Hell's Menagerie (6 page)

“Looks like
ash
has just moved uptown,” Liz said on a resigned breath.

Hank dropped to his haunches next to me and took in this new information. A steel curtain slid over his features. Hank
always
showed his emotions. And with the realization of what we were seeing, ash making its way from Underground Atlanta into a midtown private school, Hank should've been cursing or hitting something by now. I studied him intently and didn't miss the telltale flex of his jaw before he stood. Yeah, something was definitely up.

“Mom! Mom, what's going on?” Emma's terrified voice echoed from the hallway.

Motherhood and work. Usually I had no trouble keeping the two separated, but this time the lines were seriously blurred. “Damn it.” I closed my eyes for a second, hating that they had crossed, hating that they'd even come close. I drew in a deep breath and switched gears from detective to mom. “Hold on a sec,” I told Hank and Liz and then walked calmly into the hallway, mentally preparing myself.

Seeing her standing there in her uniform, all tall and thin, approaching twelve way too fast, it suddenly hit me how much Emma had grown in the last year. A rush of sad realization squeezed my chest. Time was racing by where my daughter was concerned. She pressed against the police tape, which had gone up while we were inside, and pushed against the school security officer. He held her back with a hand on her shoulder. My hand went to the service weapon on my hip. An automatic gesture. I didn't intend to use it, but the guy had better get his paws off my kid.

“Hey.” I placed my hand on his left shoulder, probably harder than I should have. “I got it.”

He hesitated. He might be the big guy here at school, but he knew not to mess with an ITF agent. Our training and selection process had become legendary. Not many people could look a hellhound in the eye and know how to defeat it. We'd been trained to face every being and beast from both worlds, and we all had the scars and nightmares to prove it.

“Ma'am.” He nodded, stepping back.

I turned to my daughter, lowering my voice. “What are you doing out of class?” I had to show my confident side, let her know everything would be all right. But my heart pounded. She was highly intuitive and knew me better than anyone. I reached out to smooth the wavy brown bangs behind her ear. She always wore a ponytail to school—couldn't convince her to do anything different.

She did a quick wave with her wooden bathroom pass. “Mom,” she began in an I'm-not-a-stupid-kid-I-know-what's-going-on tone, “they told us to stay in class, that something happened with a student, but I saw you and Hank from the window and said I had to go.” She leaned close, her big brown eyes turning wide and glassy. “Amanda was supposed to be my lab buddy today, but she never showed.” Her nostrils flared and tears rose to the surface. “It's not her, is it?”

I opened my mouth to answer at the same moment the paramedics burst through the front door and raced down the hall. Great. I turned back to her. Two lines of tears trailed down her cheeks. Her bottom lip trembled, tugging hard on my protective instincts.

“Oh, God. I knew it!” There was a hint of accusation in her tone, as though I somehow had control over what had happened.

“Oh, baby.” I pulled her close, hugging her tight and smoothing back her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of Cherry Blast shampoo. She was too young to know this kind of worry and fear. But Emma was a strong kid. She'd had to fly by the seat of her pants right along with me when I became a mother at nineteen, and she'd handled
that
learning curve like a champ. And she'd been able to get through the divorce with way more strength and understanding than me.

We'd get through this. And I damned sure as hell was going to find out who was flooding the city with
ash
. The optimistic part of me wanted to believe there was another explanation for Amanda's condition, that somehow it was just a medical issue. But I knew it was a silly hope. No medical problems I knew of turned your eyes into something out of
The Exorcist
. How in the hell had it spread so quickly?

“It'll be all right, kiddo.” I leaned back and gazed down at her, giving her my most reassuring smile. She was the one innocent, good thing in my world. And I intended to keep it that way. “Amanda will make it, you'll see. She's not hurt, not bleeding; she's just asleep and we can't figure out why.”

I kissed her forehead, pausing there for a moment to breathe in her scent again. No one else could give me that kind of immediate peace. She grounded me, kept me always looking forward and never back. Kept me from lingering too long on all the evil things I'd witnessed over my career and in my past. I straightened and drew in a deep, cleansing breath, then looked her straight in the eye. “But we'll fix this, I promise. Okay?”

Her mouth dropped open. One hand went to her hip. “Okay? That's it?
Okay?
Like I'm eight years old or something?” Her chin lifted a notch, and her eyes glinted in opposition. “It's not okay. I want to see her.”

“You know I couldn't let you, even if I wanted to,
which
I don't.”

“Well, I'm not leaving,” she said, “until I see her.” Attitude poured off her in maddening waves that, in any other circumstance, would've riled me. But the challenging stance and the belligerent cock to her head couldn't hide her fear. She was like a wounded puppy—scared to death, too small to defend itself, yet baring its teeth anyway.

I took her shoulders and turned her around to face the way she'd come. “There's not a thing you can do right now. Let me do my job, okay? We'll talk tonight.”

Her chin didn't drop, but her tone did. “Fine.”

I watched her shuffle down the hall, wanting nothing more than to run to her and give her one more hug, but I couldn't. I had to make good on my promise. She stopped at her classroom door and glanced back at me, the uniform reminding me of the first time she wore it in third grade. So young then. So young now. Even from that distance, I saw her vulnerable look and the deep sigh that escaped her lips.

“She's hurting,” Hank observed quietly, coming to stand beside me as Emma went inside her classroom.

“Yeah, I don't need super senses to figure that out.” I marched away from him, down the hall in the opposite direction, needing some air before I totally lost it.

Usually on cases, I had no trouble remaining distant and methodical. Don't get close, and you don't lose your objectivity.
And you don't get yourself beaten to death running down a back alley after a pissed-off ghoul before your partner gets there to back you up.
I'd learned my lesson. And I hadn't made a mistake like that again.

I couldn't make one now.

The unmistakable scent of autumn, of changing leaves and cool soil, rode on a leisurely breeze, helping to calm my emotions as I stepped into the courtyard where the kids often ate lunch on nice days like this.

I turned my face to the warm sunlight, letting my eyelids close. The voices on my radio drifted into the background, along with the birds in the courtyard and the sound of cars on the side street beyond the high stone walls that surrounded the school grounds.

Just a moment's peace was all I was after, but as my mind drifted all I could think about was the irony. I busted my ass every day to afford the best and safest school for Emma, to pay for everything else myself and use Will's child support solely for her education.

Kindergarten through twelfth grade, Hope Ridge was one of the best private schools in Atlanta. And despite all that, I couldn't protect her from the harsh realities of life. I knew what it was like to be a victim, and I knew what it was like to love a victim, to feel helpless and lost. Crime happened anywhere and in the safest places. It was inevitable. But still, part of me had been convinced that if I worked hard enough, somehow my child would be exempt.

The mention of Amanda's name over the radio interrupted my thoughts. They were taking her to Grady Memorial Hospital. All her vital signs were normal, except her heartbeat. She didn't appear to be worsening.

Ash
had hit the market so fast, just in the last few weeks, that we still didn't know what we were dealing with. Chemically engineered? An airborne agent? An ingested substance from Elysia or Charbydon? There were so many mysterious things brought into the country with the influx of our new
neighbors
. I scrubbed my face with both hands, feeling overwhelmed. Protecting citizens was hard enough, and lately, as we mingled more and more with the off-worlders, it felt as though we were patrolling blind.

At least I had Hank.

And he knew way more than he let on. I turned and headed back into the building, steeling my resolve. He'd spill his alien guts one way or another.

The soles of my black boots echoed in the empty space as I marched down the hall. Ahead, Hank was speaking to the school superintendent and Principal Anton. He pacified their fears. I could see it in their faces, the way they breathed relief and the gratitude they showed as they shook his hand.

Hank turned to me as I approached. I didn't halt my stride, just grabbed his thick bicep and propelled him down the hall with me.

“Whoa, I know you like to manhandle me and all, but this should probably wait until we're alone.”

“Shut up, Hank.”

I shoved open the front door, stepping out into the bright sunshine only to run into a large group of reporters. Perfect.

“Is it true the victim is Cassius Mott's daughter?”

“Is she like all the others? Is it
ash
?”

“Do you have any leads on what the drug is exactly?”

“Will you bring in a medium to help with the investigation?”

“Hey, aren't you that cop who died a few months back?”

Sometimes, I hated reporters. Especially the ones with memories like elephants.

“C'mon! Back off!” Hank flung out his arms, trying to shield me.

We pushed and elbowed our way to the car parked out front. I slipped behind the wheel and waited for Hank to get in. Once his door was shut, I drove around the corner and down one block, where I stopped the car at the curb to question him.

“Okay, spill.”

He drew one leg in and propped his arm on the window ledge, obviously in tune with my meaning. “I was going to tell you before the whole Amanda thing . . . I talked to the ER doc from Grady. Some of the tests came back from the first rash of vics. It's definitely an off-world substance. Most likely in powder form since they found some residue in the nostrils and lungs of the two who didn't make it. The effects are almost instantaneous. The few who have woken up from the coma are dying. Once it leaves their system, their bodies begin to shut down.” He sighed deeply, shaking his head and staring out the front windshield. “They're doing more tests. So far, no other cities have reported any cases, and security has been increased at all the off-world gates.”

“So it started here in Atlanta. It came through our gate.”

Figured. Many of the new crimes and problems stemmed from trafficking in off-world items. Spellmongers from Elysia and Charbydon had become a big problem, selling all kinds of illegal concoctions and substances. Soul bartering, a gigantic no-no, still occurred in dark alleys and private residences. And none of it would change unless we all suddenly became happy and content with ourselves and our lives. Fat chance of that. Any way to get a leg up, illegal or otherwise, was here to stay.

“We need to figure out where it's coming from. If it's leaking into other schools . . .” My voice broke. “You're a siren,” I said, refocusing. “Nothing about this seems familiar, like anything you've come across before?” I was grasping at straws. We'd had an entire off-world team on this for the last week and no one seemed to know anything.

“The condition on the eyes. The guys at the station have considered it but don't seem to think it's related. Could be a long shot . . .” Hank cleared his throat and I caught a split-second squirm. I turned in the seat, more curious than ever. He spared me a dry glance and then looked straight ahead. “The condition happens naturally when some Elysians get, you know, excited.”

“Excited about wha— Oh. Oh!
That
kind of excited. Really?”

“Really. Look,” he said, frowning, “it doesn't happen with sirens, but I've seen it with others. It's like an effect of euphoria, happens when they perform certain ritual dances or prayers, or they . . . you know . . .”

“Got it.” I held up both hands, putting an immediate halt to any mention of sex. Definitely not something I wanted to discuss with a drop-dead gorgeous siren with all the grace and power of a lion. That was a personal boundary I promised myself long ago I'd never cross. If I did, it would be way too easy to start wanting something I couldn't—and shouldn't—have. Hank was not only my partner but one of my best friends. Not something I wanted to mess with. “Have you seen this recently?” I asked, wishing I'd rolled down my window for some air.

“I'm never gonna hear the end of this, am I?” He didn't wait for an answer. Instead he said on an irritated breath, “In Underground.”

“What place in Underground?” I pressed.

“Helios Alley. The Bath House.”

No surprise. Helios Alley catered to off-worlders, Elysians to be exact. Restaurants, clubs, shops, you name it. Two streets over was Solomon Street—Charbydon territory. And the street in between was Mercy Street, a mix of everything—magic shops, psychics, anything supernatural and you'd find it there, legal or not.

If we'd learn anything about
ash
, it'd be in Underground.

My first reaction was to laugh, which I did, but then I saw he wasn't exactly laughing with me. “Are you serious? The Bath House? I didn't take you for a nudist.”