Chapter 10
What Goes Wrong
Dodger
The coffee shop where Harper and Rowan meet is packed this afternoon, the warm scent of coffee and pastries in the air as we use another customer as our ticket inside. I slip through the door behind a woman with a stroller, scanning the crowd for our targets.
“See them?” Marlow whispers.
Students hunched over laptops, a couple of elderly men playing chess in the corner, a group of moms gossiping together while their kids are in school—there they are.
Harper and Rowan are seated at the far end of the café, tucked away in a semi-private nook. Harper’s back is ramrod straight, his golden eyes focused on his boss intently. Rowan, by contrast, appears completely at ease. The police chief’s smile is warm, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Let’s get closer,” I mutter, already inching forward.
“Careful,” Marlow warns, but I’m already weaving between tables, not seeing the man pushing back his chair and heading straight for me until it’s almost too late.
I freeze, a deer in headlights, as he barrels forward. At the last second, Marlow’s fingers close around my arm and yank me sideways. The man passes through the space where I stood a heartbeat ago, oblivious to our presence.
“Invisible, not intangible, remember?” Marlow hisses in my ear, grip still tight on my arm even though I can’t see it. “You can still get hit or make noise. Be more careful.”
Oops. “Right. Sorry.”
All I care about is making sure Harper is alright—because someone needs to keep an eye on him, just to be safe.
We edge closer, finding a spot near an empty table just within earshot of their conversation.
“Not much more to tell you,” Harper is saying. “The evidence showed Maddox was innocent.”
“Which is all well and good,” Rowan responds, stirring his tea. “I’m not in the business of persecuting an innocent man. But the details are decidedly lacking when it comes to this evidence. How did you reach the conclusion the demon wasn’t responsible for Williamson’s death?”
“Followed a lead with a source,” Harper answers, offering nothing more. Good for him.
“A source you can’t name?”
“Sorry, it’s protocol since I’m working with the Concordia authorities now.”
I sit down at the empty table and think Marlow follows suit.
Harper tilts his head and subtly sniffs at the air—oh shit.
I freeze and hold my breath, as if that will prevent his super shifter senses from scenting me.
With the strong aroma of coffee beans and all the food and people in here, I don’t think he’s getting a good scent, and then Rowan steals his attention away.
The chief heaves a theatrical sigh. “I wish I’d been consulted before this was transferred over to another jurisdiction.”
“The deputy chief made the call,” Harper counters. “You can’t possibly sign off on every decision made by the whole department.”
“Well, that’s true. My time is valuable.
But this is an issue I hold dear.” He adopts a concerned face, placing a hand over his chest, and I roll my eyes so hard it hurts.
“We know all too well the damage that dangerous powers cause in the hands of the unhinged. I need to be able to assure my citizens the matter is handled.”
“Really?” Harper sips his coffee casually as he muses.
“The department was extremely concerned internally, of course, but I thought public details were at a minimum. A demon killing someone would normally become a huge spectacle but given the necromancer victim, who is never even allowed in the city, the deputy chief must have thought passing this case off was a no-brainer and settling things quietly was the better option.”
Rowan’s smile tightens as I mentally fist pump and cheer Harper on. But I have to stop paying attention when a lanky college student with a massive iced coffee and a backpack that could house a small family approaches our table.
Marlow barely scrambles away in time when the student drops the backpack down in his chair. I’m not quick enough and the guy almost sits right on top of me.
The guy goes stumbling sideways at the last second.
Shock morphs to anger across his face before the student whirls around.
“Hey, watch where you’re—huh?” he sputters, staring wide-eyed at the seemingly empty space where I’d bet Marlow stands.
“Did someone just—?” He looks around wildly, trying to find whoever bumped into him.
I hurry away while the student is distracted. That was too close.
We retreat to a safer position near a potted plant, and I strain to hear the conversation we’ve been missing. The temperature between them has dropped several degrees, and Harper’s jaw is set in a rigid line.
“We’ve had our differences in approach over the years, haven’t we, Detective Harper?” Rowan isn’t smiling anymore. His voice has taken on a hard edge. “You’ve always been so... by the book. So concerned with protocol. Sometimes, that rigidity prevents us from doing what needs to be done.”
“Protocol exists for a reason,” Harper counters evenly. “It protects everyone, civilians and officers alike.”
I blink, processing what I’m hearing. I’d assumed Harper was just another one of Rowan’s lackeys, enforcing and enabling his heavy-handed tactics without question. I didn’t know there was tension between them.
The chief’s smile returns, looking decidedly smarmy. “You know, if you could learn to be more of a team player perhaps there would be a permanent spot for you back in Brighton. No more chasing fugitives across state lines. A detective of your caliber deserves better.”
“I’m happy where I am,” Harper says firmly. “The work suits me.”
“I’d be careful about the road you’re choosing, Detective. There’s more to the job than following procedure. The actions you take now could determine your future in the force.”
Harper doesn’t flinch at the underlying threat in his boss’s tone, but I’m seriously tempted to get closer and smack Rowan.
“This doesn’t have to be so difficult. We’re on the same team,” the chief tuts. “I would hate for your career to suffer because of... poor judgment. Especially when you have such potential.”
Who the hell does Rowan think he is? The bastard’s trying to intimidate the wolf into talking, just because he’s the chief. My blood begins to boil. My fingers clench around the edge of the planter we’re hiding behind.
“Dodger,” Marlow whispers urgently. “Calm down.”
“I am calm,” I hiss back.
“No, you aren’t.”
“What do you know? You don’t sound calm yourself.”
“You’re right,” he says. “Hard to feel calm when it sure looks like a passage to another plane of existence is opening in the coffee shop.”
I look around and feel my stomach drop. Sure enough, a small tear is forming in the air nearby, barely visible at first—just a shimmer, like heat rising from asphalt—but growing darker and more defined by the second.
Shit. I close my eyes, forcing deep breaths, trying to rein in my emotions and the power they’re unleashing. Why is it only easy to connect to my powers when I’m not trying?
My whip is back at the hotel, so I’m just willing the opening to close and hoping my power responds. It works, sluggishly. The portal gradually begins to shrink, the edges sealing themselves like a healing wound.
“Is it gone?” I whisper, eyes still squeezed shut in concentration.
“Uh, the portal’s closing,” Marlow says, “but I think something already came through.”
~
Dodger
Everything looks normal—wait, what’s that?
A translucent shape prowls between tables.
It becomes clearer, a huge dog with chilling red eyes, surveying the café.
About the size of a Great Dane with a fluffy black coat.
Can anyone else see it? The dog looks hazy, outlined in an otherworldly blue, some kind of spectral hound.
“What the hell is that?” I whisper.
Marlow swears under his breath. “Oh shit.”
“What? You know what that is?”
“Yeah, they’re the worst.”
Uh-oh. My heart hammers against my ribs. What did I just accidentally unleash? “Are we in danger? What does that devil dog do?”
The spectral beast raises its massive head, nostrils flaring as it scents the air. Those burning red eyes sweep across the café, and when they lock onto mine, a bone-deep chill spreads through my body. It sees me. Of course it fucking sees me.
“Real pests down in the underworld,” Marlow explains, surprisingly casual given the circumstances. “Doesn’t matter how secure food is, they always find a way to get it. When you try to shoo them out or chase them away, they go intangible.”
Huh. That doesn’t sound nearly as bad as I feared. “So... it’s not here to drag our souls to hell or something?”
“Nah, just sandwiches.”
“So there’s no need to panic?” That’s a relief.
“Well—”
As if on cue, the ghost dog’s head swivels away from me and toward a nearby table where a woman is enjoying a muffin. The hound’s tail begins to wag, and before I can even think to move, it bounds across the café, leaping onto her table as it solidifies.
There’s no hiding the demon dog anymore.
The woman shrieks, nearly falling out of her chair. She drops the muffin and the hound lunges, snatching the pastry midair and gobbling down half of it in one bite. Pandemonium breaks out in the café as people shout and try to get away from the terrifying creature.
“We have to get it out of here,” I hiss to Marlow.
Marlow nods. “Hey! Dog! Over here!” he calls in a stage whisper, waving his arms.
The ghost dog’s ears flick up, but instead of coming to us, it turns its attention to the display case at the front counter. Its red eyes go wide with delight, locked onto the pastries behind the glass. With a happy bark, it’s off, bounding to the case and pressing its cold nose to the glass.
“No, no, no,” I mutter, unable to do anything but watch.