Kipa snorted. “Now I’ve got something to hold over your head.”
“You would, too,” Herne said.
As we followed him to the breakroom, I thought that Herne was gorgeous—but not as handsome as Kipa. At least to me.
But truth be told, the Lord of the Hunt and the Lord of Wolves had a feral nature, an untamed wildness that came from their connection to the Hunt. Herne’s father had that same energy, multiplied a hundred times over. Cernunnos was the Lord of the Forest, and he felt as timeless as the forests were old.
Wager was waiting for us. He had a bag full of equipment. Viktor had been in charge of supplies, but Wager had taken over that part of the job.
“Ready?” he asked.
Herne nodded just as his phone rang. “Hold on.” He stepped to the side to answer it.
I glanced at Wager. We’d been good friends far longer than I had known Ember and Herne. At one point, he’d had a crush on me, but he’d never pushed it. And once I met Kipa, Wager had backed off, and our relationship had managed to grow into just that—a deep and caring friendship.
“How do you like working for the Wild Hunt?” I asked.
“It’s different. I like it, for the most part. And a steady paycheck beats uncertainty when it’s time to pay the rent. I’m glad you’re back, both of you. Maybe it will lighten the mood around here,” he added, glancing around. “If you know what I mean.”
“I don’t—” Kipa started to say.
“I’ll tell you later,” I interrupted. “It’s better not to discuss it here.”
“Right,” Wager said, blushing. “I need to keep my mouth shut.”
I glanced out into the hallway, but Yutani was nowhere in sight. “I doubt whether he heard.”
Kipa raised his eyebrows. “Must be something—” He stopped as Herne sighed and turned around. “What’s up, cuz?”
“I’ll cousin you,” Herne said, but he smiled. “That was the mayor again.”
“Is Serenades still the mayor?” I asked.
Herne nodded. “Yes, and she wants me to meet with her. So, the three of you need to go check out the latest find. Wager has all the information. Stop at the desk before you leave. Talia should have your badges,” he added, turning to Kipa and me.
“All right. What are we looking for?” I asked.
“Wager knows,” Herne said. “I guess I’d better head out.” As he turned to leave, he added, “Four bodies in less than a week. We’re in trouble, people. We need to figure out a link between the victims, so be ready to interview the families.”
As we followed him, stopping at the desk, it occurred to me that the sooner I learned how to harness talking to the dead, the easier life would be. It could provide us with answers we might not get any other way. But that power was still dependent on the will of the spirits, not my own.
The Seattle waterfront was a beautiful place, and—for the most part—had recovered from the dragon attacks of a few years back. The businesses that had been destroyed were rebuilt and seemed to be thriving.
And, of course, looming over the docks was the massive Viaduct Market—once known as Pike Place Market. A kaleidoscope of vendors and their stalls, as well as small boutique businesses, the Viaduct Market also held an entrance to the catacombs. Several, in fact, though most were hidden away from the public.
Once we found a parking spot, we entered the bustling milieu, a rainbow tapestry of shoppers and vendors. The noise level was deafening, echoing up to the towering ceilings of the market. The halls wound through the market in a labyrinth of stalls and shops. And everywhere, the hustle of commerce filled the air.
Urban farmers selling fresh produce—tomatoes and corn, and greens of all sorts—hawked their goods next to tattoo shops. Shifter specialty boutiques set up businesses next to marijuana apothecaries, sex shops shared walls with bookstores, and magic shops sold spells next to yoga studios offering peace of mind.
An air of excitement ran through the market, although I knew part of that came from the energy of the catacombs—the underground district of Seattle where the vampires held sway. The upper levels were relatively human-friendly, but the lower levels were dangerous and—in an unspoken law—off limits to the living.
As we pushed through the market, heading toward the back, I glanced at Wager. “Why are we here? I thought the body was found on the docks?”
“It was. It’s already dissolved. We’re meeting the cops to talk to the wife of the victim. She and her husband own a shop here. The cops found the body this morning and identified him. They’re waiting for us to arrive before telling her.” Wager grimaced. “I hate being there to witness that pain. But we need to find out where he was.”
“Do they know when he died?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No idea.”
