Chapter 18
Itold Comenius to keep an eye out for Inspector Lakin and give him the case file, and then hustled back to Solantha Palace as fast as I could.
The plan was to browbeat the Chief Mage with my findings and demand he grant Noria’s friend amnesty, so that we could get our hands on that evidence.
Unfortunately, traffic turned out to be horrendous, so I gave up trying to maneuver my steambike through all the cars and parked in Nob Hill, a hoity-toity area of Rowanville where people strolled the sidewalks wearing fancy togs while oohing and aahing over the objects displayed in boutique windows.
I looked out of place in my black pants and leather jacket, stepping around two female humans in brightly colored dresses and wide brimmed hats dripping in jewelry, but since I wasn’t here to see and be seen I ducked into a café and ordered some food.
The place was a lot more cutesy than I liked, done in pastel blue and white with owl decorations scattered everywhere, but the bacon cheeseburger with onion rings sounded good enough, so I ordered, forking over some of the few measly coppers I’d found amongst my delivered belongings.
As I sat down at the bar to wait for my grub, I noticed someone had left a copy of the Herald on the counter.
It looked like the owner had ditched it, so I slid the paper over to my side of the bar and started flipping through the pages.
SHOULD SHIFTERS BE BANNED FROM MAINTOWN? COUNCIL DEBATES.
I froze as the headline on page three caught my eye.
Next to it was a black-and-white photograph of a snarling wolf shifter in human form, his fangs and claws extended.
Anger bubbled up inside me as I stared at the photograph – likely it was just some shifter teen who’d been asked to pose for a couple of bucks.
Fucking sell-outs. My burger arrived on the counter, and I snatched it up and munched on it, bacon grease coating my fingers as I read.
With the recent slew of shifter-human fighting, the Maintown Council is seriously debating whether or not shifters should continue to be allowed to work and interact with our community.
Only yesterday, a raven shifter attacked his boss, hardware shop owner Antano Lopkin, simply for asking him to put a broom away.
The crazed shifter, who was later discovered to be under the influence of narcotics, reportedly took the broom and proceeded to shove…
I skimmed over the next couple of paragraphs detailing all the recent drug-fueled crimes committed by shifters, knowing that I was liable to start shredding the paper with my claws if I started reading them.
Some have suggested that new shifter drugs hitting the black market are responsible for these outbreaks, rather than the shifters themselves.
However, experts suggest that these drugs are merely exposing the inherent weakness of the shifter psyche.
It has long been known that shifters are emotionally unstable, hardly surprising when one considers that they originated as a hybrid species several thousand years ago.
If this weren’t the case, human crime would be skyrocketing in relation to the amount of drug trafficking as well.
I raked my claws through the paper, furious beyond belief at the writer’s audacity.
Human drug addicts committed plenty of crimes while under the influence!
I’d dealt with dozens of strung-out addicts during my time as an Enforcer, and knew from experience that these bastards would do anything, and I mean anything, for a hit when they were hard up for drugs.
This wasn’t reporting at all, but a hit piece.
Whoever had written this article was intentionally trying to paint shifters in a negative light.
I scanned the shredded article for the byline, which had miraculously survived my claws.
A tick started in my jaw as I recognized the name – Hanley Fintz.
The same reporter who had tried to interview me in my cell the night before my hearing.
The man who’d told me he was sympathetic to shifters and would try to paint me in a positive light.
Apparently he’d lied.
Two human guards jerked to attention as I strode through the revolving door of the Herald’s offices – a large circular white building in the heart of Maintown.
Ignoring them, I made a beeline for the white reception desk that stood in the middle of the gleaming white lobby, and slapped my hand down on the counter to get the attention of the curly-haired brunette manning the desk.
Not that I really needed to get her attention – her wide-eyed gaze had been on me the moment I walked through the door.
“C-can I help you?” she stuttered, her oval face pale. Clearly she wasn’t used to seeing shifters in the office much – that, or she was worried that we were all going to come and riot right here in the Herald because of all the shitty propaganda they’d been writing against us.
“You sure can.” I gave her a gamine grin, resisting the urge to show some fang – the guards’ hands were already too close to their swords, and I didn’t need some reporter snapping a picture of me brawling right here in the Herald’s office. “I’m here to see Hanley Fintz.”
“I see.” The receptionist’s plump lips thinned, as if I’d confirmed her suspicions. “I’m afraid he’s not taking any visitors right now –”
“He’ll see me.” I held up my wrist so the woman could see my Enforcer bracelet. “This is regarding an investigation.”
The woman’s face whitened even more as she leaned closer to inspect the bronze shield on my wrist. As she did, my nerves began to itch – I didn’t know how smart it was for me to barge in here by myself, with no backup.
As soon as I’d realized that Fintz must be connected to all this bullshit, I’d rushed over right away, wanting to catch the bastard before he left his office.
“Very well,” the receptionist finally said in a clipped voice.
She settled back into her chair and pointed to a hallway on my right.
“His office is upstairs, five doors down from the elevator. Gerod will escort you.” She nodded to one of the guards, who stepped forward, pinning me with an intimidating glare.
I shrugged, refusing to let a mere human guard bother me. “Fine. Lead the way.”
The elevators, like everything else in this building, were white, with white flooring and walls, and the black call buttons stood out. I rode up to the second floor, then strode down a white-carpeted hallway to the sixth office door, my new pet guard in tow.
I didn’t knock or ask for entry. I just kicked the door open and strode in, ignoring the protesting voice of the guard behind me.
Hanley Fintz was hunched over the typewriter on his desk, no doubt clacking out another slanderous article.
He jumped as the door banged against a metal filing cabinet.
“What is the meaning of this!” he shouted, his eyes rounding behind his spectacles.
Without his large slicker draped over his spindly frame, he looked distinctly unimpressive in his shirtsleeves and slacks.
“I’m here to interrogate you, you slime.” I bared my fangs, fury taking hold as I grabbed him by his flimsy collar.
“Guards!” Fintz squeaked, and the guard who’d accompanied me grabbed my arm.
“Ma’am,” he said sternly, hauling me back. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave –”
I whirled around, using the momentum from his own grip, and slammed my knee into his midsection, hard. The guard crumpled against me with a painful gasp and I let him fall to the floor, then shoved him aside so that anybody passing by wouldn’t be able to see him.
Sure, that might’ve been a little harsher than warranted, but I wasn’t feeling too chummy toward Privacy Guard employees these days.
“There.” I turned back to the reporter, who was quivering in the corner, his back pressed up between two metal bookshelves. “Now, Fintz, you’re going to be a good boy and tell me the truth. Who’s been bribing you?”
“W-what?” His cheeks colored, his eyes narrowing despite his quivering fear. “Nobody! I’m employed by the Herald, just doing my job. Did you really barge into my office and injure a guard just to ask me that?”
“You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.” I snagged him by the collar again and drew him close until we were nose to nose, and bit back a grimace at the acrid stench of fear. “I want to know who’s paying you to write these nasty propaganda articles about shifters.”
“It isn’t propaganda!” Fintz protested, sweat rolling down the sides of his narrow face.
His clammy hands pawed ineffectually at my grasp.
“What I reported in that article is completely true! You shifters are an emotional and unstable lot! Just look at you! Manhandling me like some kind of wild animal –”
I slammed him into the bookshelf, knocking down several volumes.
One of them bounced off the top of his head, and he yelped.
“Cut the crap, Fintz.” I kept my voice even.
“I’ve been looking at the papers, and the Herald has been using its influence to pit humans and shifters against each other.
Tell me, right now, who’s been paying you off for that, and you might not have to spend the rest of the night lounging in the same jail cell that I did. ”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Fintz’s lower lip wobbled. “Mr. Yantz tells me what to write! He’s my boss!”
“I’m afraid he’s correct, Miss Baine.” The door opened, and Petros Yantz, the Editor-in-Chief of the Herald, strolled in.
A tall man with glossy chestnut hair dressed in a sleek, three-piece suit, he was slicker than a puddle of grease, and flashed me a charming smile, ignoring the guard on the floor.
“I am the one who ordered those articles. We have to make a living here, and this kind of stuff is pretty sensational.”
“Sensational!” I let go of Fintz and spun toward Yantz. My nose told me that both men were telling the truth… but my gut told me there was still something terribly wrong about all of this. “Your articles are doing more than creating a sensation, Mr. Yantz.”
He arched his brows. “Perhaps instead of terrorizing my poor reporter, you can come with me to my office,” he suggested. “You’re more than welcome to interrogate me all you like.”
I crossed my arms. “Just like that?”
Yantz shrugged. “I’m not aware that printing news is considered a crime.”
Oh, I’ll bet I can dig up something connected to you that is a crime, I thought, but I just gave him a gimlet stare.
“Well? Are you coming?”
I hesitated, feeling this was all way too easy. But I had questions, and he was my best shot at answers. “Fine,” I said, stepping forward. “But no bullshit. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“Of course not,” he said smoothly. “I assure you I know better than to lie to you.”
“Wait, Miss Baine.”
I turned at the sound of Fintz’s voice. “What is it?” I asked, and that’s when Yantz grabbed my wrist.
I gasped as a needle plunged into my wrist and pain spiked through my arm.
I whirled back to face Yantz, yanking my arm away as fast as I could, but not before he’d hit the plunger and sent whatever murky liquid was in there shooting into my veins.
A strange, giddy sensation washed over me, and I sank to my knees as the room began to rock.
I barely felt the pair of strong, meaty hands that hooked beneath my upper arms, and simply stared at the colors of the room swirling together, until all I could see was blackness.