Page 70 of Starry with a Chance of Nightshade

“This isn’t your fault,” said Stratton clearly. “I’ve seen this happen before in other supernatural hot spots in my lifetime.”

“Seen what happen?” asked Brett.

“Increased activity,” replied Stratton. “More murders, more violence, more everything. It’s like nature turns the volume up on the activity and this is the fallout.”

“But why now?” asked Brett, desperation coating his voice.

“No idea, but I think that whatever is happening—it’s linked to Poppy returning here,” said Stratton.

Brett growled, his wolf-shifter side showing through. “Are you blaming my wife for this?”

“Not at all,” said Stratton, remaining perfectly calm. Brett wasn’t the first on-edge shifter he’d been around. “I’m just saying I think whatever is happening is drawing the goodandthe bad here. That you can’t have one without the other. And I’ve heard Maria mention more than once that the women were summoned back by something bigger than them. Makes sense that whatever beacon is going off, whatever drew Poppy, Dana, and Marcy here, is also drawing the bad here too.”

Brett fell silent a moment. “That means we should look heavily at anyone who has come to town the last six or so months. Did I hear Demon Grounds has a new hire working there?”

“They do, but she’s not behind the murders,” said Stratton with a level of certainty that surprised him. It wasn’t like he knew Astria, yet he felt the need to defend her.

“You sure?”

Stratton sighed. “I’ll look into her, but I don’t think she’s involved in any of this.”

“Because you have the hots for her?” asked Brett with a grin. “Jeffrey might have mentioned you being swept up with the new hire.”

“Your best friend gets on my nerves.”

“He gets on mine too,” said Brett with a laugh. “Up for some monster hunting?”

Stratton checked his watch and nodded.

“Have somewhere else you need to be?” questioned Brett.

Stratton held his tongue, knowing it was important they find and stop the creatures before anyone else lost their lives. “No.”

ChapterTwenty-Four

Stratton

Stratton stoodover the newest body, overseeing the crime techs as they worked. The victim was a woman in her early twenties and according to her student ID, she was enrolled at Grimm U. It was evident that she’d been out jogging when she’d been attacked.

One of the techs stared at the body and swallowed hard, pulling her gaze up to Stratton’s. “No one found her leg or hand yet?”

Stratton shook his head slightly. He didn’t want to tell her the body parts wouldn’t be recovered. If his hunch was correct, they were either already part of a creature or on their way to becoming part of the assembly of another. He wasn’t sure. His gut said someone was making monsters again. He just wasn’t sure who that could be.

He and Drest monitored the Frankenstein family from afar through their network of friends within the Nightshade Clan. No one had alerted them of suspicious activity by any of the family members. The usual suspects, Nile and Henry, were locked away, and while Henry might have had the ability to communicate with the creatures from confinement, he couldn’t actually assemble them there.

Brett approached, his cell phone in hand. “I still don’t have any reception out here, you?”

Stratton pulled his cell from his pocket and checked. “Nothing.”

Brett glanced toward the small stone bridge the runner had been found under. The road that ran over it was one lane and in bad shape. It didn’t get much in the way of traffic anymore since an overpass had gone in not far from the area, but according to one of the techs on the scene, it, along with the other roads that weaved through the location, had become a favorite area for runners and bikers since there weren’t many cars to contend with. Plus, it offered a scenic view since it cut through the woods.

The issue with the area, beyond it being remote, was the fact it lacked lighting of any kind. The sun had set thirty minutes prior, and portable lighting had needed to be brought in. The artificial lights shone down on the scene, a harsh reminder that if Stratton had killed Henry thirty-six years ago, this might not have happened. The death of the young woman could have possibly been prevented.

“Need me to handle the notification?” asked Stratton, as he looked away from the victim and to his boss.

Brett shook his head. “No. I’ll handle it. I fucking hate this part of the job.”

“We all do,” returned Stratton.

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