Iron Kissed

I had access to information not available to the authorities and I knew that the John Lauren Society was a good deal dirtier than even the FBI suspected.

Kyle had found me a lawyer who not only disliked fae—she'd like to see them eliminated.

Kyle patted my hand. "Jean won't allow her personal beliefs to interfere with her job." Then he smiled at me. "And it will make a point, having someone so active in the anti-fae community defending your friend."

"I'm not doing it because I believe he is i

Kyle turned his smile to her and it became sharklike. He seldom showed anyone that side of him. "And you can tell the newspapers and the jury and the judge that—and it still won't stop them from believing that he must be i

She looked appalled, but she didn't disagree.

I tried to imagine working a job where your convictions were an inconvenience that you learned to ignore—and decided I'd rather turn a wrench no matter how much better her paycheck was than mine.

"I'll stay away from the crime scene, then," I lied. I wasn't a fae. What the police and Ms. Ryan didn't know wouldn't hurt them. The coyote is a sly beastie and no stranger to stealth—and I wasn't about to let Zee's fate depend wholly on this woman.

I'd find out who killed O'Do

I picked up a couple of buck burgers and fries from a fast-food place and drove home. The trailer was looking as spiffy as a seventies single-wide could. New siding had made the porch look tacky, so I'd repainted it gray. Samuel had suggested flower boxes to dress it up, but I don't like living things to suffer u

Samuel's Mercedes was gone from its usual spot so he must still be at Tumbleweed. He'd offered to come with me to meet with the lawyer—so had Adam. Which is how I ended up with just Kyle, whom neither of the werewolves looked upon as a rival.

I opened the front door and the smell of crock pot stew made my stomach rumble its approval.

There was a note next to the crock pot on the kitchen counter. Samuel had learned to write before typewriters and computers rendered penmanship an art practiced by elementary school children. His notes always looked like formal wedding invitations. Hard to believe a doctor actually wrote like that.

Mercy, his note said with lovely flourishes that made the alphabet look like artwork. Sorry, I am not here. I promised to volunteer at the festival until after tonight's concert. Eat something.

I followed his advice and got out a bowl. I was hungry, Samuel was a good cook—and it was still a few hours until dark.

O'Do

I drove past it, taking in the yellow police-line tape that covered the doors—and the darkened houses to either side of it.

It took me a while to find a good parking spot. In a neighborhood like this, people would notice a strange car parked in front of their house. Finally I parked in a lot by a church that was not too far away.

I put on the collar with the tags that gave Adam's phone number and address as my home. One trip to the dog pound had left me grateful for this little precaution. I didn't look anything at all like a dog, but at least in town there wouldn't be angry farmers ready to shoot me before they saw my collar.

Finding a place to change was a little more challenging. The dog pound I could deal with, but I didn't want to get a ticket for indecent exposure. Finally I found an empty house with a realtor's sign out front and an unlocked gardening shed.

From there, I only had to trot a couple of blocks to O'Do

It was still close enough to summer that the night air was pleasant—a good thing since I had to pick the damned lock stark naked and it took me too long. Samuel had taught me to pick locks when I was fourteen. I hadn't done it a lot since then—just a couple of times when I'd locked my keys in my car.

As soon as I had the door open, I replaced the picks inside my collar. Bless duct tape, it was still sticky enough to hold them.

A washer and dryer were just inside, with a dirty towel laid across the dryer. I picked it up and wiped the door, doorknob, lock, and anything else that might have picked up my fingerprints. I didn't know if they had something to check for bare footprints, but I wiped the floor where I had taken a step inside to reach the towel, then tossed it back on the dryer.

I left the door mostly shut but unlatched, then shifted back into coyote, hunching under the gaze of eyes that weren't there. I knew, knew that no one had seen me go inside. The gentle, gusty wind would have brought the scent of anyone skulking about. Even so, I could feel someone watching me, almost as if the house was aware of me. Creepy.

With my tail tucked uncomfortably close I turned my attention to the task at hand, the sooner to leave—but unlike the fae houses, this one had seen a lot of people in and out recently. Police, I thought, forensic team, but even before they had come there had been a lot of people in the back hallway.

I hadn't expected an obnoxious boor like O'Do

I ducked through the first doorway and into the kitchen, and the heavy traffic of people mostly faded away. Three or four light scents, O'Do

The cupboard doors gaped and the drawers hung open and a little askew. Dish towels were scattered in hasty piles on the counter.

Maybe Cologne Man was a police officer who searched the kitchen—unless O'Do

The faint light of the half moon revealed a fine black powder all over the cupboard doors and counter tops that I recognized as the substance the police use to reveal fingerprints—the TV is a good educational tool and Samuel is addicted to those forensic, soap opera—mystery shows.

I glanced at the floor, but there was nothing on it. Maybe I'd been a little paranoid when I'd wiped the place where I'd stood on the linoleum with bare human feet.

The first bedroom, across the hall from the kitchen, was obviously O'Do

Again, it looked like someone had gone through every cra

I wondered if the police would have left it that way.

I backed out of there and went into the next room. This was a smaller bedroom, and there was no bed. Instead there were three card tables that had been flung helter-skelter. The bedroom window was shattered and covered with police tape. Someone had been angry when they'd come in here, and I was betting it wasn't the police.

Avoiding the glass on the floor as much as I could, I got a closer look at the window frame. It had been one of those newer vinyl ones, and the bottom half had been designed to slide up. Whatever had been thrown through the window had pulled most of the framing out of the wall as well.