Lia Cooper's Blog, page 4
February 5, 2017
February Reading TBR
What books are you picking up this month?
February 4, 2017
January 22, 2017
Book Review: Of Fire & Stars | Audrey Coulthurst
A few thoughts about the queer YA fantasy novel Of Fire & Stars.
January 20, 2017
Sneak Peak: Vapor Trail 4a
Preorder Vapor Trail for $0.99
Vapor TrailChapter 4a
July Fourth Weekend – Queen Anne Hill – Lachlan
“Don’t panic,” Vector whispered under his breath, which did more to put Lachlan on edge than it reassured him.
“Why?” he asked, turning to the werewolf. He jumped a little when the other man grabbed his hand and squeezed his fingers. It sent a flutter of anxious tingles through Lachlan’s arm and made his stomach jump. He would have blushed if he hadn’t already been sweating under the outrageous summer sun. Wasn’t it supposed to rain on the Fourth of July? It always had before.
Instead of answering, Vector straightened his shoulders and greeted the woman approaching them across the field—he was exaggerating when he called it a field, but this deep in the city, it felt like a field to have such an extravagantly large backyard. Lachlan had sort of gotten the impression that Vector came from a comfortably well-off family, but he was starting to reassess just how comfortable from the looks of this house, as well as the townhouse in Upper Queen Anne Hill.
The woman—she was half a head shorter than Vector, but not too much shorter than Lachlan himself—had dark hair and pale blue eyes that shone almost grey from her pale skin. An air of authority weighed down the lines of her shoulders, and Lachlan couldn’t miss the way the other members of the pack unconsciously shifted around her, moving out of the way without the woman having to make a sound. She stopped in front of them, eyes flicking down to their linked hands, brushed across Lachlan’s face, and settled on Vector.
“Auntie,” the wolf said, temporarily letting go to lean down and wrap her up in a brief hug.
Lachlan twitched—this much be the pack matriarch, the alpha: Teagan Clanahan.
“It’s good to see you,” she replied, squeezing her nephew tight before letting him go. “And you brought a friend.”
“Ah, yes, this is Lachlan Graham. My ex-partner from the SPD. Lachlan, this is my Aunt Teagan.”
Teagan held out her hand for him to shake. Lachlan’s own palms were sweating, both from the heat as well as nerves. He shook her hand firmly, trying not to let his nerves show.
“I’m sorry that we haven’t had a chance to meet before this,” she addressed him, eyes serious, “but I’m glad you could join us. Our Fourth of July BBQs are not something to miss around these parts.”
“So I’ve been told,” he said, swallowing as she turned their hands and covered the back of his with the palm of her other hand. There was something possessive about the gesture and the way she swept her eyes over him once before staring again. It felt a little bit like she was attempting to peer into his soul and it made Lachlan feel itchy and desperate to let go.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Teagan’s eyes slid away from him back to her nephew—though she kept her hold on his hand. He wondered if it was some sort of test.
“I take it you checked your email this morning?” she asked Vector.
The other werewolf cocked his head. “No?”
Teagan’s mouth pressed into an amused line and she squeezed Lachlan’s hand a hair too hard. “Would you excuse us for a couple minutes, Mr Graham?”
“Lachlan’s fine,” he mumbled.
“Lachlan.”
“Uh, sure.”
“Thank you. I’ll return my nephew to you in just a minute.”
The two werewolves walked off, Vector shooting him a confused look and a shrug over his shoulder before they disappeared into the house.
Lachlan stuck his hands in his pockets and tried not to feel completely out of place in the middle of a writhing werewolf pack, but it wasn’t easy.
He could feel eyes on him but no one made any move to approach, which he counted a small mercy. It was hard enough figuring out where he stood with Vector when it was just the two of them, and they still hadn’t discussed what they were going to do about the future—and Vector’s work situation. If anyone here asked him what he was to the wolf, he didn’t think he’d be able to give them a satisfactory answer. That uncertainty drove a little part of his brain to distraction.
But Lachlan had had other designs on attending than just seeing Vector: he had to talk to Patrick Clanahan. Even if it was gauche to go to the man’s family gathering to get information on a case, it had been a week and Lachlan hadn’t heard anything from Mallory despite her promise to keep him informed.
He’d already had to call Alan’s grandmother back east and break the news to her, had to listen to her cry quietly into the receiver for the better part of half an hour before he’d been able to end the call. And he didn’t have any more information than when the EMTs had called to let him know his best friend was dead.
What good was he as a private investigator if he couldn’t get information on his own friend’s death?
Well, he wasn’t technically an investigator at all, but that was another matter.
It wasn’t going to do him any good standing around here like a schmuck, he might as well take a look around and see if he could find Patrick Clanahan for himself.
He ducked his head and strolled back towards the house, eyes sweeping over the crowd of werewolves knotted around the grills and the picnic tables laden with chips, buns, paper plates, and disposable silverware. He caught the eye of a young woman sipping a beer and looked away. A quick glance back showed her still staring at him but she’d been joined by a familiar pair of broad shoulders in a white tank top and khaki shorts: bingo.
Lachlan cut around the throng, headed towards Patrick Clanahan and the woman. He was still trying to come up with something to say when the girl raised her hand and waved at him. Confused, Lachlan walked over. She was sitting on top of one of the weathered picnic tables, her feet propped up on the bench seat. Patrick Clanahan had sat down next to her sneakers and was bent over a book, the sunlight glaring off the page almost too painful to look at. This, however, did not seem to deter the werewolf whose eyes never left the page.
“Hey—are you V’s friend?”
“’V?’ You mean Vector. Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Hi!” she greeted brightly, smile visibly growing as she patted the table next to her.
Lachlan ignored the invitation.
“I’m Grace,” the said. “Vector’s cousin, and this is my big brother, Patrick.”
“Yes, we’ve met.”
“You have? Patty never said anything.” Grace slapped her brother’s shoulder until he grunted and looked up, squinting irritably. “Why didn’t you say you’d met Vector’s friend here?”
“What?”
“Pat!”
“What?” Patrick Clanahan snarled and turned his squint on Lachlan. “Oh.” He shrugged.
Grace rolled her eyes and grinned at Lachlan. “Ignore him, he’s useless. You’re a cop too, right?”
“Used to be.”
“Are you in the FBI now too?” she asked with a confused expression.
“No. I work over in the U District. And I do some, uh, consulting work.”
His explanation seemed to confuse her anymore if the frown on her face was any indication, and Lachlan remembered how useless it probably was to try and bend the truth around werewolves who could literally hear and smell when he was lying. Still, it was his story and he might as well stick with it now that he’d spun it.
“That’s cool,” she said, nodding her head and raising her beer to him.
It took him a second to realize that she had done it as a toast. He clinked their bottles together and glanced at Patrick, but the other werewolf had already lost interest in their conversation. His head was bent back over the large tome in front of him. Lachlan thought it was odd that the werewolf had brought what looked like a history text to his family’s holiday party.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
“Work,” Patrick grunted without nothing to look up.
Grace rolled her eyes again, kicking her feet against the edge of the picnic bench and making the entire seat shudder a little.
“Like I said, useless.”
Lachlan’s eyebrows edged up his forehead. He drained his beer, racking his brain for something he could say to draw Patrick Clanahan out of his book when it was clear he wasn’t in much of a mood to talk to anyone, let alone his cousin’s pet human.
“So, you and Vector, huh?” Grace asked with a wide grin and her eyebrows waggling at him.
“Me and Vector, what?”
“You’re together, right? He looks really happy about it.”
“Oh, well, no— We’re just, clearing up some stuff between us… It’s complicated.”
“Ah, man, don’t be like that. You can be honest with us,” she said, digging her knee into her brother’s side.
“Leave him alone,” Patrick growled and stood up. He gave Grace a stern look before he grabbed his book and stomped back inside the house.
Grace sighed at his retreating back and wrapped her lips around her beer bottle, drinking deeply. She flicked condensation off her fingers and dropped her head. “I can’t figure out what’s eating at him.”
Lachlan shifted, uncomfortable at being witness to the tension between the two.
“Anyway, sorry about him. And sorry if I made you uncomfortable with my question.”
“It’s fine,” he said.
“I’m really happy that Vector’s back. Happy for you both,” she gave him a weak smile.
“Yeah. Um, will you excuse me?” He didn’t wait for an answer, spun on his heals, and hurried in the direction Patrick had disappeared.
He followed his gut, winding through the chattering cooks in the kitchen, and found the beta tucked up in a study off the main hall. It might have been more accurate to call the room a library, rather than just a study, as it was decorated with plush rugs, ample seating, and floor to ceiling bookcases full of books. The lighting in the room had been left off, and the house’s central air pumped in a cool, artificial breeze that made goosebumps ripple across his bare arms.
“What do you want?” a grim voice asked.
He jumped and caught Patrick Clanahan’s glare.
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to ask about the case.”
“I’m working on it,” the wolf said, gesturing angrily with the book in his lap.
Lachlan crossed the room to get a better look, surprised when he saw that the pages appeared to be covered in runes.
“What does magic have to do with Alan’s murder? I thought it was a mugging.”
“Who’s Alan?” Patrick asked with a frown. “This is about the St Mark’s bodies, which I shouldn’t even be talking to you about. Since you’re not a cop anymore.”
Lachlan’s gut lurched and he felt a coolness settle over his brain. “We already resolved the St Mark’s break-in. That was Mitchell Melody. And Alan is my fri—was my friend. You know, that dead guy you found in South Park a week ago? You’re not even working on it?”
“Oh, that one.” Patrick waved his hand, looking back at his book. “Mallory is taking point on that case. We’ve got too much to do.”
“But that doesn’t explain why you’re still looking into the St Mark’s bodies!” Lachlan snapped, reaching out to grab the book in Patrick Clanahan’s hands. The wolf moved faster—grabbing his wrist and shoving him away with a growl.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” the wolf snapped, glaring at him.
“Ouch.” Lachlan rubbed his wrist. The wolf was stronger than he’d expected. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had a couple finger shaped bruises by the end of the day, and all it had taken was a second of contact.
“And don’t think you’re fooling anyone with that little story of yours.”
“What story?” he asked petulantly, drawing back.
Patrick snorted, and shoved his shoulders into the back of the couch. “The one about doing ‘consulting’ work,” he said, spitting out the words.
Lachlan gritted his teeth and brushed out of the room. It was clear he wasn’t going to get anything from that angle.
“Hey,” Vector’s voice drifted down the hallway. “I wondered where you’d gotten to.”
Lachlan pasted a bland smile onto his face and slid his hand into his pocket. His guts squirmed with anger, but he wasn’t willing to let Vector see just how upset he was.
“Just doing a little snooping. I hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s fine. You want to see if the food’s ready?”
“Sure.” Lachlan let his ex-partner lead him back outside and tried to put thoughts of Alan out of his head for an hour.
January 17, 2017
Jane Austen Discussion Wrap-up Part 1 | Pride & Prejudice | Emma | Persuasion
Come chat w/ me about Jane Austen!
January 12, 2017
Sneak Peak: Vapor Trail 3b
Preorder Vapor Trail for $0.99
Vapor TrailChapter 3b
The McClanahan pack had settled in Seattle over one hundred years ago. Before the Great Fire, even. They’d originally built this house for the entire pack: three flours plus a finished attic; sixteen bedrooms, including the master; four full bathrooms; two living rooms; dining room, with a long handcrafted dining table; and a huge rustic kitchen. A detached garage had been added to the property in the fifties. Now, only the main family lived there regularly, but there were always a couple of spare bedrooms open for anyone who needed a place to stay.
Vector had lived in the house briefly in his youth, right after his mother had died, while his father was struggling to find his footing. It had been comforting to be surrounded by family. His Aunt Teagan was his alpha first and foremost, but she had also been a little bit like a mother to him growing up, especially once his own father had passed away when he was in his early twenties.
Vector was equal parts nervous and excited to introduce Lachlan to everyone. It had been his dream to do so all those years ago when they’d been in the SPD together. Now, he was less certain what it meant for them, less certain that they were headed towards a future together. But still, he yearned for Lachlan to be accepted by his pack.
And he couldn’t deny that he was a little concerned with how Lachlan would react to them. He talked about how he’d learned about werewolves in the years since Vector had left Seattle, and he’d asked a lot of questions about Vector’s senses, but that wasn’t the same thing as feeling comfortable surrounded by an actual werewolf pack. For a norm like Lachlan, nothing really prepared you for a pack as large as the McClanahans.
“Am I late? Lachlan asked, nose twitching as the front door slammed closed behind them.
Vector shook his head. “No, they only just got the hamburgers on the grill.”
“Well, it smells good.”
He smiled. “As my uncle would say, I hope you brought an appetite.”
“To a werewolf Fourth of July? Of course.”
Vector could hear the nervous hitch in the other man’s breathing and heart rate.
They made their way through the house into the kitchen, where Vector showed him were he could set his brownies down with the other desserts. Outside, Vector hesitated to offer the man a beer but Lachlan beat him to the punch.
“Got anything to drink?”
Vector showed him the coolers full of ice and drinks and let Lachlan pick for himself.
“Thanks. This is normal right, to feel this nervous about a BBQ?”
“I think so.” Vector debated whether he should try holding Lachlan’s hand or if that would seem too forward? Or too childish? He’d never been in a relationship before, and he wasn’t sure that’s what they were in together now—not with his future so uncertain thanks to the FBI—but he knew that he ached to feel Lachlan’s skin.
He was psyching himself up to do it when Lachlan surprised him by asking:
“Is your cousin here? I mean, obviously they are. But I mean, is Patrick here? The other cop.”
“He’s supposed to come, yeah. He’s not here yet thought.”
“Oh. I was kind of hoping I could talk to him too.”
“Right.”
“Not that that’s the only reason I came.”
“Of course not. You wanted to avoid your mother.” Vector tried to make it sound like a joke.
“And to see you,” Lachlan muttered, biting on his bottom lip. “We still haven’t finished our talk from the other day.”
Vector perked up, inching closer to the human with a hopeful feeling fluttering in his stomach. It was a little ridiculous how nervous Lachlan could make him feel—they’d literally saved each other’s life on multiple occasions—but it wasn’t entirely a bad sort of nervous. More a hopeful one.
“Plus, I did promise to come to dinner here. Like years ago. Do you remember that?” Lachlan asked, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. He looked as nervous as Vector felt, and that reassured him.
“I do. I’m glad you came. Really, really glad.”
Lachlan smirked and took a sip from his bottle of—not beer, Vector noticed, just root beer.
“Me too,” the human said and brushed the tips of their fingers together.
Feeling brave, Vector twined their fingers together and held on. He looked up and caught his Aunt’s eyes across the backyard.
January 10, 2017
January 5, 2017
Sneak Peak: Vapor Trail 3a/?
Preorder Vapor Trail for $0.99
Vapor TrailChapter 3a
July Fourth Weekend – Queen Anne Hill – Vector
Vector caught himself checking his phone more often than might have been considered polite, but luckily the other members of his pack were too busy with grill prep to call him out on it.
He’d asked Lachlan if he wanted to come to lunch, but he’s been afraid of sounding too insensitive about the invite when the man had just lost his best friend. He wasn’t sure Lachlan was going to show up today, and he couldn’t blame him if he didn’t. It was a lot to ask of anyone, to meet someone’s extensive extended family, on a holiday weekend, and following a traumatizing event. Too much maybe.
Still, a large part of Vector was hopeful that Lachlan would find the energy to attend Pack McClanahan’s annual Fourth of July BBQ Cookout. They were all assembled at the pack’s main house—out in the large backyard that sloped down in a rolling green hill behind the old Victorian house. There were three grills going, one for meats, one for sides, and a third for overflow. Men and women—cousins, uncles, aunts, and in-laws—crowded the house’s kitchen, all of them angling for a bit of counter space to put the finishing touches on their potato salads, pastas, deviled eggs, and cakes, pies, and cookies.
“You’re looking a little overwhelmed there, cuz, you feeling okay?” Grace Clanahan asked—one of Patrick’s younger sisters—appearing at his elbow with two frosty beers in her hands. She gave one to him, snapped the tops off with a keyring bottle opener, and toasted him with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m all right,” he replied, taking a long sip. He didn’t drink a lot, didn’t always enjoy the way the alcohol dulled his razor-sharp senses. Getting drunk was a lot like chopping off a limb: unpleasant to say the least. But he could appreciate the flavor of the local IPA and the soft, low buzz it gave to the world when he was safely surrounded by family.
“I’m glad you make it this year. We all are.”
“So am I.”
“You should visit more often,” Grace reproached him.
Vector sighed. “I would if I could.”
“Mom said we weren’t supposed to bug you about it.”
“And yet.”
Grace laughed and shoved her sharp elbow into his side. All of Patrick’s sisters were brats, but they meant well. “Oh, don’t be such a Debbie Downier, V. I’m only saying it because I miss seeing your face around here. Nothing’s like I thought it would be,” she murmured, tapping the edge of her beer against her sharp, white teeth.
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “Figured you’d be married and settled by now.”
“Excuse me?” he choked, drawing a little away so he could stare.
“Oh, come on! I’m not the only one. I was shocked when you decided to take off, move across the country, and never speak to any of us again.”
“I already apologized to Auntie about that.”
“Hmm. So, who are you expecting a call from?”
“What?”
She gave his phone a significant look.
“I invited someone to the BBQ.”
“Oh yeah? It’s not your boy from back in the day, is it? Oh, god, don’t tell me it’s your FBI partner?”
He shook his head. “The former, not the latter.”
“Oh, cool. It’s not like we’ve been waiting literal years to meet this guy or anything.”
“Patrick’s met him.”
“Like that means anything,” she snorted. “Have you seen Patty yet? I wanted to talk to him, but I haven’t been able to find him.”
Vector relaxed his shoulders and brought his nose up into the puff of wind winding across the yard. It might have been difficult for the average wolf to pick out a single scent where there were so many werewolves commingling on the property, especially when they all smelled distinctly of pack, but Vector’s extra sensitive nose was able to sift through the individual signatures like someone flipping through a Rolodex.
“I don’t think he’s arrived yet.”
Grace’s mouth turned down into a small frown.
“Why?” Vector asked, brushing their shoulders together lightly.
“He’s been acting weird lately. Figured I’d try shoving a couple drinks down his throat, see if I could get him to lighten up about it.”
“Could be work. Summer is always a busy season for us.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. I think it’s something else. He’s been busy because of work before. And he’s always a little grouchy.”
Vector chuckled under his breath and shared a knowing look with Grace who smirked for a second before her face grew serious again. He realized all of a sudden that she was really concerned about Patrick.
“But he seems more grouchy. I’m saying it right.”
“I’ll let you know when he gets here, how about that?”
Grace’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that your hint for me to get lost?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“No—no, it’s fine. I know when I’m not wanted,” she said, holding up her hands in mock hurt.
“Obviously not,” he retorted. Vector’s attention was ripped away from Grace faux outrage the next second when a distinctive scent made its way to his nose. It wasn’t his absent cousin—it was Lachlan.
“Will you excuse me for a minute?” he asked Grace, already snaking his way through the crowd, around the side of the house, to the street where Lachlan was parking his Honda.
His ex-partner met his eyes and made an abortive wave.
“Is it okay if I park here?” Lachlan asked, not bothering to raise his voice louder than a conversational level. It made Vector’s heart leap in his throat.
He smiled at Lachlan and nodded vigorously. The other man returned the smile, even if it wasn’t quite as enthusiastic, and crossed the street.
“Hey,” Lachlan greeted him. He had a plate covered in foil in one hand.
Vector hesitated for half a second before giving into the urge to grab Lachlan’s hand and pull him into a quick hug.
“Hi,” he breathed, feeling his heartbeat get away from him. “What’s that?” he jerked his chin at the plate.
“Brownies. But before you get the wrong idea, my neighbor baked them. She heard about—” Lachlan cleared his throat awkwardly. “About Alan. But I don’t think it’d be a good idea to eat them all myself. So I thought, who better to dispose of them then an entire werewolf pack. Am I right? You’re not all allergic to chocolate, are you?”
Vector shook his head. “We’re not actually dogs.”
“Well, that’s good. I just realized how terribly this gesture could have gone.”
“You didn’t have to bring anything. I’m glad you came though.”
The human shrugged. “Don’t take it the wrong way, but it was a good excuse to avoid my mother’s church invite.”
“You told her about this?” Vector felt his eyebrows creep up his forehead as he led Lachlan into the house.
tbc
January 1, 2017
January Reading TBR
some stuff I’m planning (or have already read…whAT?) in January! what are you reading?
December 30, 2016
Sneak Peak: Vaper Trail (The Profane Series) Chapter 2
[image error]Late June 2012 – Capitol Hill – Lachlan
How was it that the second things started to go okay, reality inevitably intervened in the worst way?
Lachlan struggled to put the words he was hearing into a context that would compute inside his brain. His hand, gripping the cellphone, froze around the little plastic chassis. If the device had been any less well made, it would have cracked.
“I’m sorry, can you say that again?”
The woman—the police officer or the EMT, or whoever it was that the police station had gotten to call him—said the words again and this time they broke through the fog in his head. Lachlan politely thanked her for her time and hung up. He looked at Vector, but he didn’t need to say anything, the werewolf had heard it all with his wolf ears.
“Lachlan,” Vector breathed out in a soft voice.
He shook his head and dropped the phone. It thumped quietly against the thin rug under his feet. He should check it for other calls—texts—something. Surely the moment hadn’t passed without—while he was—
A man had died in Seattle, which was not a unique occurrence. Men killed each other day. People died from natural and unnatural causes. Took their own lives in some cases. This was a big city, filled with hundreds of thousands of people, all of them wading through existence, waiting for that moment for it be snuffed out.
“Alan’s dead,” he said in a toneless voice. Inanely. Because of course the wolf already knew it, he’d heard it, the three times Lachlan had had to ask the woman on the phone to repeat herself.
“Lachlan.”
Long fingered hands cupped the sides of his face in the warm air, brushing sticky strands of hair off his forehead. He felt them, but not as hands, as anchors drawing him back into the moment. Focusing him. He was grateful, once again, for Vector’s steadying presence.
“I need to do something. What should I do?” he asked, looking up into the wolf’s dark, endless eyes.
“I’ll make a call. It happened in Patrick’s precinct. He might be able to tell us who has the case.”
“Patrick?” Lachlan asked, feeling the slow crawl of a numbing sensation sweep over his nerves. “Your cousin?”
“Yes.”
The hands on his face smoothed over his skin and Lachlan felt the wolf smudge a kiss across his hot cheek before withdrawing. The wolf spoke in a low voice into his phone from the other side of the room, eventually wandering into the hallway for a couple of minutes.
Lachlan hadn’t even realized he was Alan’s emergency contact.
“I have good news—or, well, not good but convenient,” Vector tripped over his words, reappearing in the doorway. “Patrick said the case number is one of his, he’s been on the scene all morning. If you want, we can go down to the South Precinct.”
“Did he say that?”
“Not in so many words, but—Lachlan?”
“In a minute. Did he tell you how it happened? What they think?”
“No, he sounded distracted.”
Lachlan jerked back to the present when a glass appeared in front of his face, full of cool water from the tap and ice that clinked. He took the glass with a shaking hand and drank half of it in one long gulp, feeling his brain ache and his stomach lurch. Vector took the glass away from him when he stopped drinking and set it down on the nightstand.
“If you need a minute…maybe you should lay down for a little bit. Just to gather your thoughts. We don’t have to leave immediately. It’ll take them awhile to finish up at the scene and get back to the station.”
Lachlan shook his head and leapt to his feet. He was being stupid, letting the news incapacitate him like this. And while he appreciated Vector’s gentle handholding, he didn’t want it.
“No—no, let’s go. I need see the—the body. I need to know what happened.”
“Right.” Vector nodded briskly, all business again, and helped find his wallet and keys while Lachlan dug out a pair of flip flops.
“Are you sure you want to drive?”
Lachlan threw back the rest of his lukewarm coffee and gave his ex-partner a dark look. “Bad news or no, I’m still a safer driver than you are.”
“I’ve gotten better, actually,” Vector said, following him downstairs.
Outside, the sun beat down on the sidewalk, reflecting white light off the pale concrete, glass, and chrome—blinding him.
“Come on, we can catch the bus instead,” Lachlan said, jogging up the hill to the stop nearest his apartment. “I try not to drive if I don’t have to.”
“That’s very economical of you.”
“Hope you don’t mind.”
The wolf shook his head and dropped two dollars in the meter, sitting in the aisle seat next to him. They’d missed the worst of the morning commute and the bus wasn’t terribly crowded.
“As long as it gets us where we need to go,” Vector replied.
The werewolf’s eyes moved over the crowd. Lachlan imagined him cataloging the other passengers with his ridiculous memory and supernatural senses. Did he categorize people by their appearances or their smell? he wondered.
It was an interesting line of thought, but hardly enough to distract him from their destination. Or why their morning had been interrupted.
What had Alan gotten himself mixed up in to wind up dead in the middle of the week?
They’d had to cancel their last couple get togethers so it had been a week or two since the last time he spoke to his friend face-to-face, but he couldn’t think of anything Alan had mentioned that might have resulted in his—
Was it just bad luck on his friend’s part? Wrong place, wrong time? Had it been a mugging gone wrong? Not an impossible explanation. Seattle had its fair share of gang and drug problems, which resulted in certain hotbeds of crime. That was to be expected with any major metropolis. But it was nothing compared to the crime you found in Los Angeles or New York, and Alan wasn’t an idiot. He knew where not to get caught late at night by himself.
“Here, you forgot this,” Vector said, handing him his cellphone.
“Thanks.” Lachlan thumbed the device on and checked his calls and text history, but there was nothing before the attempts from the ME’s office.
“You were close, weren’t you?”
“He was my best friend,” Lachlan replied. “We’d been through a lot. There were a few rough years for me, after that last case, and Alan carried my ass home more than once.”
“I’m sorry,” the wolf repeated. And he really did sound sorry. Not like all those careless throwaway apologies people bandied about without any real feeling. But sincerely a little heartbroken—both for himself, but also for the perceived distress the situation was causing Lachlan himself.
Their shoulders brushed together as the bus lurched up and down the steep Seattle slopes. Lachlan wasn’t about to engage in any overt displays of public affection, but still, he reached between their bodies and squeezed Vector’s fingers between his own. One quick, tight moment of human contact to acknowledge the words and manner with which they had been offered to him.
“Thanks. And thank you for this. Calling your cousin.”
He felt Vector shrug.
“It’s nothing.”
They were stuck waiting for a connecting bus for the better part of half an hour, but they made it to the station before noon. And if Vector was frustrated or put out by the inconvenience of traveling by public transportation, he didn’t show it. He remained strong and silently stoic beside Lachlan, occasionally glancing at his phone without actually typing anything.
Lachlan wondered how glad Patrick Clanahan would actually be to see them, but he didn’t care as long as it got him answers about Alan’s death.
The South Seattle Police Precinct displayed architecture typical of the area: three floors high, blank square windows that stretched from the bottom of the floor to the top without any adornment, and the exterior constructed entirely from red brick. It was a relic of a time when South Seattle and its neighborhoods were dominated by a more industrial crowd. Seventy years ago, these brick warehouses and low rises had been home to manufacturing businesses that stretched from Marginal Way to Beacon to Rainier Avenue.
In the distance, he could occasionally catch the low drone of planes taking off or landing at Boeing field.
They walked to the police station and Vector led the way inside, up two flights of stairs to the top floor and stopped at two desks near the center of the action, neither occupied at the present. One had books spread across its surface and the remains of a sandwich sitting in its brown paper wrapper. The opposite desk was neat and tidy, papers organized in the In/Out tray, pens and pencils sorted into matching cups, and the computer painstakingly free of dust.
“Is this…?” Lachlan glanced over his shoulder when the doors to the bullpen swung open behind them and two sweating figures stalked towards them. One was a man, tall and broader in the shoulders than Vector, with a dark look on his face. He was accompanied by a woman, average height, with darkly tanned skin and her long dark hair pulled back in a braid that draped across her shoulder. Next to him Vector perked up and held his hand out to the man.
“Hello, Pat.”
Detective Patrick Clanahan grunted and gave his cousin’s hand a perfunctory shake. “You didn’t say you were going to come down here.”
“I thought it was implied. This is my—ex-partner, uh, Lachlan Graham. He’s the emergency contact of your victim. I was hoping you could fill us in on what’s going on. The ME’s office was light on details.”
Clanahan shot a quick look at Lachlan. They had met once before, years ago, right after Vector took his reassignment with the FBI. It hadn’t been one of the better moments of Lachlan’s life, but he was still a little surprised when the other wolf’s eyes slid right through him, no shred of recognition flickering across his face.
“I don’t know, Vector. Things are a little crazy here.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to get a positive ID on the victim,” the woman interrupted. “I’m Detective Sabira Mallory, I’m sorry that we’re meeting under such unfortunate circumstances.”
Lachlan and Vector both shook Mallory’s hand.
“I’d like to see the body,” Lachlan interjected when it looked like Clanahan might try to brush them off again.
“I can take you.” She held up her hand to Clanahan and gave him an expectant look. “Didn’t we just agree that I’d take point on this case while you continue looking into the St Mark’s bodies?”
“You’re still investigating St Mark’s?” Vector asked, folding his arms behind his back.
Lachlan fidgeted as the three police officers started discussing the case he and Vector had just wrapped up in Tacoma. As glad as he was to have contributed to putting Ryan Ellms behind bars, he wasn’t in any mood to rehash the case. Not when his best friend was lying downstairs in a body bag.
“What do mean it has nothing to do with my funeral home case? I’m the one who gave you the St Mark’s files.”
“I know, I thought that was the point,” Vector protested. “Look if you were better at picking up your phone when I call you, I might have been able to keep you in the loop on developments with the St Mark’s bodies, but that’s hardly my fault.”
“You’re one to talk about not keeping in touch, Vector,” Clanahan growled.
“Gentlemen, do you really think this is the time or place to have this particular discussion?” Mallory interrupted with her sharp, British accent. She gestured to get Lachlan’s attention. “Follow me, Mr Graham.”
Vector snorted and hurried after them as Mallory led them downstairs to the city morgue.
“We don’t know much right now. We’re waiting on the toxicology report, obviously.”
“Where did you find him?” Lachlan asked.
“South Park, on the bank of the Duwamish right across from Boeing Field. Some kids from the neighborhood found him. When was the last time you spoke to your friend?” she asked, glancing at him.
“I don’t know. It’s been a busy week.”
“Think about it.”
The elevator dinged and let them out in a cool, dimly lit hallway. The rest of the building might swelter in this heat, but they were still sure to pump enough air conditioning down here to combat the smell of death.
Mallory waved to the kid sitting behind the ME’s desk. “Hello, Tobias. Has the South Park body arrived yet?”
“We haven’t finish processing it.”
“I want to see it anyway,” Lachlan said.
“Are you sure? It’s not going to be very pretty.”
“I used to be a cop. I can handle it.”
Mallory shrugged and motioned for Toby to get up and follow them inside the main diagnostic opera. The Medical Examiner—Lachlan didn’t recognize her by sight, but his contact with the ME’s office had been limited during his time with Vice—was braced against the examination table which held a naked body. She spoke into a microphone clipped to the collar of her lab coat. There was blood on her hands.
Lachlan froze in the doorway and swallowed. Even if he’d thought he was ready for this moment, there was no preparation you could do to see your best friend laid out on stainless steal like nothing more than a slab of meat, waiting to be quartered, weighed, and measured.
“You don’t have to do this right now. We can come back,” Vector murmured, wrapped a reassuring hand around his left arm.
Lachlan shook his head and shoved down the squirming sensation in his stomach.
“Mallory?” the ME asked, pausing in her work.
“Hello, Doctor. I’m sorry to interrupt your work but this young man is a friend of the deceased.”
“So, you just decided to bring him down into my office? Come on, Mallory, that’s not—”
Mallory shrugged. “I just wanted the young man to make a positive ID on the body.”
“We’ve got his license. I’m sending the fingerprints upstairs, you’ll get your positive ID.”
Mallory’s expression remained placid as she gestured for Lachlan to come closer. He stepped up to the operating table, ignoring the disgruntled noise the ME made as she stepped back.
“Where’s Patrick?” Doctor Lynch asked, removing her bloody gloves and disposing of them in the bin marked with a biohazard sticker.
“Upstairs, working on another one of our cases,” Mallory replied.
“It’s going to be a busy summer. With all this heat.”
“Strange how those two things go hand in hand, isn’t it. Now, Mr Graham—”
“You can call me Lachlan.”
“Lachlan, are you ready?”
He grimaced. He’d already gotten an eyeful of his friend’s pallid skin the second he stepped fully into the room.
“That’s definitely him,” he said, jerking his chin past her shoulder. “Now, can you tell me how he died?”
“Doctor?”
“I haven’t found anything to disprove my assessment at the scene,” Doctor Lynch said.
“As far as we can tell, your friend, Mr Wade, was the victim of a violent attack. There are defensive as well as offensive wounds, so it’s our theory that he was involved in a fight of some sort. Whether he instigated or was merely the victim, we can’t say yet. There’s evidence of a skull fracture and several broken bones, including the left orbital socket and his nose.”
“He was beaten to death,” Lachlan said, filling in the blanks.
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if I take a closer look?”
“Don’t touch the body,” Dr Lynch snapped.
“I remember.”
Lachlan stared down at his friend’s face. As expected from Mallory’s description, it was distorted and covered in a thick coat of blood and grime. There were multiple bruises and contusions bisecting Alan’s chest, arms, and legs. The skin along his knuckles was jagged and raised where it had been torn: he’d had fought back. Fought for his life. While Lachlan was sleeping safe in his apartment across the city, bemoaning the fate of his love life.
“When did he die?”
“Last night some time. More then fourteen hours ago at least.”
Lachlan sighed. At least he could be sure that Alan hadn’t tried to contact him last night. It was small comfort.
There was dirt covering most of the body. It was even in his sandy colored hair, but a particular blue tinged smudge under his friend’s nostrils caught Lachlan’s eye. He leaned over to get a closer look.
“What?” Mallory asked.
Lachlan sniffed subtly. He didn’t have a nose like Vector, but he could still detect the faint trace of lavender and electricity and something like burnt sugar cookies.
“Nothing,” he said, straightening up. He stepped away and asked Mallory, “If I give you my email, will you keep me updated on what happens?”
She looked between Vector and him and Alan’s body on the slab and shrugged. “I suppose I can do that, yes.”
“Thanks.”
