Page 11 of Cause Of Death

“Sorry, Les. I’m still stumped. You might need to explain this to me like I’m a child or something.”

Leslie huffs out an exasperated sigh at my ignorance, but they usher me closer as they explain their illicit discovery.

“I spoke to Greg, one of my contacts earlier today. He’s an alpha, and pretty deeply entrenched in the dark web, especially in a particular despicable corner of it. He monitors red rooms; you know, the ones where degenerates can and do pay to watch people be brutalized, tortured, and executed for their entertainment and enjoyment. There have been murmurings in particular circles for the past twenty years or so that someone—or severalsomeones—fairly high up in the Prince family are heavily involved in some of the more…specialized… scenes. Not the murder part, but the assault and brutalization of children and young women, with a particular fixation on young boys and pregnant teens. This rumor has become even more prevalent in recent years, with whispered talk about someone new coming in to head it all up. There’s never been any proof, of course,” Leslie scoffs, flicking their fingers derisively at the thought, “but there are enough breadcrumbs scattered about to leave smudges on the otherwise pristine Prince reputation, if you know where to look.”

Leslie draws my attention back to the sheets of financial information.

“These records that Greg’s unearthed are payments, both incoming and outgoing, for a particular viewer subscription. They date back decades, and on first glance, are completely separate and unrelated. That’s until you take a closer look.” Leslie beckons me to lean in, pointing at several highlighted transactions over multiple pages.

I glance over them, unsure of what I’m looking for at first, and then it hits me. The dates all differ, as do the accounts. However, two things are always the same: the dollar amount, and the last eight digits noted in the reference line. I ignore the currency for the moment, instead staring blindly at the mix ofthree letters and five numbers. KXP31297. Kieran Xavier Prince, and his date of birth.

“You’ve said these payments go back decades, right? Les, is that correct?” I ask, a trill of urgency threading through my voice. Leslie simply nods in response.

“The three letters could mean anything, as could the five numbers,” I point out, but I don’t stop there.

“However, when paired with theseparticularfive numbers, I believe they combine to refer to Kieran Xavier Prince, my target. The numbers are hisofficialdate of birth, and not the one bandied about by celebrity gossip mills and social media. He was born on March twelfth, that’s true enough, but the year is the key. Everyone believes that he’s twenty-six, not twenty-seven. He was born in ninety-seven, not ninety-eight.”

Kieran Prince is not your usual celebrity or nepo baby. He’s extremely reclusive, with most paparazzi shots of him either blurred, or unable to display much other than dark glasses, a baseball cap, oversize hoodie, and the occasional face mask. His family—primarily his devoted mother—have curated the public’s perception of him, only releasing “approved” family photographs and images of him during special occasions—school and college graduations (not that he truly attended any in person), Christmas and other holiday family portraits, and his major birthdays. It helps their narrative to have him appear a year younger than his real age, as they can tweak and adjust his image as they see fit.

They’ve excused his reclusive behavior by explaining that Kieran is a very shy and humble young man who would prefer his deeds to speak for him, rather than his appearance, although even they have been few and far between. Rumors abound as to why he’s so secluded, ranging from him being a raging narcissist and psychopath who can’t be let out in public, to havingcrippling social anxiety and agoraphobia. Nobody knows for sure, and that uncertainty only gives credence to his mystique.

“But if that’s the case,” Kimberly interjects, “then it can’t be Kieran who’s responsible for all these transactions. These date back to when he was still a child, a small child at that, even going by the altered birth dates. Unless he is some kind of genius, I can’t picture him setting up this kind of operation. Taking over it? Yes. Setting it up? No.”

Leslie hums in agreement. “I concur. As I said before, there’s something rotten in the House of Prince, and not even a Royal decree can erase the stench. We know the supposed reasons behind why the Guild has issued a contract on the princeling, and at a surface glance, there’s enough circumstantial evidence to bury him without hesitation. However, the Guild knows that our Wisp would never stop there. They know she’ll dig and dig until she’s satisfied that she has all the pertinent information, and then act accordingly. Our Wisp likes to match her cause of death to the sins of her target, even if they’re not the most obvious of the lot.” They turn and give me a rather salacious grin.

“I’m betting that the Guild knows that there’s something off in that family. Perhaps they’ve been tasked with identifying and dealing with the corruption on the down-low. The very fact that they’ve assigned him to Disa knowing how she operates? Well… that tells me that Kieran Prince is either a red-herring, or heisour target. But if that’s the case, I don’t believe it’s in the way that we originally considered.”

We all look up to Henley, awaiting his thoughts on the subject. His brow is furrowed with a frown so heavy that his eyebrows are touching, and I can hear the sound of his teeth grinding together in fury as he connects the dots.

“From the looks of this, Kieran Prince is being set up as a figurehead for a pedophile and trafficking ring on the dark web.If we took that information at face value, he’d be dead by the end of the week. However, thanks to Leslie’s informant, we know that this information is likely false. But it’s been set up in such a way, over such an extended period of time, that it’s possible that heisinvolved somehow.” Henley glances up at us, and the look in his eyes sends chills down my spine.

“Leslie, I need you to dig further into this ring. I need you to findeverythingon them—when they first appeared, what types of subject matter they showed interest in, any data they may have downloaded or even provided themselves. If my gut is correct—and I fuckingprayit’s not—then I think that Kieran Prince may be at the very heart of this. He could be the very reason this particular ring formed in the first place.”

I’m not the only one who gags as Henley’s implications hit home. Unfortunately, I have no reason to doubt Henley’s gut instincts, especially seeing as his particular ability involves precognition. It comes in handy when he’s deployed, and it hasn’t steered him wrong yet.

Holy fuck. What have I signed us up for?

Another week passes before Leslie is able to head into San Francisco and back to Royal Tower with me. Due to the uncertainty of this contract, I’ve taken a leave of absence from my day job for the next month. While my boss wasn’t happy about it, Ididhelpfully point out that I was taking it as unpaid, instead of out of my paid time off. Honestly, with the potential payout from this job, I may end up walking away from the patisserie altogether if they’re going to get all snarky with me. It’s not like I’ll be left destitute, even without the help and financial support of my family.

Henley left his Bronco behind and instead flew back to Kentucky the day after Steve and my trip to the city, and as Steve is between jobs he decided to go along with him. Steve figures that he can help Henley pack up all of his shit while Hen deals with his discharge, and then he’ll hire a U-Haul and help him drive it back west. While Henley is an incredibly capable alpha, knowing that he’ll be on hand for my next heat—even if it’s a heavily suppressed one—has him on tenterhooks and stressed tothe max. Steve feels that with him there to share the driving, not only will Henley be able to relax more than if he was alone, but that it will also be a two-day trip on their return instead of three. However, I wouldn’t put it past Henley to break it into three, as he’s not the type of person to push things past what is sensible or safe, not even to save a day of driving. All going well, the two of them should be back in the next day or so.

All going well?Fuck.

I’ve just challenged the universe.

I’m buckled into the passenger seat of Leslie’s Corvette, with the windows down and blowing through our hair as they zoom along the freeway, darting between other vehicles. Honestly, it’s a miracle they don’t have more speeding tickets, not with how they drive. They seem to follow the motto of “Drive it like you stole it,” even though Leslie has one of the cleanest records I’ve ever seen. I guess it helps in their day-to-day life as a black-market smuggler.

“Okay, as obviously there’s no rear seat for you to change in, you’ll need to ‘wisp out’ while still dressed. I’ll tuck your clothes away so they’re hidden, and then you can do your thing and anchor to me while we stroll about. There are a few places I want to poke around in, and I’m meeting up with Teddy, one of my contacts, a little later. If you want to slip off and check things out by yourself, I’ll need you to give me a signal.” Leslie glances over to me, a small smile playing across their ruby-stained lips.

Today, Leslie is “dressed down,” or at least in their mind they are. They’re in a pair of fitted black high-waisted trousers with dual button details running down both hips, paired with a paisley plum colored short-sleeved wrap-around peplum top. They’ve dyed their hair burgundy to match and have gone for a more “subdued” makeup palette to avoid attracting attention. I don’t know what the fuck Leslie’s thinking, though, becausethere’s nothing subdued about them in the slightest. It’s one of the things I love about them.

“How about I flutter through your hair, muss it up a little? It’s both a visual and sensory signal, especially if we’re inside. If I do that, then you find a place to settle in and wait for me to come back. I’ll tickle your neck again once I return.”

I stifle a giggle at the dour expression crossing Leslie’s face at my suggestion, knowing just how much they abhor looking anything but perfect. Especially when it comes to their hair.

“Fine,” Leslie bites out, “but don’t go fucking overboard. I don’t need to suddenly take on a windswept appearance or look as though I forgot to brush my hair this morning. I’ll smooth my hair over my left ear to indicate I understand, so perhaps limit your disturbance to that side of my head, hmmm?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I’ll more likely end up in gales of laughter, and I don’t want to push my luck. While Leslie’s power isn’t necessarily dangerous, having the ability to become imperceptible and forgettable even when standing directly in front of a person comes in handy in their line of work. They’re not like me, they’re unable to become insubstantial, nor is it true invisibility. In Leslie’s case, they’re somehow circumventing a person’s senses, compelling others to completely dismiss their presence. Youmightregister that there’s a person standing there, but you have no inclination to pay them any notice. Your eyes slide right off them, and your brain forgets every distinguishing feature.

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