Allison nodded as she came over. “If you’re thinking shine, then most likely. The drugs still need to be tested and verified.”
Patrick rubbed at his mouth, staring hard at the pills in the evidence bag. Shine was a drug that had been around for hundreds of years through various iterations. Its origin stemmed from vampires, though historians couldn’t agree on which Night Court first created and introduced it to their human servants.
These days the demand for shine meant most of it was lab synthesized. Its popularity came and went, but it looked like the city was having another love affair with the drug. The pills showing up this summer were cause for alarm though. Patrick had read a memo the SOA had sent out about them back in May.
The stuff hitting the streets right now was the real deal. Made with true vampire blood and all its supernatural properties, shine was a potent drug that offered a euphoric, sexual high to those who took it. Highly addictive, it allowed mundane humans the ability to see a person’s aura, the bright shine of a person’s soul that only magic users could sometimes see. Mundane human eyes weren’t meant to process a sight like that, and they craved darkness—any kind of blindness really—while high.
Vampires had no souls and were more than willing to comfort an addict in the throes of addiction and withdrawal. The drug running through an addict’s veins didn’t affect them, merely gave the blood a different flavor.
Shine was how some Night Courts enslaved their human servants. Addiction could happen on the first hit, and the list of industrial chemicals that made up the drug could literally rot a person’s brain. Bartering sex and blood to stave off some of the harsher effects of the drug wasn’t a great trade-off. Most people in their right mind didn’t want to be owned by a vampire, but addicts never made rational decisions.
Some mundane humans liked dancing with the darker aspects of the preternatural world. Magic users who took shine never handled the drug well and almost always ended up on a bad trip. They could already see a person’s aura; shine stripped away their safeguards and could tip their magic dangerously out of control. Patrick, despite using cigarettes and alcohol as a crutch to get through his adult life, had never gone down the black hole of hard drugs.
As for werecreatures? Patrick knew the god pack had treaties with the Night Courts here marking off territory. The only way to get shine was through street gang dealers or directly from the source. Werecreatures shouldn’t be working for vampires or buying from them, except he had a dead kid that said otherwise, amongst other things.
Patrick dropped the evidence bag onto the platform and reached for the second one that held a small figurine. Made out of white plastic, the skeleton reaper was shrouded in a hooded robe, carrying a scythe in one hand and a globe in the other. Despite the wards down here, Patrick could sense traces of black magic emanating from the figurine.
“This is an artifact,” Patrick said, weighing it in his hand. Artifacts, portable objects capable of holding magic that nonmagic users could wield, felt heavier than they looked.
“Not surprised, considering what it is. Any idol of Santa Muerte is usually handled by a witch in this city. Our evidence bags are lightly warded, so anyone transporting it should be safe enough,” Dwayne said as he approached.
Patrick was familiar with the religion that had sprung out of Mexico over the last few decades or so and spread through North and South America. It made him uneasy, but not for reasons most people would assume. Worship was a powerful tool for any god or goddess in the modern age, but he didn’t much care for those who presided over the dead.
Patrick carefully set the sealed figurine down on the platform. “I doubt the kid worshipped Santa Muerte. Possibility of him being either a dealer or a junkie isn’t something we can discount. The toxicology report is going to take weeks to confirm.”
“The drugs could’ve been planted,” Dwayne said, staring at the body. “Kid is African American. There’s no love lost between black and Mexican gangs. Werecreature aside, he wouldn’t be part ofanyMexican gang unless he was killed out of retaliation or for an initiation. If that’s the case, I don’t know why he ended up down here and not in his own turf as a warning.”
“Something to look into,” Patrick said as he got to his feet.
“You may want to talk to someone in Narcotics and the Gang Unit. They have a better handle on the shine problem than we do, even if they haven’t tracked it to the source yet,” Allison said.
Dwayne snorted. “Good luck with that. The DEA has been trying for years. Everyone knows the Omacatl Cartel has a monopoly on shine in the five boroughs, and every gang member the DEA has managed to arrest hasn’t confessed to any alliance with vampires. Been that way for decades. I doubt it’ll change anytime soon.”
“Killing a werecreature goes against the treaties the Night Courts have with the god pack here though,” Patrick pointed out. “That’s an angle we need to figure out.”
“We’re always looking for hard evidence to pin on the bloodsucking bastards. Maybe we’ll get lucky with this case.” Dwayne cocked an eyebrow at him. “You can be our lucky charm.”
Patrick made a face. “Like last time? No, thanks. I’ll let you handle the transport of the body and evidence to your morgue. The sooner we get the autopsy report, the sooner we’ll have some answers.”
“Not handling it at the federal level?” Allison asked.
“Iamthe federal level, but I think everyone will feel a lot better if it all stays within the PCB.”
He might hate politics, but Patrick could play the game when required. The SOA didn’t have a stellar reputation at the moment, especially here. The PCB, on the other hand, was viewed far more favorably in the public eye right now. Patrick would prefer to work with the PCB rather than work out of the SOA field office, which would cut down on communication issues. His individual efforts with the PCB back in June had gone over a lot better than the SOA as a whole in media polls.
Besides, Patrick didn’t have an assigned partner, and he’d learned over the years that relying on local help tended to smooth things over.
“You heading back to the PCB with us?” Dwayne wanted to know.
Patrick shook his head. “I’m going to run down the werecreature angle.”
“I don’t envy you talking to the god pack alphas at all.”
Patrick shrugged and said nothing. Estelle Walker and Youssef Khan were the god pack alphas of New York City, but they weren’t who Patrick was going to talk to.
2
Jonothon de Vere’smobile buzzed on the metal desktop where he’d set it while doing up next week’s schedule for the bar. The text notification was from Patrick, and he ignored the open spreadsheet on the MacBook Pro in favor of his mobile. Unlocking it, Jono read the message.
