“Some churches in town help them. Most people ignore them.
“When the director in charge of the Knoxville FBI office, Thomas Benton the Fourth, who had Lost Boy heritage, discovered he could shape-shift into a devil dog, he knew where to go to find more like him. An entire generation was removed to his purposes—young church boys and Lost Boys.
“A man called Ephraim was in charge of the Lost Boys program when I lived there.”
And I killed Brother Ephraim, fed his body to the land, and then fought his filthy, diseased soul, spirit, and stone-hard will until Soulwood and I finally figured out a way to kill that evil energy.
It was brutal. I nearly died.
Aloud I went on. “After the loss of so many to the devil dogtaint, none of the church families needed to remove young men for a while, or at least not in such large numbers as once upon a time.
“Arial Holler woulda been in the last batch, the batch used by the local FBI director Benton to create his own devil dog army. But Arial wasn’t from a family that had devil dog genes. He was in the church branch that had…plant genes? But he didn’t change into anything. He was on the street or had a low-paying job somewhere. He kept his head down. Stayed out of trouble so far as I know.”
I met the boss’ eyes. “Unit Eighteen knew it was possible that some with the devil dog taint escaped. When Benton was killed and his breeding program halted, I’m guessing that someone was paying attention. I’m also guessing that someone was or is trying to find the devil dogs. And since pain is one way to force a shape-change, that might be one reason Arial was tortured. Or he was tortured for information about the family lines, or about the church. Something.”
“And the presence ofgwyllgihair on the body? And the method of torture used by the Inquisition being used on him?”
I sat up straighter in my chair. Gripped my hands tight. “I’m guessing agwyllgidog was, or several were, present for the torture. Because of the Boot, I’m guessing that Tomás de Torquemada was there too.”
“Elucidate.”
I liked that Ayatas FireWind didn’t use small words, thinking my lack of education meant I was stupid. “Whatever Torquemada is here for is tied into the church in some way. And into this.” I reached around to the back of my neck and lifted the chain away from my skin, pulling the necklace over my head. I held it out to him. “It’s a quartz crystal, naturally terminated. It looks like a space for an arcenciel has somehow been carved inside the crystal. It’s impossible. I know that. It has to have been cut open, carved, and then resealed. But I looked at it under really bright lights in the locker room. It looks solid to me.”
He held it to the light, studying the shape of a miniature frilled and feathered dragon on the inside. “Where did you get this?”
I lied through my teeth, using just enough truth to satisfymost truth-sayers and the skinwalker nose in the chair opposite me. “When the vampires attacked Esther’s place, one of the dead vampires lost it. I put it on and forgot about it until I got cleaned up and then mostly forgot about it until now.”
“The assistant director of PsyLED is missing,” FireWind said, tilting the quartz. “Has been missing for some time. Soul is an arcenciel.”
“Yeah. And maybe some vampire either worships them or wants them and devil dogs for some plan, some crime, something. And since I’m guessing wildly here, that vampire is Tomás de Torquemada. I don’t know, really know, anything, Aya,” I said, speaking his name as a way to show I was talking to my friend, more so than to my boss. “But it scares me.”
“I am dismayed as well.” He twirled the crystal in the light. It cast shadowy rainbow patterns on the walls, a prism of color, and the movement somehow made the shape inside seem to move. “This is from a crime scene. It should have been logged in. Please do so, and bring the necklace and the COC to me. I’ll sign in for it, study it, make some calls. When you are done, take off. It’s been a difficult night.”
I shrugged, got up, accepted the necklace from FireWind, and went back to my cubby. A COC was a chain of custody, a form filled out for every piece of evidence and trace evidence from a crime scene. One more form to fill out. Just one more.
But there wasalwaysmore paperwork to fill out.
Feeling the guilt in my heart, I called Mud to tell her I loved her. But she was too busy with a birthday celebration for Bethany, one of our half sisters, to care that I’d not see her today. I reminded myself that she was safer at the church right now at night than with Esther. But guilt at not being with her was a persistent beast.
* * *
Occam and I were both expected to work our odd hours this weekend, so when I rolled out of bed to let the dog out the front door at five a.m., he grumbled but didn’t follow me. We kept the doggie door locked at night, the better to keep the critters from getting skunked, which wasn’t likely in winter but it was a good habit to keep. In the dark, I dressed in overalls, an old paddedflannel jacket, and a sturdy pair of boots. I set out stuff for tea making, put on a pot of coffee, left Occam a note, and slipped out the front with Cherry.
It was freezing, hoarfrost raising the top layer of soil. My breath made a white cloud in the darkness. I scratched Cherry’s head and, as the puppy did her business, I knelt and touched the ground. The land beneath me was somnolent, resting, satisfied, and unconcerned.
Yummy was walking the church boundary. FireWind was in one of his cat forms, following her, stalking her, crouched and intent, which made me smile. I wondered if he was going to try to leap on her. Margot, alone, in cat form, walked slowly along a branch in the densest part of the forest, approaching the cage of thorns that had held the human until the land turned him over to the police. I wondered what she would smell there, reminded myself to check the arrest report, if there was one, or find out if the trespasser had been committed to a psych ward.
Satisfied that all was well, and no strangers were on the land, I walked down the hill to Esther’s, Cherry at my side, gamboling up the road and back, sniffing, marking territory on everything.
Esther was awake, finishing her five a.m. feeding, the babies needing to be burped, which I helped with. I liked the plant-babies, but I was really glad they didn’t grow leaves. After the burping, Esther put them back in their cribs and I made tea. When she returned, she said, “You’un brought that dog in.”
“Ummm. Cherry’s waiting at the door, just like she does when Mud is here. She’s very agreeable.”
Esther scowled at me, a mighty scowl because of my placid tone. “You’un know I usually get an hour’s nap after they go back down, right?”
“Yes. Tea’s made. I’m not staying. Is Mud sleeping here, at Mama’s, or with me tonight?”
“With you’un. She’ll be here at six p.m.”
