Page 9 of Tested
“The restrooms are the last two doors down there but check out this storage. It’s really—”
“Don’t.” One word. Not loud, but David freezes both of us in place, Glory with her hand on a doorknob and me with my chin hanging open.
“Pardon me?” Glory’s tone shifts from warm to frosty.
David closes his eyes and inhales. Exhales. “There’s something in there.”
“What? Dust bunnies?” Glory swings the door open.
“Nope,” I say, gagging as the smell hits me. “More like a dead body.”
David comes up behind us. “I tried to warn you. I could smell it as soon as we came through the door.”
The body in the closet is a woman, or mostly a woman. She’d been petite, and she lay naked – either her attacker had stripped her or the magic had done it – with long black hair covering her face. My mind skates over her wounds, grabbing hold of the fact that she’d partially shifted. Her lower limbs and long, plumed tail are those of a fox. “Kitsune, I think.”
“Oh no.” Glory starts sputtering. “You all knew we were going to find this here. I should have known better than to mess with—”
“Quiet.” I don’t speak any louder than David had but I add a little vampire mojo to shut her off. “We didn’t know there’d be a dead body in the closet, but I do know what we’re going to do about it.”
“What?” David asks.
“Call Connor, unless one of you wants to explain a half-shifted kitsune to the cops.”
Glory already has her phone out. “I don’t know who Connor is, but Adam Smith is the supernatural liaison for the LAPD. I’m calling him first.”
She spins on her heel, phone to her ear. I’ve heard of Smith. He’s a new addition to the local police force and no one I know can decide if that’s a good thing or not.
David’s got his phone out, too, and he’s texting someone, most likely Connor. We’ll just have to see who gets here first.
The cops win, but not by much. Two uniformed patrolmen take one look in the closet and back away, pretty much the response I expected. They decide to wait in their car, leaving us to make polite conversation while we wait for the higher-ups to show.
“So I’m guessing you won’t be interested in renting this place?” Glory’s gotten over her irritation, and she’s scanning her phone’s screen. “Because there’s a similar listing in Culver City that you might want to see.”
I’m not sure whether to laugh or to applaud her for her persistence. “As long as it’s not the scene of a recent homicide, I’m up for a look.”
She laughs and tucks her phone away. “I’ll do what I can.”
“I do think it would be nice to have a coffee shop or something, or a pub with appetizers and beer, someplace where supes would feel comfortable.”
David’s been standing with his hands on his hips, looking out the window. “Really?” He turns to face me.
“Yeah, and I thought maybe you could run the place.”
He grimaces, but before he can otherwise respond, an older guy with the shaggy hair and orange-peel skin of a surfer strides through the door. His suit coat fits like he borrowed it from someone bigger, his jeans hang low on his hips, and he’s wearing flipflops instead of shoes. He heads for Glory first, hand extended. White tape wraps around his palm up to the base of his thumb.
“You’re the one who called me, right? I’m Adam Smith.”
They shake hands, Glory conjuring up her practiced smile. “Yes, Detective. We met at the fundraiser for street kids’ services last month.”
“That’s right.” He whips out a small spiral notebook and a pencil and starts making notes. “And who are you two?” He glances from me to David.
We introduce ourselves and he scribbles some more. He doesn’t react to David’s name, but I get a side-eye.
“You run that kink club down on San Pedro Street.” It’s not a question, so I let a shrug be my answer.
“Are you thinking of expanding operations up here?” His suspicion is palpable, his gaze direct. For all of his middle-aged surfer vibe, I can see why the LAPD hired him.
“Nah, we’ll keep the whips and chains where they are. I’m more in the market for a place that’s open to all types.”Except maybe elves. Elves are assholes.
