirsty, I’d get him food or water. If you were hurt, I’d do CPR. Instead, you’re supernatural, and you need some blood. Hell, if you were human and you got shot and we were compatible, I would donate my blood. It’s not that different.”

Of course, she knew it was different. Tubes and needles would separate them, in the case of a transfusion. This was far more intimate. And yet equally necessary, as much for her as for him.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he kept his eyes on hers as he lowered his mouth to her wrist. She let go of his shirt, turning her veins toward his mouth. She tensed, making a fist with that hand, but he moved his free hand to smooth out her fingers with a gentle touch. And when she felt his mouth close on her skin and his fangs sink deep, there was anything but pain.

“Oh my,” Maeve said, stifling a groan as a thrill like that of a dozen orgasms rolled up her spine. Then the pleasure dialed back to a faint buzzing rather than the lightning strike it had been. But the memory of that pleasure lingered in limbs gone heavy, in nipples that tingled and hardened, in panties gone damp. She’d shut her eyes at the first bite, but now she opened them to see his own eyes half-closed, heavy-lidded with pleasure. That sent another pulse of pleasure, one that had nothing to do with magic, flooding through her.

When Ryu finished, he licked her wrist, healing the wounds. Then he blew her skin dry, causing her to shiver. His kept his eyes on her wrist and his voice was rough when he spoke.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I used a little too much juice there, in the beginning.”

“It’s okay,” she said, praying she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt. “It certainly didn’t hurt or anything.”

“Good.” His thumb traced over her healed wrists, caressing her veins.

“Did that…did that help?”

He nodded. “Oh, yes. Your blood is surprisingly strong. Really quite strong.”

“Oh. Good.”

“And we’re okay?” he asked, still holding her hand but finally meeting her gaze.

“Yes,” she replied. “We’re okay. Partner.” She pulled her hand away, needing to dial down the tension in the car. “Now, on a scale of one to one hundred, how pissed off do you think the Gold Court Queens are going to be?”

“Really, really pissed,” Ryu said, laughing as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. “They probably knew what Pai was, even if they didn’t share that intel with their people. The Alfar tend to indulge anything ancient like that. And I’m sure they didn’t think I’d recognize Pai’s true nature and send for the shears.”

“How did you know what she was?”

“Coincidentally, we had a series of victims in Boston about thirty-five years ago that resembled those we saw at the Gold Court. One of my deputies, a very smart satyr named Caleb, threw out a Moiroi as a possible suspect. It turned out to be something else entirely, but that possibility stuck in my head.”

“Well, excellent work, partner. Speaking of which, we should get back to work. Let’s take the day to make sure there aren’t any more chevron-patterned scarves lying around waiting to ambush people. Then we can head back tonight to the Court to tell them the good news. We can get them signed up for the Initiative as soon as possible.” Maeve’s fingers twitched where they lay on the steering wheel, as if typing up imaginary forms. “I’m going to love filing that paperwork.”

Ryu pursed his lips, clearly speculating. “I have another idea. Let’s not check out, and spend the day shopping…for evil scarves, of course, and then hit some wineries tonight. We are in Napa.”

Maeve wanted to tell him no. But now she knew her refusal wasn’t about not trusting him, but about trusting herself around those golden eyes and that dark, tousled hair, not to mention those fangs that could literally make her swoon with pleasure at their touch.

And at his humor, his bravery, his kindness.

You are not falling for your partner. Your vampire partner, she told herself. And while “vampire” no longer held the sting it used to, “partner” had taken on a lot more weight. They really did work well together.

“Okay,” she said. “But let’s see if they have a second room, now that we’re not undercover. It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said, hastily. “I just feel bad, making you sleep on the floor.”

And I don’t trust myself.

“No problem,” he agreed. She almost wished he’d argued. “I’ll call about the room while you drive. We might as well start the shopping now, if you’re ready?”

“Absolutely.” She started the car, glancing over at him as he poked at his cell phone and talked with the hotel concierge. He looked happy and replete, and it made her feel funny to think that her blood was coursing through his body.

And thinking about Ryu’s body made her feel even funnier.

This is going to be complicated, she realized, almost wishing she could go back to hating him. At least that was simple.

But as Maeve pulled out of the parking garage and headed back toward the main street, she knew a thousand things still separated her from her partner. His long life, his magic, their working relationship, the fact they came from two different worlds. They would never be together, and fantasizing would only complicate things. She could appreciate him, enjoy his company and their working relationship, without pursuing anything else.

That was what she told herself as she drove them to their first destination. In fact, she was so busy rationalizing everything that she never saw how Ryu watched her. The look of hunger and appreciation and calculation…the intense gaze of a baobhan sith and a man for a woman he desired.

Maeve would have realized, then, that things were about to become very, very complicated, indeed.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nicole D. Peeler writes urban fantasy for Orbit Books and, in her spare time, is an associate professor at Seton Hill University, where she co-directs their MFA in Writing Popular Fiction. Having recently finished the final book of her award-winning Jane True series, she is looking forward to the upcoming publication of Jinn and Juice, the first book in a series about a cursed jinni living in Pittsburgh. Nicole also lives in Pittsburgh, although she’s neither cursed nor a jinni. You can find out more about her at http://nicolepeeler.com.

BOOKS BY AUTHOR

Jinn and Juice

Jane True Series (in series order)

Tempest Rising

Tracking the Tempest

Tempest's Legacy

Eye of the Tempest

Tempest's Fury

Tempest Reborn

And don't forget her Sookieverse Story, in Dead But Not Forgotten!

Turn the page for an excerpt from Nicole Peeler’s newest book JINN AND JUICE!

Trip hissed at me as I leapt over her and Trap. The twin spider-wraiths were currently conjoined at the waist, their legs splaying around them as they prepared for their act.

I didn't respond, since I was in fully panicked-fleeing mode. Trip and Trap, after all, couldn't help me. Neither could Trey, or Big Bertha, or Charlie or any of my other friends. Not unless they ripped that fucking Magi's tongue out before he could speak. For Magi he certainly was, his eyes Flaring to my Fire.

I heard crashing behind me as Trap cried out. "No humans backstage!"

The Magi ignored the spider-wraiths, his footsteps closing in behind me. But he hadn't Called yet, and I used my Fire to propel me forward, pushing me toward Purgatory's stage entrance and the street. There, I could hopefully put enough distance between me and the Magi for Pittsburgh's steel-stained environment to help me hide.

The cool spring air hit all my bare skin like a slap as I plunged into the night, cutting right down the alley. It was a wide, empty East Liberty alley, giving me plenty of room to run. But the guy chasing me was fast, and his hand managed to catch my elbow, twirling me around to face his glowing eyes. He stared at me in wonder for a split second and I thought I might just have time to kick him in the balls before he could speak.

But it was too late.

“Hatenach farat a si.” I See you, he whispered haltingly, in a language older than humanity. Older than time. A language of smoke and fire; a language of magic. The language of the being that made me what I am today and that had the power to make me a slave.

Fuck if I was ever going to be a slave again.

With a harsh cry, I launched myself at the man, shifting my nails into long, wicked talons. A look of surprise twisted his features, but he had good reflexes. He threw himself out of my way with a neat somersault that had him back on his feet, his fists raised as he balanced on the balls of his feet—the stance of an experienced boxer.

I lunged at him again, calling my Fire to flame around me. I hoped to intimidate him even if a jinni’s black flames wouldn't burn a Magi. His eyes grew even wider at the sight, but he didn't budge. So I slashed at him again with my talons, but he got under my guard and I overextended badly, cursing my inability to use my strongest weapon even as I fell.

I landed hard on the ground, my breath knocked out of my lungs. He kicked away my hands and jumped on top of me. Concentrating on the words, he opened his mouth to speak. Before he could get out the rest of the spell, I struck upward with both of my hands bent, the heels of my palm striking him in the chin.

His eyes, already glowing in reaction to my presence, flared brighter in the darkness, causing my anger to blaze with them.

“Magi,” I hissed, and I hit him again. This time, he caught my wrists, his hands like vices. Now that he had me on the ground, his bigger size gave him the advantage.

At least for those few seconds.

It was his turn to hiss as suddenly, instead of a tiny Jasmine-stripper lookalike, I blossomed into obesity. My fat hips knocked his thighs open, pushing him off balance. I heaved myself over, morphing into a taller, more muscular version of me as I did so.

"Why don't you take on someone your own size?" I growled, as I dove for him.

In retrospect, I should have taken the fight slower. I was just so pissed and so panicked. I hadn't heard anyone with those eyes speak that language in a century—not since I'd escaped Europe for the New World, and found refuge in steel-stained Pittsburgh. Recognizing a true, initiated Magi, my crazy inner she-bear emerged, gibbering about never being taken alive. If I had any thoughts at all it was that my sense of self-preservation would give me an edge. I was fighting for my life, after all, while this guy was just a jerk trying to bind a jinni.

Unfortunately, he didn’t fight like a jerk; he fought like a cornered wolverine. He fought like he was the one who'd be enslaved if he lost this match. He fought like his life depended on it. Which, considering the fact I was intent on killing him, I guess it did.

He fought better than me.

I was hitting him, hard, but I'd lost my talons shifting to a bigger size. unBound meant I was far less powerful, even with my unusual access to all of Pittsburgh’s corrupted magic swirling at my feat. And now that I was unarmed, he wasn't hitting back, just using his big body to deflect the majority of my blows. Until I overextended a kick.

His own booted foot lashed out, knocking my leg out from under me. I was on the ground again and this time he didn't underestimate my abilities.

He pinned me down with all of his weight, his knees pressing painfully into my thighs and his chest blanketing mine, his hands holding down my wrists. His face was inches from me, but his features were entirely obscured by the bright glow of his Flaring eyes.

Not me, my brain howled. Not when I’m so close to being free. I started to shift again in a last, desperate attempt. But before I could change, he'd spoken.

It was the second part of the spell that was the real bitch. And I was too late to stop him.

“Te vash anuk a si,” he chanted over and over. I Call you. His pronunciation grew more confident with every repetition. The harsh sibilance of the language of the jinn reached toward me, wrapping around my soul. I cried out, but the spell blanketed me, muting my powers. I stopped mid-shift, my power whoomping out, leaving me beneath him in my own small form.

My wide brown eyes stared up at him, begging him silently to stop, not to say the last bit. The bit that made me his; that would make me do his bidding; that would make me a slave until either he let me go or died.

He spoke the words.

"Hatenoi faroush a mi." I Bind you.

And just like that, I was caught. Bound to a human. Again.

There were no lights or sounds or other magical occurrences, but we both felt it. I was his. He stared at me with eyes gone wide with shock, his flare fading as his magic accepted my acquiescence.

He was my master.

"Göt.” I muttered. Then I switched to English, so he’d understand.

“Asshole."