10
The oh crap handle found its way back into my hand when Asa pulled onto a pockmarked dirt road.
“Grit your teeth,” Clay suggested, “or they might bounce loose.”
A tidy singlewide trailer sat at the end of the long drive on a patch of bright green grass. The sharp edges of the lawn told me the homeowner had laid sod but only enough to create their own mini oasis. A car in pristine condition, a miracle considering the state of the road, sat in front of the small porch.
This time, Clay got his chance to knock, and he did so carefully, as we had been greeted by a storm door.
A plump woman in a cherry apron greeted us with a welcoming smile. “How can I help you?”
“We’re looking for Dan Malone.” Clay grinned right back, and she blushed. “Does he live here?”
“Danny?” She waved an oven-mitted hand. “He’s my husband. Come on in. I have cookies.”
The file mentioned Dan Malone was a lynx shifter, but it made no mention of a wife.
“I never say no to cookies, ma’am.” Clay led the way after she opened the door. “They smell divine.”
“They’re my specialty.” She dialed her cheer higher. “Danny! Darling, these folks are here to see you.”
An older man with white tufts of wiry hair sticking out of his ears entered the living room.
“Rose.” His sigh ended on a growl. “What have I told you about letting strangers in the house?”
“We never have company,” she fussed. “It gets lonely out here, all by ourselves.”
Expression softening on her, he hardened again as he looked us up and down, pausing on me. “What do you want?”
With a shifter nose, I probably stank to high heaven to him. “I’m Agent Rue Hollis with the FBI—”
“You’re Black Hat, dear.” His wife tittered. “I smell it all over you.”
“Apologies, ma’am.” Clay turned his grin back on her. “We can’t be too careful.”
Plenty of paras married normals, and those humans were often kept ignorant of our world for their own good. But there was something about Mrs. Malone that made my nape tingle.
“I understand,” she assured him. “I just wanted to let you know you can speak freely.”
As I made them wariest, and their focus zeroed in on me, I handled the questioning.
“Three bodies were discovered on a site under contract by Lawry Lumber. We’re here to ask—”
A few things happened at once.
Mrs. Malone burst into flames.
Mr. Malone erupted into his lynx form.
And the cookies we had been promised began to weep icing tears.
“What in tarnation is that?” Clay recoiled, not from the paras, but from the cookies. “They’re…alive?”
“I only take what I need,” the column of flame that was Mrs. Malone crackled at us. “Just enough.”
Mr. Malone braced his silver paws on the linoleum, barring us from the kitchen and his wife.
“Are you responsible for the deaths of three girls killed with black magic?” Asa stepped forward. “You’re both hunters. I doubt you would stoop so low as that in order to feed.”