Lulu’s eyes went flat. She refused to use her own magic, despite her parents being two of the most powerful sorcerers in the country. Her mother had overcome an addiction to black magic, but not before wreaking havoc on Chicago. My mother, Sentinel of Chicago’s Cadogan House of vampires, had had to deal with it. As a result, Lulu tried to avoid supernatural drama.
“Why magic?”
“Salt circle.”
“Ah.” She nodded and began to pick up the pieces of cardboard. “You should talk to Petra.”
“I will,” I said. Petra was also an associate Ombud, insatiably curious about all things supernatural, and an aeromancer in her own right.
“I’ll let you know if I’m going to be late,” I told Lulu. “Or not at all.”
“If you’re talking about sex, I don’t need the details.” She paused. “Unless they’re exceptionally good ones.”
“They usually are,” I said with a smile.
I grabbed my jacket and scabbarded katana, pulled my wavy blond hair into a knot, and called an Auto. I messaged Petra about thesalt circle while the driverless vehicle transported me south through Chicago.
When it pulled to my stop, I climbed out and belted on my sword.
The street was silent here, sandwiched on one side by an empty lot and on the other by a park that needed serious rehab. There was a chill in the air, a harbinger of autumn. Death didn’t care about seasons; it took its fill throughout the year.
Magic peppered the air, either from the spell that had been worked here, or the spill of shifter blood, which carried its own unique power. And beneath both, something darker. Something oilier, that left a stain on the air.
This was dark magic—dangerous, painful, risky; magic that tipped the balance of the world.
As if in answer, thunder rumbled from sickly green clouds, spinning overhead. “Not at all ominous,” I muttered, and flipped the thumb guard on my katana, just in case.
The salt circle was twenty feet away, the wolf lying still in its center. I crouched outside it, careful not to disturb the scene.
There was a gap in the circle near the wolf’s head, a spot where the salt had been smeared, the circle broken. As I understood it, breaking a circle had a magical effect—either to end the spell or to release whatever creature or power had been bound inside it. So was this accidental or intentional?
The cause of death seemed obvious—the dagger still protruding from its belly. I couldn’t see the blade, but the handle was ornately carved wood with a glinting silver guard. Shifters in wolf form were larger than the natural variety. This one seemed pitifully small: as if death hadn’t just been an insult but a reduction.
“Lis.”
I stood, looked back, and found the prince emerging through darkness.
Connor strode toward me, blue eyes gleaming. His hair was dark and permanently tousled, his skin sun-kissed, his generous mouth worthy of an ancient god. He wore an NAC Pack T-shirt and jeans over boots.
I enjoyed watching him move, powerful and confident, and felt my blood begin to race. He put a hand on my arm, the touch warm and soothing, then pressed a kiss to my forehead. He gave ferocity to the world; the tenderness was just for me.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey. I’m sorry for this.” I glanced back at the wolf.
“So am I. Didn’t know him, but I’m sorry just the same.” His eyes went dark. “No one, shifter or otherwise, should die alone in the street.”
“Not entirely alone,” I said, gesturing to the circle. “Someone was here, and we’ll find out who that was. What was his name?”
“Bryce. Jason Maguire sent a picture.”
Maguire was the Apex of the Consolidated Atlantic Pack. Connor pulled out his screen and showed me a photograph of a smiling young man with pale skin, blond hair, and green eyes.
“So young,” I said. “What’s a CA shifter doing in Chicago?”
“Visiting friends,” Connor answered while putting the screen away. “He was at The Raucous Wolf, a bar near McKinley Park. He went outside to chat up a woman. His compatriots didn’t hear from him for a couple of hours, thought he’d gone home with the girl. Someone sent them a picture of that,” he added, casting his gaze back to the wolf.
“The killer?” I asked, my pity a tightness in my throat but little comfort to Connor or Bryce now. “Why draw attention to whatyou’ve done? Was this for revenge?” I wasn’t asking him, but talking through the issues aloud.
