hidden talents

Emma Holly

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Copyright 2011 Emma Holly. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission of the author.

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This story is a work of fiction and should be treated as such. It includes sexually explicit content which is only appropriate for adults - and not every adult at that. Those who are offended by more adventurous depictions of sexuality or frank language possibly shouldn"t read it. Literary license has been taken in this book. It is not intended to be a sexual manual. Any resemblance to actual places, events, or persons living or dead is either fictitious or coincidental. That said, the author hopes you enjoy this tale!

cover photo: phillyphotog, phildate

ISBN-10: 0983540225

ISBN-13: 978-0-9835402-2-9

Dusk settled over the city of Resurrection like a blanket of bad news.

That’s me
, Ari thought, flexing her right fist beside her hip.
Bad news with a
capital B
.

This wasn"t just whistling in the dark. Ari had been bad news to some people in her life. To her parents. To every teacher she"d had in high school.
You’ll come
to no good
, they"d threatened, and she couldn"t swear they"d been wrong.

Certainly, she hadn"t turned out to be a blessing to Maxwell or Sarah. Because of her, Max was in the hospital with too many broken bones in his arms to count, and Sarah was God knew where. But at least Ari was trying to change that. At least she was trying to be bad news to people who deserved it.

To her dismay, Resurrection, NY wasn"t what she"d been led to believe when she"d looked it up on the internet.

She stood on the crest of a weedy hill outside the metropolis, her presence hidden by the deeper shadow of a highway overpass. She"d been expecting a down-on-its-luck backwater. Storefronts stuck in the seventies. Maybe a real town square and a civil war battlefield. Instead, she found an actual cityscape. The skyline wasn"t Manhattan tall, more like Kansas City. Few buildings looked brand new, but many were substantial. They formed a grid of streets and parkland whose core had to encompass at least five miles. This was definitely more than a backwater. Resurrection reminded her of city photos from the early decades of the last century, when
skyscraper
meant something exciting. What could have been a twin to the Chrysler Building stuck up from the center of downtown, reigning over its brethren.

Finding the Eunuch among all that was going to take some doing.

You have to find him
, she told her sinking stomach. If she didn"t, she and her very small gang of peeps would be looking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives. At twenty-six and thankfully still counting, Ari had endured more than enough hiding. She was stronger now. She"d been
practicing
. Henry Blackwater, aka, the Eunuch, wouldn"t know what hit him.

“Right,” she said sarcastically to herself. She"d be lucky if she got out of here alive.

But faint heart never vanquished fair villain. Ari knew she"d been born the way she was for a reason. Maybe here, maybe soon, she"d find out what that reason was.

No one messed with people who belonged to Adam Santini. Unless, of

course, the person messing with the person was also Adam"s relative.

“You. Ate. My. Beignets.” To emphasize his point, Adam"s irate cousin,

Tony Lupone, was bashing his brother"s head against the squad room floor.

Since Rick"s skull was made of sterner stuff than the linoleum, he laughed between winces. “What sort of cop -
ow
- eats beignets anyway?”

“Your faggot brother cop, that"s who. Your pink-shirted faggot brother cop who"s whupping your butt right now.”

Amused by their exchange, Adam leaned back against Tony"s cluttered desk.

The precinct"s squad room was a semi-bunker in the basement. A mix of ancient file cabinets and desks were balanced by some very revved-up technology. Grimy electrum grates on the windows protected them, more or less, from things that went bump in the night outside. The hodgepodge suited the men who manned it better than most workplaces could. Rough-edged but smart was the werewolf way. At the moment, Tony was so rough-edged his eyes glowed amber in his flushed face. His big brother could have defended himself better than he was, if it weren"t for his rule against hitting his siblings.

“Ow! Lou!” he complained to Adam. “You"re supposed to be my best friend.

Aren"t you going to call off this squirt?”

“You"re the one who ate his fancy donuts.”

“All dozen of them!” Tony snarled, his grievance renewed. “I brought them in to share.”

“Shit,” said long-haired Nate Rivera, Adam"s other cousin, once removed.

“Now
I
want to whup you.”

Considering even-tempered Nate was growling, Adam judged it time to end the wrestling match. “All right, you two. Enough. Rick, I"m docking your next paycheck for the price of his beignets. Dana, if you"d be so kind, raid the coffee fund and pick up another batch for tomorrow night.”

“None of which you"re going to enjoy, Mister Pig!” Panting from the

exertion of trying to give his brother a concussion, Tony rose and pointed angrily down at him. “You can choke on your damned donuts.”

Wisely, Rick remained where he was while his little brother stalked back to the break room, where his heinous crime had been discovered. The dress code for the detectives was casual. Rick"s gray RPD T-shirt was rucked way up his six-pack abs. His concave stomach didn"t betray his gluttony. His fast werewolf metabolism saw to that.

“My head,” Rick moaned, still laughing. “Come on, cuz. Give your beta a hand up.”

Adam sighed and obliged. None of his wolves were small, but Rick was six four and all muscle. Even with supe strength, Adam grunted to haul him up.

“Some second you are. You had to know this would cause trouble.”

“I couldn"t help myself. The box smelled so good. Plus, he was totally

obnoxious about bringing them in for everyone.”

“So you knew you were stealing food from my mouth?” Nate interjected, not looking up from his paperwork. “Not cool.”

“He"s sucking up. Ever since he came out, he"s been -” Rick snapped his muzzle shut, but it was too late.

“Uh-huh,” Nate said in his dry laid back way. He"d spun around in his

squeaky rolling chair to face Rick. “Ever since he came out, your brother stopped being a butch-ass prick. In fact, ever since he came out, he"s been the nicest wolf around here. You don"t like that "cause you"re used to being everyone"s favorite.”

“Crap.” The way Rick rubbed the back of his neck said he knew he was in the wrong. Being Rick, he couldn"t stay dejected long. A grin flashed across his handsome olive-skinned face. “Can"t I still be everyone"s favorite? Do I have to turn gay too?”

“I don"t know,” Nate said, returning to his work. “So far only gay boys bring us good breakfasts.”

Seeing Rick"s private wince, Adam patted his back and rubbed. Touchy-feely creatures that werewolves were, the contact calmed both of them. He knew Rick was still working on accepting his little brother"s big announcement. Werewolves were some of the most macho supes in Resurrection, a city that had plenty to choose from. Adam knew Rick loved his brother just as much as before. He suspected Rick was mostly worried Tony would end up hurt. Being responsible for policing America"s only supernatural-friendly town made the wolves enough of a target. Turning out to be gay on top of that was as good as taping a target onto your back.

“Tony will be all right,” Adam assured his friend. “Everyone here is

adjusting to the new him.”

Rick rubbed his neck once more and let his hand drop. Worry pinched his dark gold eyes when they met Adam"s. “They"re pack. They have to love him.”

Adam didn"t believe this but wasn"t in the mood to argue. Plenty of folks endowed being pack with mystical benefits. Some were real of course, but as alpha, Adam wasn"t comfortable relying on magic to cement his authority. He thought it best to actually
be
a competent leader.

“Boss,” Dana their dispatcher said. The young woman had her own corner of the squad room. Apart from its cubby walls, it was open. Banks of sleek computers surrounded her, each one monitoring different sectors of the city. The sole member of the squad who wasn"t a relative, Dana was the most superstitious wolf Adam had ever met. Anti-hex graffiti scrawled across her work surfaces, the warding so thick he couldn"t tell one symbol from another. How they worked like that was beyond him. Despite the quirk, Adam took her instincts seriously. Right then, she didn"t look happy. Her silver dreamcatcher earrings were trembling.

“Boss, we"ve got a suspected M without L in the abandoned tire store on Twenty-Fourth.”

M without L
referred to the use of magic without a license. Adam"s hackles rose. Jesus, he hated those. “Who"s reporting the incident?”

“Gargoyle on the Hampton House Hotel.” She touched her headset and

listened. “He says it"s a Level Four.”

Adrenaline surged inside him, making his palms tingle. Gargoyles were

rarely wrong about magical infractions. While the strength levels went up to eight, four was nothing to sneeze at. Thumb and finger to his mouth, Adam blew a piercing whistle to get his men"s attention.

“Suit up,” he said. “We"ve got a probable ML on Twenty-Fourth.”

“Don"t forget your earpieces,” Dana added. “I"ll help coordinate from here.”

Adam"s men were already loping to the weapons room. “Load for bear,” he said as he followed them. “We don"t know what we"re in for.”

∞

Resurrection, New York couldn"t have existed without the fae. For nearly two hundred years, it had sat on an outfolded pocket of the fae"s other-dimensional homeland,
in
the human world but only visible to a special few.

Those who wandered in from Outside found it less alien than might be

expected. The founding faeries had used the Manhattan of the 1800s as their architectural crib sheet. Since then, the bigger apple had continued to provide inspiration. Immigrants especially liked to recreate pieces of their native land.

Resurrection had its own Fifth Avenue and Macy"s, its own subway and

museums. Little Italy still flourished here, though - sadly - its theater district was as moribund as its role model. Adam was familiar with the theories that Resurrection was an experiment, created to see if human and fae could live peaceably as in days of old. Whether this was the reason for its existence, he couldn"t say.

The only fae he knew were exceptionally tight-lipped.

Whatever their motives, Resurrection had become a haven for humans with a trait or two extra. Shapechangers of every ilk thrived here. Vamps were tolerated as long as they behaved themselves. The same was true of demons and other Dims: visitors from alternate dimensions who entered through the portals. If a being could get along, it could stay. If it couldn"t, it had to go. And if the visitors didn"t want to go, Adam and the rest of the RPD were just the folks to make sure they went anyway.

The job fit Adam better than his combat boots, and those boots fit him pretty good. He loved keeping order, protecting the vulnerable, kicking butt and cracking skulls as required. The only duty he didn"t like was apprehending rogue Talents. Sorcerers were trained at least, and demons who went dark side were generally predictable. Talents were the wild cards in an already dangerous deck.

Their power was raw, depending not on spells but on how much energy they could channel. That amount could be a trickle or a mother-effing hell of a lot.

The previous year, a Level Seven Talent who"d gotten stoned on faerie-laced angel dust had taken down the six-lane Washington Street Bridge. Just popped it off its piers and let it drop in the North River. If the bridge"s gargoyles hadn"t swooped in to save what cars they could, the loss of life would have been astronomical. Adam still had nightmares about talking the tripping Talent into surrendering. If tonight"s incident ran along similar lines, he might need a vacation.

Along with the rest of his team, Adam clutched the leather sway-strap above his head. Nate was driving the black response van because no one else dared claim the wheel from the ponytailed Latino. They all wore body armor and helmets, plus an assortment of protective charms. Their rifles leaned against the long side benches between their knees. The guns could fire a range of ammo, both conventional and spelled. Rick, who had a knack for effective prayer, was quietly calling on the precinct"s personal guardian angel. Sometimes this worked and sometimes it didn"t, but even the atheists among them figured better safe than sorry.