LEVIATHAN
The second victim looks worse because the finished product is almost perfect. There are no ugly seams where flesh gives way to stone, no half-finished patches like the animals we found scattered through the quarry warehouse, and nothing suggesting Medusa’s ex struggled to control the magic.
The man is simply gray from the soles of his shoes to the short strands of hair frozen against his forehead, one hand still curled around the handle of a grocery bag while his eyes move slowly beneath the stone.
I crouch in front of him and start chewing on my bottom lip when his gaze catches mine.
“Well, that’s fucking awful.” The poor bastard is awake in there, probably terrified and completely incapable of telling us what happened while three bags of groceries sit on the sidewalk beside him like his afternoon only took a mildly inconvenient turn.
Amand lowers himself beside me, his knee pressing against mine while he studies the victim.
His eyes move over the stone before settling on my face, and the contact between us immediately turns the steady buzz beneath my skin warmer.
I shift closer without thinking, earning the faintest pull at the corner of his mouth before his fingers slide beneath my brown curls and rub the back of my neck.
“I’m trying to work,” I mutter, even as I tip my head enough to give him more room. “My body apparently doesn’t understand that crime scenes aren’t foreplay.”
Amand leaves his hand there another second before standing, which is just long enough to make heat creep down my spine.
Across the alley, Rowan’s deep brown eyes catch mine from where he’s watching the street.
His gaze drops briefly to Amand’s hand before returning to my face, and I turn back toward the victim before my dick decides to join an investigation it has absolutely no qualifications for.
Medusa steps closer, her eyes staying on the victim. “This is cleaner than the wolf.”
“No shit, Sherlock!” I grimace and clear my throat. “Yeah, fuck. sorry.” I rock back on my heels and look him over again. “Your ex is leveling up, which feels deeply unfair considering the rest of us had to suffer through training.”
Her mouth tightens, but she doesn’t argue.
I lean closer and breathe slowly through my nose, sorting the surrounding signatures until the city begins falling away.
The victim is canine, something smaller than a wolf, his own magic warm beneath the petrification.
Medusa is easy to find now that I know her scent, ancient enough that my nose catches on it immediately.
The gargoyle’s magic takes longer to locate.
I close my eyes and breathe again, following the wet-stone edge across the victim’s shoulder and down his chest. It’s stronger than yesterday, but something about it feels wrong enough that I shift closer until Rowan’s hand lands on my shoulder.
“Don’t climb on him,” Rowan says, his thumb pressing once into the muscle beside my neck. “I can see you thinking about it.”
“I was going to get closer.” I reach up and wrap my fingers around his wrist, keeping his hand where it is while I scent again. “There’s a difference in the magic.”
Medusa moves to my other side. “What kind of difference?”
I chew on my lip again, trying to separate something that no longer wants to separate.
“Yesterday I could smell your magic tangled around his. Like he was forcing the snake to do the work while his own magic sat underneath it.” I inhale once more, then wrinkle my nose.
“This isn’t doing that anymore. Yours is inside his. ”
Medusa’s expression changes immediately. “Inside?”
“His signature smells like gargoyle, but it’s carrying the petrification now.
” I look up at her, still holding Rowan’s wrist against my shoulder.
“Not all of it. I can still tell which part started as yours, but the edges are getting muddy. It’s like his designation decided stealing the snake wasn’t rude enough and started helping itself to the rest of you too. ”
One of the snakes beneath her scarf hisses, and Rowan’s fingers flex against me.
Medusa notices the movement but keeps her attention on the victim.
“That shouldn’t happen. He can preserve the snake because of what he is, and with enough effort he can force it to respond, but its magic is mine.
His designation should not be adapting around it. ”
Amand comes up beside her and folds his arms over his chest. “What about the snake itself? If he’s forcing his magic through it repeatedly, could it be adapting to him too?”
Medusa goes very still. Her hand rises toward the scarf before she catches herself and drops it again.
“They’re part of me. They aren’t pets I can detach and hand to someone else.
If he’s changing the snake enough that it starts answering him naturally, I don’t know what happens to the connection between us. ”
I straighten slowly, Rowan’s hand sliding from my shoulder to the side of my neck. “Wonderful. So we’ve upgraded from psycho ex with stolen snake to psycho ex potentially merging with stolen snake.” I glance at the petrified man. “Mother Nature has entirely too much free time.”
Rowan’s thumb moves beneath my jaw, and my concentration tries to follow it. I catch his wrist tighter before my head can tilt into the touch. “Stop making that feel good while I’m trying to be horrified.”
His eyes darken slightly, but he keeps his mouth shut, which is probably for the best because Amand is watching us with the look he gets when he’s one bad decision away from encouraging Rowan.
I force myself back to the case and scent the victim one more time. “He’s getting better because he keeps using it. The failed animals, the guy who lost his leg, the wolf, now this. Every time he does it, the magic gets cleaner.”
Medusa folds her arms tighter. “Then we need the snake back before he gets any better.”
“Preferably before he discovers some exciting bonus feature none of us knew existed.” I rub my thumb along Rowan’s wrist and stare at the victim for another second. “I’ve had enough surprises from rare magical creatures to last me through several reincarnations.”
Rowan’s hand shifts beneath my jaw, and I turn my head on instinct, catching the side of his finger lightly between my teeth.
He goes completely still against me. The reaction shoots straight through my stomach before common sense finally wanders back into the alley and reminds me there’s a petrified man three feet away.
I let him go and clear my throat. “That was your fault.”
Rowan’s mouth curves, but he doesn’t answer. Amand reaches down and catches the back of my shirt instead, tugging me away from both the victim and Rowan before my life choices deteriorate any further.
The stupid mate thing between us is a blessing and a curse. It was worse during the last case, and some of that need has settled since, but it’s still there. If one of them had kissed me, it would be game over and Medusa would get a show.
By the time we get back to Essence, Gerald is already waiting.
His office door is open, several files scattered across his desk while he sits behind them with a mug of coffee.
Rowan walks in close enough that his hand stays at the small of my back, and Amand takes the chair beside mine rather than the one across the room.
I drop into my seat and immediately lean sideways until my shoulder touches his arm, because apparently personal space has become something I only remember exists when neither of my mates is available.
Gerald listens while I explain the victim, but the second I get to the blended signature, his attention sharpens.
“You’re certain you could distinguish them?
” he asks, setting his coffee aside. “Not simply recognize Medusa because you already know her scent. You could identify the gargoyle’s magic beneath hers? ”
“I can identify both.” Rowan’s hand settles on my shoulder from behind the chair. “It’s harder now. Yesterday they were tangled. Today they’re starting to smell like they belong together, which is something Medusa says should be impossible.”
Gerald leans forward. “How clearly could you separate the two signatures?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Clearly enough to know they’re merging. If you’re about to turn this into one of your little Chameleon exercises, save it. I’m trying to catch a gargoyle, not earn a gold star.”
Gerald’s mouth twitches. “I’m asking because your ability to distinguish them may matter.”
“Then ask what I found. Don’t start assigning homework.”
Amand’s hand closes loosely around my knee beneath the desk, probably because he can feel me getting irritated. Gerald doesn’t seem bothered by it. If anything, he looks more interested.
“Can you still isolate Medusa’s signature?”
“Yes. Barely.” I shift in the chair and glance at Rowan behind me. “That’s the useful part. The part where you start wondering whether I can copy it is where this conversation gets weird.”
Gerald pauses. “You anticipated the question.”
“You’re not subtle.”
He leans back slightly. “Could you?”
I give him a flat look. “Could I what?”
“Copy one without the other.”
“And there it is.” I drag a hand over my face. “No idea. Also not volunteering to shove myself nose-first into a homicidal gargoyle just so you can find out.”
Gerald tilts his head, studying me silently for several moments. “And once the petrification was complete, could you tell which signature was controlling it?”
I stare at him for a second. “Do you keep a list of questions designed to make me feel like I’m failing an exam I didn’t know I signed up for?”
“This is how we learn what you can perceive.”
That sounds annoyingly reasonable, which is Gerald’s favorite kind of irritating. “I don’t know which one was controlling it. I could smell both, but the gargoyle was stronger than he should’ve been.”
Gerald nods once, then glances down at the file in front of him. “Then the question isn’t whether you can copy one without the other. It’s whether you could hold one steady while the other is changing.”
I narrow my eyes. “That sounds suspiciously like the same homework wearing a different hat.”
Amand’s hand stays on my knee while Rowan shifts behind me. Gerald ignores both of them. “You’ve mimicked fixed signatures before. This one is adapting in real time. If you were close enough to the source, could you keep the gargoyle’s signature separate while Medusa’s continued bleeding into it?”
I sit with that for a second, because irritatingly, it is different. Copying something already blended is one thing. Holding onto one piece while the other keeps changing sounds like exactly the kind of nonsense my designation would decide to spring on me at the worst possible moment.
“I don’t know,” I say finally. “I’ve never tried.”
“You should.”
Rowan moves before I can decide whether I want to argue with that.
His hand slides from my shoulder to my upper arm and pulls me backward hard enough that I make an offended sound, but the complaint dies when my back hits his chest and his other arm wraps around my stomach.
His magic rolls over mine, and every bit of resistance drains out of me before I can pretend I had any.
I settle against him with an annoyed little huff while Amand’s hand moves to my thigh, leaving me pinned between both of them in a way my body likes far too much. “You know I was sitting perfectly fine on my own.”
Rowan lowers his mouth near my temple without answering, his arm tightening across my middle. The movement sends another warm pulse through me, and I decide being kidnapped six inches backward probably isn’t worth fighting over.
Gerald watches us for a moment before laughing, his gaze dropping to Rowan’s arm around my waist. “Possessive little snake, isn’t he?”
Rowan only pulls me closer.
I let my head fall back against his shoulder and look at Gerald from inside the cage of my mate’s arms. Whatever weird Chameleon homework he wants me doing can wait until I’m no longer being held against several hundred pounds of Basilisk who has apparently decided the meeting is over.
For once, I’m smart enough not to argue.