Max shakes his head. “Mark hasn’t completed the spell.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because every caster in the Nimrodian line must create their ownnewshifter species before they gain full access to thefamily’s trust. A multibillion-dollar trust, Sam.Illuminati-level money.If Mark had finished the spell, he wouldn’t be living in a modest house in Brea.”
“Fair point.”
“Though from every indication, Mark is likely already a dinosaur shifter—and his bite would create more. Sam… we’re living in a world with dinosaurs now.”
I sigh. “Fantastic.”
“He’ll feel compelled to make more. It’s part of the requirement. Southern California won’t be safe until he’s satisfied... and until he’s created dozens more like him.”
“How do we stop him?”
“Silver, of course, like with any other shifter.”
“How do you know so much about the Nimrodian line?” I ask.
“Would you like the easy answer or the long answer?”
“Easy, for now.”
“My family knew his family. I, too, come from an ancient bloodline, though mine trace themselves to the Nephilim. However, I have rejected all of my family’s twisted demands. My mother did not. It is why she had such great power, and why I’m still pretty good at this magic stuff...”
Chapter Sixteen
After leaving the Occult Reading Room, I teleport back to Mark’s home and return the book to its proper space.
“Behave,” I whisper to it. It grunts in response.
I’d made a deal with Max that once this case is completed, I would fetch him the book so that he could store it safely in the Occult Library.
I teleport again... this time to the spare room of the house across the street and wait at the window. There, I have a clean, unbroken view of Mark’s front door, front windows, and side gate.
The moon has sunk a little lower now; it’s just after two a.m. Still no car in the driveway. I wait and keep my eyes open.
My vampiric hearing picks up the distant hiss of a sprinkler system two blocks over. I hear the rustle of a raccoon digging through someone’s garbage, and the soft, rhythmic breathing of a neighbor’s dog asleep in its outdoor kennel. But nothing from Mark’s house.
At least, not until 4:07 a.m.
That’s when his sedan pulls into the driveway, where the vehicle idles for a moment before the driver’s side door opens. He kills the engine and steps out into the morning air, his narrow frame silhouetted in the headlights. He does something next. He sniffs the air like an animal. Uh oh. That might be the one sense that I can’t avoid, even sitting in a room with a closed window from across the street. Supernaturals are weird and are given super strong senses for a reason. Probably to help us live for a super long time. How good Mark’s sense of smell is, I haven’t a clue, but I’m leaning toward pretty good when he turns and looks up at me. He stares for a moment. I don’t dare move a muscle, even though I’m barely looking through a crack in thewindow. He seems to scowl, then shakes his head, like he can’t believe what his senses are giving him.
He turns away. Deep shadows fill his eye sockets, and his shoulders sag as if he’s carrying the weight of the world. He looks tired (worn thin, even) but he still grips that long wooden case. It seems heavier now, since he’s using both hands and cradling it like it’s precious cargo.
Whoa, I see it now: his clothing is torn. There’s also fresh blood down the side of his neck and on his upper back, all of which is leaking through his clothing. After a quick look around, he turns and heads inside, where he closes the door behind him. The porch light turns on... and just like that, he’s gone.
A light turns on deeper in the house. If I had to guess, it’s the makeshift alchemy lab. He’s gone to work again... on something. What, exactly, I don’t know. Max seems to think Mark had successfully completed the shifting spell. If so, what’s he doing now?
I could always teleport in there and make him tell me.
Of course, I’ve never fought a raptor shifter before, if that, in fact, is what he is. If so, I would be in for a helluva fight. The house stays quiet for the next twenty minutes. No lights turning on, no voices, no chanting, no motion to speak of. No dinosaurs.
Whatever he brought home, he’s hiding it or processing it in the back room alchemical lab.
I stay put until 5:00 a.m. Then, with a quiet sigh, I teleport back to my home. My bedroom is dark and familiar. I strip off my costume, toss it on the floor, don my cozy sweats and slip into bed. Though I’m not tired, it has been a long night.
What are you doing, Mr. Mark? Well, I’ll find out tomorrow, somehow, someway. For now, I pull the comforter over my shoulders, close my eyes, and drift into a dreamless sleep.
